^' s', / r-'-- a University of California • Berkeley BRUCE PORTER COLLECTION Gift of Mrs. Robert Bruce Porter ►>^^ TT rj>. , > ^ 5.\ ■>)» .*'**■ ■ ■■:^ >^ _^i 'm^^ ' JT^ :il '"T^ ^ •^ ^^ " ^ mm^ -__j^ 1^ ~ ' "^^ M|^ k^ • 1 :> / >t A, H k '^'■ f) \ ^^ lu- 'm ■* ^ ^^^,SOS WITE fUE ,,j^^ -Q-f tJ AMB "Wholesale, Retail and for Exportatioiio BY "^^ . ^ :y'.^ LOK^DOK: BT^ADBURY & EYAKS. BOUYERIE S7RBS^ ) 84.8. DOMBEY AND SON. BY CHARLES DICKENS. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. K. BROWNE. LONDON: BRADBURY AND EVANS, 11, BOUVERIE STREET. 1848. LONDON : BRADBIRY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. THIS STORY IS DEDICATED, WITH GREAT ESTEEM, TO THE MARCHIONESS OF NORMANBY. » PREFACE. I I CANNOT forego my usual opportunity of saying fare- well to my readers in this greeting-place, thougli I have only to acknowledge the unbounded warmth and earnestness of their sympathy in every stage of the journey we have just concluded. If any of them have felt a sorrow in one of the principal incidents on which this fiction turns, I hope it may be a sorrow of that sort which endears the sharers in it, one to another. This is not unselfish in me. I may claim to have felt it, at least as much as anybody else; and I would fain be remem- bered kindly for my part in the experience. Devonshire Terrace, Twenty-Fourth March, 1848. CONTENTS. — ♦— PAGE Chapter I. Dombey and Son 1 Chap. II. In which Timely Provision is made for an Emergency that will sometimes arise in the best regulated Families ... 8 Chap. III. In which Mr. Dombey, as a Man and a Father, is seen at the head of the Home-Department . " 16 Chap. IV. In which some more First Appeai-ances are made on the Stage of these Adventures 24 Chap. V. Paul's Progress and Christening 33 Chap. VI. Paul's Second Deprivation . . .' 45 Chap. VII. A Bird's-eye glimpse of Miss Tox's Dwelling-place ; also of the State of Miss Tox's Affections 61 Chap. VIII. Paul's further Progress, Growth, and Charactei- .... 65 Chap. IX. In which the Wooden Midshipman gets into Trouble . . 79 Chap, X. Containing the Sequel of the Midshipman's Disaster ... 88 Chap. XI. Paul's Introduction to a new Scene ........ 97 Chap. XII. Paul's Education 107 xil CONTENTS. PAGE Chap. XIII. Shipping IntelligencQ and Office Business 120 Chap. XIV. Paul grows more and more Old-fashioned, and goes Home for the Holidays 129 Chap. XV. Amazing Artfulness of Captain Cuttle, and a new Pursuit for Walter Gay 146 Chap. XVI. What the Waves were always saying 157 Chap. XVII. Captain Cuttle does a little Business for the young people 161 Chap. XVIII. Father and Daughter . 169 Chap. XIX. Walter goes away > 183 Chap. XX. Mr. Dombey goes upon a Journey 193 Chap. XXI. New Faces 203 Chap. XXII. A Trifle of Management by Mr. Carker the Manager . . 211 Chap. XXIII. Florence Solitary, and the Midshipman Mysterious . . 225 Chap. XXIV. The Study of a Loving Heart 241 Chap. XXV. Strange News of Uncle Sol 250 Chap. XXVI. Shadows of the Past and Future 257 Chap. XXVII. Deeper Shadows 269 Chap. XXVIII. Alterations 281 Chap. XXIX. The Opening of the Eyes of Mrs. Chick 289 Chap. XXX. The Interval before the Marriage 297 Chap. XXXI. The Wedding 309 CONTENTS. xiii Chap. XXXII. The Wooden Midshipman goes to Pieces .... 321 Chap. XXXIII. Contrasts 334 Chap. XXXIV. Another Mother and Daughter 343 Chap. XXXV. The Happy Pair 363 Chap. XXXVI. Housewarming 361 Chap. XXXVII. More Warnings than One 370 Chap. XXXVIII. Miss Tox improves an Old Acquaintance . . , 378 Chap, XXXIX. Further Adventures of Captain Edward Cuttle, Mariner 385 Chap. XL. Domestic Relations 397 Chap. XLI. New Voices on the Waves 409 Chap. XLII. Confidential and Accidental 417 Chap. XLI II. The Watches of the Night 428 Chap. XLIV. A Separation 435 Chap. XLV. The Trusty Agent 442 Chap. XLVI. Recognizant and Reflective 449 Chap. XLVII. The Thunderbolt 468 Chap. XLVIII. The Flight of Florence 472 Chap. XLIX. The Midshipman makes a Discovery 481 Chap. L. Mr. Toots's Complaint 494 PAOE xiv CONTENTS. Chap. LI. Mr. Dombey and the World 507 Chap. LII. Secret Intelligence 513 Chap. LIII. More Intelligence 524 Chap. LIV. The Fugitives 536 Chap. LV. Rob the Grinder loses his Place . 545 Chap. LVI. Several People Delighted, and the Game Chicken Disgusted 554 Chap. LVII. Another Wedding 571 Chap. LVIII, After a Lapse 577 Chap. LIX, Retribution 588 Chap, LX. Chiefly Matrimonial 602 Chap. LXI. Relenting , 611 Chap. LXII. Final 620 LIST OF PLATES. — *—— TAQE FRONTISPIECE AND VIGNETTE MISS TOX INTRODUCES THE PARTY . . 10 THE DOMBEY FAMILY . 22 THE CHRISTENING PARTY 40 POLLY RESCUES THE CHARITABLE GRINDER .50 PAUL AND MRS. PIPCHIN 75 CAPTAIN CUTTLE CONSOLES HIS FRIEND 87 DOCTOR BLIMBER's YOUNG GENTLEMEN AS THEY APPEARED WHEN ENJOYING themselves . 113 Paul's exercises ]17 paul goes home for the holidays 145 profound cogitation of captain cuttle 151 POOR Paul's friend . 179 THE WOODEN MIDSHIPMAN ON THE LOOK OUT 185 MAJOR BAGSTOCK IS DELIGHTED TO HAVE THAT OPPORTUNITY .... 204 MR. TOOTS BECOMES PARTICULAR — DIOGENES ALSO 223 SOLEMN REFERENCE IS MADE TO MR. BUNSBY .238 MR. CABKER INTRODUCES HIMSELF TO FLORENCE AND THE SKETTLES FAMILY . 249 JOE B, IS SLY, SIR J DEVILISH SLY . . . . - . . . , 267 MR. DOMBEY INTRODUCES HIS DAUGHTER FLORENCE 288 xvi LIST OP PLATES. PAGE THE EYES OF MRS. CHICK ARE OPENED TO LUCRETIA TOX .... 294 COMING HOME FROM CHURCH 316 A VISITOR OF DISTINCTION • . . 325 THE REJECTED ALMS . . . 352 MRS. DOMBEY AT HOME . 366 MISS TOX PAYS A VISIT TO THE TOODLE FAMILY . . . . . . 381 THE MIDSHIPMAN IS BOARDED BY THE ENEMY 394 A CHANCE MEETING 40S MR. DOMBEY AND HIS " CONFIDENTIAL AGENT " 424 FLORENCE PARTS FROM A VERY OLD FRIEND ....... 439 ABSTRACTION AND RECOGNITION 450 FLORENCE AND EDITH ON THE STAIRCASE . . . • 469 THE SHADOW IN THE LITTLE PARLOR .491 MR. DOMBEY AND THE WORLD 508 SECRET INTELLIGENCE 516 MR. CARKER IN HIS HOUR OF TRIUMPH 539 ON THE DARK ROAD 547 AN ARRIVAL 565 "let HIM REMEMBER IT IN THAT ROOM, YEARS TO COME" .... 595 ANOTHER WEDDING 607 ERRATA. Page 494, first line of the chapter. Fov down stairs, read dbove stairs. Page 497, line 29 from top. Fcr you tOOj read you two. DOMBEY AND SON. ERRATA. Page 97, line 23 from top— for " the register," read " that register." ,, 100, line 23 from bottom — for "probably," read " possibly." „ 101, line 9 from bottom— for " dull crying," read " diUl cooing." „ 102, line 20 from top— strike out " Quintius," before " Curtias." ,, 105, line 3 from bottom— for "auspiciously," read " suspiciously." ,, 112, line C from bottom— for " the iirst epistle," read " the lirst chapter of the epistle." ,. 117, lines 3 and 4 from top— for "when you know I want them," read "when you know why I want them." „ 120, Une 12 from top— for " Saturday," read " Saturdays." ,, 121, line 12 from top— for " doing," read " bein^. ' ,, 125, line 23 from top— insert a period after the words "have reason." ,, 126, line 17 from bottom— for "voice," read " voices." "WllUtv tnv> \^KJlt.txv sand little creases, wliich tlie same deceitful Time would take delight in smootliing out and wearing away with the tlat part of his scythe, as a pre- jjaration of the siu'face for liis deeper operations. Dombey, exidting in the long-looked-for event, jingled and jingled the heavy gold watch-chain that depended from below his trim blue coat, whereof the buttons sparkled- phosphorescently in the feeble rays of the distant fire. Son with his httle fists cm-led up and clenched, seemed, in his feeble way, to be squaring at existence for having come upon him so unexpectedly. "The house will once again, Mi's. Dombey," said IVIi'. Dombey, "be not only in name but in fact Dombey and Son ; Dom-bey and Son ! " The words had such a softening influence, that he appended a term of endeannent to Mi's. Dombey's name (though not without some hesitation, as being a man but little used to that form of addi-ess) : and said, " Mrs. Dombey my — my dear." A transient flush of faint sm-prisc overspread the sick lady's face as she raised her eyes towards him. a / DOMBEY AND SON. CHAPTER I. DOMBEY AND SON. DOMBEY sat in the comer of the darkened room in the great arm-chair by the bedside, and Son lay tucked iip warm in a Httle basket bedstead, carefully disposed on a low settee immediately in front of the fire and close to it, as if his constitution were analogous to that of a muffin, and it was essential to toast him brown wliile he Avas veiy new. Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age. Son about eight- and-forty minutes. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though a handsome Avell-made man, too stem and pompous in appearance, to be pre- possessing. Son was very bald, and very red, and though (of course) aa imdeniably fine infant, somewhat crushed and spotty in his general effect, as yet. On the brow of Dombey, Time and his bi'other Cai'e had set some marks, as on a tree that was to come down in good time — remorseless twins they are for striding tlu'ough their human forests, notching as they go — while the countenance of Son was crossed and recrossed with a thou- sand little creases, which the same deceitfid Time Avoidd take delight in smootliing out and wearing away with the fiat part of his scythe, as a pre- paration of the surface for liis deeper operations. Dombey, exidting in the long-looked-for event, jingled and jingled the heavy gold watch-chain that depended from below his trim blue coat, whereof the buttons sparkled' phosphoresceutly in the feeble rays of the distant fire. Son with his little fists cm4ed up and clenched, seemed, in his feeble way, to be squaring at existence for having come upon him so unexpectedly. " The house wiU once again, 'Mis. Dombey," said Mi-. Dombey, " be not only in name but in fact Dombey and Son ; Dom-bey and Son ! " The words had such a softening influence, that he appended a term of endeannent to IMi-s. Dombey's name (though not without some hesitation, as being a man but little used to that form of address) : and said, " Mrs. Dombey my — my dear." A transient flush of faint sm*prise overspread the sick lady's face as she raised her eyes towards him. U / 2 DOMBEY AND SON. " He will be ckristened Paul, ray — Mi-s. Dombey — of coiu-se." She feebly echoed, " Of coxu'se," or rather expressed it by the motion of her lips, and closed her eyes again. " His father's name, Mrs. Dombey, and his grandfather's ! I wish Ms gTandfather were ahve tliis day ! " Ajid again he said " Dom-bey and Son," in exactly the same tone as before. Those three words conveyed the one idea of Mr. Dombey's hfe. Tlie earth was made for Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sim and moon were made to give them light. Eivers and seas were formed to float then- ships ; rainbows gave them promise of fan* Aveather ; Avinds blew for or against their enterprises ; stars and planets circled in then orbits, to pre- serve inviolate a system of which they were the centre. Common abbre- viations took new meanings in his eyes, and had sole reference to them. A. D. had no concern with anno Domini, but stood for anno Dombei — and Son. He had risen, as his father had before him, in the course of life and death, from Son to Dombey, and for nearly twenty years had been the sole representative of the firm. Of those years he had been married, ten — manied, as some said, to a lady vdth no heart to give liim ; whose happi- ness was in the past, and who was content to bind her broken spirit to the dutiful and meek endm'ance of the present. Such idle talk was little likely to reach the ears of Mr. Dombey, whom it nearly concerned ; and probably no one in the Avorld woidd have received it with such utter iuCTeduHty as he>, if it had reached liim. Dombey and Son had often dealt in Itides, but never in hearts. They left that fancy ware to boys and giiis, and boarding- schools and books. Mr. Dombey woidd have reasoned : That a matri- monial alliance with himself 7nust, in the natm-e of things, be gratifying and honom'able to any Avoman of common sense. That the hope of giving bh-th to a new partner in such a house, could not fail to awaken a glorious and stining ambition in the breast of the least ambitious of her sex. That IMrs. Dombey had entered on that social contract of matrimony : almost necessarily part of a genteel and Avealthy station, even Avithout reference to the perpetuation of family firms : Avith her eyes fully open to these advan- tages. That JVIrs. Dombey had had daily practical knoAvledge of his posi- tion in society. That IMrs. Dombey had ahvays sat at the head of his table, and done the honom's of his house in a remarkably lady-like and becoming manner. That J\Irs. Dombey must have been happy. That she couldn't help it. Or, at all events, Avith one di-awback. Yes. That he would have allowed. With only one ; but that one certauily involving much. They had been married ten years, and imtd this present day on Avhich Mr. Dombey sat jingling and jingling his heavy gold Avatch-chain in the great arm-chair by the side of the bed, had had no issue. — To speak of; none Avorth mentioning. There had been a girl some six years before, and the child, ViXio had stolen into the chamber unobserved, was noAv crouching timidly, in a comer Avhence she could see her mother's face. But Avhat Avas a girl to Dombey and Son ! In the capital of the House's name and dignity, such a child Avas merely a piece of base coin that coiddn't be invested — a bad Boy — nothing more. ^•. Dombey's cup of satisfaction was so full at this momentj however, DOMBEY AND SON. that he felt he could afford a drop or two of its contents, even to sprinkle on the dust in the by-path of his little daughter. So he said, " Florence, you may go and look at your pretty brother, if you Hke, I dare say. Don't touch liim ! " The child glanced keenly at the blue coat and stiff white cravat, which, with a pah' of creaking boots and a very loud ticking watch, embodied her idea of a father ; but her eyes returned to her mother's face immediately, and she neither moved nor answered. Next moment, the lady had opened her eyes and seen the chdd; and the child had run towards her ; and, standing on tiptoe, the better to hide her face in her embrace, had clung about her with a desperate affection veiy much at variance with her years. " Oh Lord bless me !" said Mr. Dombey, rising testily. "A very ill- advised and feverish proceeding this, I am sure. I had better ask Doctor Peps if he 'U have the goodness to step up staii-s again perhaps. I 'U go down. I '11 go down. I needn't beg you," he added, pausing for a moment at the settee before the fire, " to take particidar care of this young gentle- man, ^Il"S. " " Blockitt, Su- ? " suggested the nurse, a simpering piece of faded gentility, who did not presume to state her name as a fact, but merely offered it as a mild suggestion. " Of this young gentleman, Mrs. Blockitt." "No Sir, indeed. I remember when Miss Florence Avas bom — " "Ay, ay, ay," said IVIr. Dombey, bending over the basket bedstead, and shghtly bending his brows at the same time. " IMiss Florence was aU very well, but tliis is another matter. This yoimg gentleman has to accom- plish a destiny. A destiny, little fellow !" As he thus apostropliized the infant he raised one of his hands to his Hps, and kissed it ; then, seeming to fear that the action involved some compromise of his dignity, went, awkwardly enough, away. Doctor Parker Peps, one of the Court Physicians, and a man of immense reputation for assisting at the increase of great families, was walking up and down the di"awing-room with his hands behind him, to the imspeakable admii'ation of the family Surgeon, who had regularly puffed the case for the last six weeks, among aU his patients, friends, and acquaintances, as one to which he was in hourly expectation day and night of being smnmoned, in conjunction with Doctor Parker Peps. " "Well Sii-," said Doctor Parker Peps in a round, deep, sonorous voice, muffled for the occasion, hke the knocker ; "do you find that yom' dear lady is at aU roused by yom* visit ?" "Stimulated as it were?" said the family practitioner faintly: bowing at the same tune to the Doctor, as much as to say " Excuse my putting in a word, but this is a valuable connexion." Mr. Dombey was quite discomfited by the question. He had thought so little of the patient, that he was not in a condition to answer it. He said that it would be a satisfaction to liim, if Doctor Parker Peps would walk up stairs again. " Good ! We must not disguise fi-om you Sir," said Doctor Parker Peps, " that there is a want of power in Her Grace the Duchess — I beg yoiu* pardon ; I confound names ; I should say, in your amiable lady. That B 2 4 DOMBEY AND SON. there is a certain degree of languor, and a general absence of elasticity, which we woidd rather — not — " " See," interposed the ftamily practitioner with another inclination of the head. " Quite so," said Doctor Parker Peps, " which we would rather not see. It would appear that the system of Lady Cankaby — excuse me : I shoidd say of Mi-s. Dombey : I confuse the names of cases — " " So very numerous," miu-mm"ed the family practitioner — " can't be expected I 'm sui-e — quite wonderful if otherwise — Doctor Parker Peps's West End practice — " " Thank you," said the Doctor, " quite so. It would appear, I was observing, that the system of om- patient has sustained a shock, from which it can only hope to rally by a great and strong — " "And vigorous," murmui-ed the family practitioner. " Quite so," assented the Doctor — " and vigorous effort. IMi'. Pdkins here, who from his position of medical adviser in tliis family — no one better qualified to fill that position, I am sure." "Oh!" murmured the familv practitioner. "'Praise from Sir Hubert Stanley!'" " You are good enough," retiu-ned Doctor Parker Peps, " to say so. Mr. Pilkins who, fi-om Ids position, is best acquainted ynth. the patient's constitution in its normal state (an acquaintance veiy valuable to us in fonning om- opinions on these occasions), is of opinion, with me, that Nature must be called upon to make a vigorous efi^oi-t in this instance ; and that if our interesting friend the Countess of Dombey — I beff yoiu: pardon ; IVIi-s. Dombey — should not be — " "Able," said the family practitioner. "To make that effort successfully," said Doctor Parker Peps, "then a crisis might arise, which we shoidd both sincerely deplore." With that, they stood for a few seconds looking at the ground. Then, -on the motion — made in dumb show — of Doctor Parker Peps, they went up stall's ; the family practitioner opening the room door for that distinguished professional, and following liim out, with most obsequious politeness. To record of Mi-. Dombey that he was not in Ms way affected by this intelligence, would be to do him an injustice. He was not a man of whom it could properly be said that he was ever startled, or shocked; but he cer- tainly had a sense within him, that if his wife shoidd sicken and decay, he woidd be vei-y son-y, and that he would find a something gone from among his plate and fimiitiu-e, and other household possessions, Avhich was well worth the having, and coidd not be lost without sincere regret. Though it w^oidd be a cool, business-like, gentlemanly, self-possessed regret, no doubt. His meditations on the subject were soon inten-vqited, first by the rustling of garments on the staircase, and then by the sudden whisking into the room of a lady rather past the middle age than othenvise, but dressed in a very juvenile manner, particularly as to the tightness of her boddice, who, running up to him with a kind of screw in her face and carnage, expressive of sup- piTssed emotion, flung her arms round his neck, and said, in a choking voice, ' " My dear Paul ! He 's quite a Dombey ! " " Well, well ! " returned her brother — ^for IMr. Dombey was her brother — " I think he is like the family. Don't agitate youi-self, Louisa." DOMBEY AND SON. " It 's veiy foolish of me," said Louisa, sitting dowTi, and taking out her pocket-handkerchief, " but he 's — he 's such a perfect Dombey ! / never saw anything like it in my life ! " " But what is this about Fannv, herself? " said Mr. Dombey. " How is Fanny ? " " My dear Paul," returned Louisa, " it 's nothing whatever. Take my word, it's nothing whatever. There is exhaustion, certainly, but nothing like what I underwent myself, either with George or Frederick. An effort is necessary. That 's all. If dear Fanny were a Dombey ! — But I dare say she 'U make it ; I have no doubt she 'U make it. Know- ing it to be required of her, as a duty, of com-se she '11 make it. My dear Paid, it 's very weak and silly of me, I know, to be so trembly and shakey fi"om head to foot ; but I am so veiy queer that I must ask you for a glass of wine and a morsel of that cake. I thought I should have fallen out of the staircase window as I came down from seeing dear Fanny, and that tiddy ickle sing." These last words originated in a sudden vivid reminis- cence of the baby. They were succeeded by a gentle tap at the door. " Mrs. Chick," said a very bland female voice outside, " how are you now, my dear friend? " " My dear Paul," said Louisa in a low voice, as she rose from her seat, " it 's Miss Tox. The kindest creature ! I never coidd have got here with- out her ! Miss Tox, my brother Mr. Dombey. Paid my dear, my verj'" particular friend Miss Tox." The lady thus specially presented, was a long lean figiu'e, wearing such a faded air that she seemed not to have been made in what linen-drapers call "fast colours " originally, and to have, by little and little, washed out. But for this she might have been described as the very pink of general propitiation and politeness. From a long habit of listening admiringly to evei-ything that was said in her presence, and looking at the speakers as if she were mentally engaged in taking off impressions of theii* images upon her soul, never to part with the same but with life, her head had quite settled on one side. Her hands had contracted a spasmodic habit of raising themselves of their own accord as in involuntaiy admiration. Her eyes were liable to a similar affection. She had the softest voice that ever was heard ; and her nose, stupendously aquiline, had a little knob in the veiy centre or key-stone of the bridge, whence it tended downwards to- wards her face, as in an invincible determination never to turn up at anything. IVIiss Tox's dress, though perfectly genteel and good, had a certain cha- racter of angularity and scantiness. She was accustomed to wear odd weedy little flowers in her bonnets and caps. Strange grasses were some- times perceived in her hair ; and it was observed by the curious, of all her collars, friUs, tuckers, wristbands, and other gossamer articles — indeed of everything she wore which had two ends to it intended to unite — that the two ends were never on good terms, and wouldn't quite meet without a struggle. She had fm-ry articles for winter wear, as tippets, boas, and mufts, which stood up on end in a rampant manner, and were not at all sleek. She was much given to the carrying about of small bags with snaps to them, that went off like little pistols when they were shut up; and when b DOMBEY AND SON. full-di'essed, she wore round her neck the baiTcnest of lockets, representing a fishey old eye, Avith no approach to specidation m it. These and other appearances of a similar nature, had sen-ed to propagate the opinion, that Miss Tox was a lady of what is called a limited independence, which she turned to the best account. Possibly her mincing gait encoiu'aged the belief, and suggested that her clipping a step of ordinary compass into two or three, originated in her habit of making the most of everji;hing. " I am siu'e," said Miss Tox, "vvith a prodigious curtsey, "that to have the honour of being presented to ]\fr. Dombey is a distinction which I have long sought, but veiy little expected at the present moment. My dear Mrs. Chick — may I say Louisa ! " Mi's. Chick took Miss Tox's hand in hers, rested the foot of her wine- glass upon it, repressed a tear, and said in a low voice " Bless you ! " " My dear Louisa then," said IMiss Tox, "my sweet friend, how are you now ? " " Better," Mrs. Chick returned. " Take some wine. You have been almost as anxious as I have been, and must want it, I am siu'e," Mr. Dombey of course officiated. " Miss Tox, Paul," pursued IVIi's. Chick, still retaining her hand, " knowing how much I have been interested in the anticipation of the event of to-day, has been working at a little gift for Panny, which I pro- mised to present. It is only a pincushion for the toilette table, Paul, but I do say, and wdl say, and must say, that Miss Tox has very prettily adapted the sentiment to the occasion. I call ' Welcome little Dombey ' Poetry, myself." " Is that the device ? " inquired her brother. " That is the device," returned Louisa. " But do me the justice to remember, my dear Louisa," said Miss Tox in a tone of low and earnest entreaty, " that nothing but the — I have some difficulty in exj)ressing myself — the dubiousness of the result would have induced me to take so gi'cat a liberty : 'Welcome, Master Dombey,' Avoidd have been much more congenial to my feelings, as I am sm*e you know. But the uncertainty attendant on angelic strangers, will, I hope, excuse what must otherwise appear an unwarrantable familiarity." Miss Tox made a gi-aceful bend as she spoke, in favour of Mr. Dombey, which that gentleman graciously acknowledged. Even the sort of recognition of Dombey and. Son, conveyed in the foregoing conversation, was so palatable to him, that his sister, Mrs. Chick — though he affected to consider her a weak good-natiu'cd person — ^had perhaps more influence over htm. than anybody else. " Well ! " said Mrs. Chick, with a sweet smile, " after this, I forgive Fanny eveiything ! " It was a declaration in a Christian spirit, and Mrs. Cliick felt that it did her good. Not that she had anything particidar to forgive in her sister-in-law, nor indeed anything at all, (jxcept her having maiTied her brother — ^in itself a species of audacity — and her having, in the course of events, given birth to a girl instead of a boy : which as Mrs. Chick had frequently observed, was not quite what she had expected of her, and was not a pleasant return for aU the attention and distinction she had met with. Ml-. Dombey being hastily summoned out of the room at this moment, DOMBEY AND SON. 7 the two ladies were left alone together. Miss Tox immediately became spasmodic. " I knew yon would admire my brother. I told yon so beforehand, my dear," said Lonisa. Miss Tox's hands and eyes expressed how much. "And as to his property, my dear I" "Ah!" said Miss Tox, with deep feeling. " Im — mense !" "But his deportment, my dear Lonisa!" said Miss Tox. "His pre- sence ! His dignity ! No portrait that I have ever seen of any one has been half so replete with those qnahties. Something so stately, you know : so uncompromising : so veiy wide across the chest : so upi-ight ! A pecn- niaiy Duke of York, my love, and nothing short of it !" said Miss Tox, " That's what / should designate him." " Wliy my dear Paul !" exclaimed his sister, as he returned, " you look quite pale ! There's nothing the matter?" " I am soiTy to say, Louisa, that they tell me that Fanny — " "Now my dear Paul," returned his sister rising, " don't believe it. If you have any rehance on my experience, Paul, you may rest assured that there is nothing wanting but an effort on Fanny's part. And that effort," she continued, taking off her bonnet, and adjusting her cap and gloves, in a business-hke manner, "she must be encom'aged, and really, if necessary, m-ged to make. Now my dear Paid, come up stairs with me." . Mr. Dombey, who, besides being generally influenced by his sister for the reason already mentioned, had really faith in her as an experienced and busthng matron, acquiesced ; and followed her, at once, to the sick chamber. The lady lay upon her bed as he had left her, clasping her little daughter to her breast. The child clung dose about her, with the same intensity as before, and never raised her head, or moved her soft cheek from her mother's face, or looked on those who stood aroimd, or spoke, or moved, or shed a tear. " Eestless without the little girl," the Doctor whispered Mi*. Dombey. " We found it best to have her in again." There was such a solemn stillness round the bed ; and the two medical attendants seemed to look on the impassive form with so much compassion and so Uttle hope, that Mrs. Chick was for the moment diverted from her pm-pose. But presently summoning com'age, and what she called presence of mind, she sat down by the bedside, and said in the low precise tone of one who endeavours to aAvaken a sleeper : "Fanny! Fanny!" There was no sound in answer but the loud ticking of Mr. Dombey's watch and Doctor Parker Peps's watch, wliich seemed in the silence to be ninning a race. "Fanny, my dear," said Mrs. Chick, with assumed lightness, "here's Mr. Dombey come to see you. Won't you speak to him ? They want to lay your Uttle boy — the baby, Fanny, you know ; yoii have hardly seen him yet, I think — ^in bed ; but they can't tiU you rouse yourself a little. Don't you tliink it 's time you roused yourself a little ? Eh ?" She bent her ear to the bed, and listened : at the same time looking round at the bystanders, and holding up her finger. 8 DOMBEY AND SON. "Ell?" she repeated, "what was it you said Fanny? I didn't hear you." No word or sound in answer, Mr. Dombey's watch and Dr. Parker Peps's watch seemed to be racing faster. "Now, really Fanny my dear," said the sister-in-law, altering her posi- tion, and speaking less confidently, and more earnestly, in spite of herself, " I shall have to be quite cross with, you, if you don't rouse yourself. It 's necessary for you to make an effort, and perhaps a very great and painfid effort wliich you are not disposed to make ; but this is a world of effort you know, Fanny, and we must never yield, when so much depends upon us. Come! Try! I must really scold you if you don't !" The race in the ensuing pause was fierce and furious. The w^atches seemed to jostle, and to trip each other up. " Fanny !" said Louisa, glancing round, with a gathering alarm. " Only look at me. Only open your eyes to show me that you hear and rmder- stand me ; wUl you? Good Heaven, gentlemen, Avhat is to be done 1" The two mediical attendants exchanged a look across the bed ; and the Physician, stooping doAvn, Avhispered in the chUd's ear. Not having under- stood the purport of his whisper, the little creatm-e turned her perfectly colourless face, and deep dark eyes towards him ; but without loosening her hold in the least. The wlusper was repeated. " Mama ! " said tlie child. The Httle voice, familiar and dearly loved, awakened some show of con- sciousness, even at that ebb. For a moment, the closed eye-lids trembled, and the nostril quivered, and the faintest shadow of a smile was seen. " Mama !" cried the child sobbing aloud. " Oh dear Mama! oh dear Mama!" The Doctor gently brushed the scattered ringlets of the child, aside from the face and mouth of the mother. Alas how calm they lay there ; how^ little breath there was to stir them ! Thus, clinging fast to that slight spar within her arms, the mother drifted out upon the dark and unknown sea that rolls round aU the world. CHAPTER II. IN WHICH TIMELY PROVISION IS MADE FOU AN EMERGENCY THAT WILL SOMETIMES ARISE IN THE BEST REGULATED FAMILIES. " I SHALL never cease to congi*atulate myself," said Mrs. Chick, " on liaving said, Avhen I little thought what was in store for us, — really as if I was inspired by something, — that I forgave poor dear Fanny everything. Whatever happens, that must always be a comfort to me !" Mrs. Chick made this impressive observation in the drawing-room, after having descended thither from the inspection of the Mantua-Makers up- stairs, w'\\o were busy on the family mourning. She delivered it for the l)ehoof of Mr. Chick, who was a stout bald gentleman, Avith a very large face, and his hands continually in his pockets, and who had a tendency in DOMBEY AND SON. 9 liis natui'e to whistle and hum tunes, which, sensible of the indecorum of such sounds in a house of grief, he Avas at some pains to repress at present. " Don't you over-exert yoiu-self, Loo," said jVIi". Chick, " or you 'U be laid up with spasms, I see. Eight tol loor rid ! Bless my soul, I forgot ! We 're here one day and gone the next !" Mrs. Chick contented herself with a glance of reproof, and then pro- ceeded Avith the thi-ead of her discourse. " I am sm'e," she said, " I hope this heart-rending occmTcnce AviU be a warning to aU of us, to accustom ourselves to rouse ourselves and to make efforts in time Avhere they 're required of us. There 's a moral in every- thing, if we Avoidd only avail ourselves of it. It AviU be om' OAvn faults if we lose sight of this one." Mr. Chick invaded the gi'ave silence Avhich ensued on this remark Avith the singidarly inappropriate air of ' A cobbler there Avas ; ' and checking himself, in some confusion, observed, that it was undoubtedly om' own faults if Ave didn't improve such melancholy occasions as the present. " Which might be better improved, I should think, Mr. C," retorted his helpmate, after a short pause, " than by the introduction, either of the coUege hornpipe, or the equally unmeaning and unfeeling remark of rump- te-iddity, boAV-wOAV-wow ! " — Avhich Mr. Cliick had indeed indidged in, under his breath, and AA^hich Mrs. Chick repeated in a tone of AA'ithering scorn. " Merely habit, my dear," pleaded Mi-. Chick. " Nonsense ! Habit !" returned his Avife. " If you 're a rational being, don't make such ridicidous excuses. Habit ! If I Avas to get a habit (as you call it) of Avalking on the ceiling, hke the flies, I shoidd hear enough of it, I dare say." It appeai-ed so probable that such a habit might be attended Avith some degree of notoriety, that Mr. Chick didn't ventm'c to dispute the position. " HoAV 's the Baby, Loo ? " asked Mi'. Chick : to change the subject. "What Baby do you mean?" answered Mi's. Cliick. " I am sure the morning I have had, Avith that dining-room doAvn stairs one mass of babies, no one in then* senses would believe." "One mass of babies!" repeated Mr. Chick, staring Avith an alarmed expression about him. " It would have occmTcd to most men," said Mrs. Chick, " that poor dear Fanny being no more, it becomes necessary to provide a Niuse." " Oh ! Ah ! " said Mr. Cliick. " Toor-rul — such is Ufe, I mean. I hope you are suited, my dear," " Indeed I am not," said Mrs. Chick ; " nor likely to be, so far as I can see. Meanwhile, of course, the child is — " " Going to the veiy Deuce," said Mi\ Chick, thoughtfully, " to be sure." Admonished, hoAvever, that he had committed himself, by the indignation expressed in Mi-s. Chick's countenance at the idea of a Dombey going there ; and thinking to atone for his misconduct by a bright suggestion, he added : " Couldn't something temporary be done Avith a teapot?" If he had meant to bring the subject prematurely to a close, he could not have done it more effectually. After looking at him for some moments in silent resignation, Mrs. Chick walked majestically to the AAandow and peeped through the bhnd, attracted by the sound of Avheels. Mr. Chick, 10 DOMBEY AND SON. finding that his destiny was, for the time, against him, said no more, and walked off. But it was not always thus with Mr. Cliick. He was often in the ascendant himself, and at those times punished Louisa roimdly. In their matrimonial bickerings they were, upon the whole, a weU-matched, fairly-balanced, give-and-take couple. It would have been, generally speaking, very difficult to have betted on the winner. Often when Mr. Chick seemed beaten, he woidd suddenly make a start, turn the tables, clatter them about the ears of Mrs. Chick, and carry all before him. Being liable himself to similar unlooked-for checks from IVIi's. Chick, theii' little contests usually possessed a chai-acter of imcertainty that was very animating. Miss Tox had arrived on the wheels just now alluded to, and came running into the room in a breatliless condition. " My dear Louisa," said Miss Tox, " is the vacancy stiU unsupplied?" " You good soul, yes," said Mrs. Cliick. "Then, my dear Louisa," returned Miss Tox, "I hope and believe — but in one moment, my dear, I '11 introduce the pai-ty." Eimning do-mi stall's again as fast as she had ran up, Miss Tox got the pai'ty out of the hackney coach, and soon retm'ned with it under convoy. It then appeared that she had used the word, not in its legal or business acceptation, when it merely expresses an individual, but as a noun of multitude, or signifying many : for ]\Iiss Tox escorted a plump rosy-cheeked wholesome apple-faced young woman, with an infant in her arms; a younger woman not so plump, but apple-faced also, who led a plump and apple- faced child in each hand ; another plump and also apple-faced boy who walked by himself ; and finally, a plump and apple-faced man, who earned in his aims another plump and apple-faced boy, whom he stood down on the floor, and admonished, in a husky whisper, to " kitch hold of his brother Johnny." "My dear Louisa," said Miss Tox, "knomng yom- great anxiety, and wishing to reheve it, I posted off myself to the Queen Charlotte's Eoyal Manied Pemales, which you had forgot, and put the question, Was there anybody there that they thought Avould suit ? No, they said there Avas not. WTien they gave me that answer, I do assure you, my dear, I was almost driven to despair* on yom* account. But it did so happen, that one of the Eoyal Mamed Females, hearing the inquhy, reminded the matron of another who had gone to her own home, and Avho, she said, would in all hkehhood be most satisfactoiy. The moment I heard this, and had it coiToborated by the matron — excellent references and unimpeachable character — I got the address, my dear, and posted off again." " Like the dear good Tox, you are ! " said Louisa. " Not at all," returned Miss Tox. " Don't say so. Arriving at the house (the cleanest place, my dear ! You might eat your dinner off the floor), I found the whole family sitting at table ; and feeling that no account of them could be half so comfortable to you and Mr. Dombey as the sight of them all together, I brought them all away. " This gentle- man," said Miss Tox, pointing out the apple-faced man, " is the father. WiU you have the goochiess to come a little fonvard. Sir ? " The apple-faced man having sheepishly complied Avith this request, stood chuckling and grinning in a front roAV. ^:C- ^^^. -^<#*j >^^- '>%. DOMBEY AND SON. 11 " This is his wife, of coivrse," said Miss Tox, singling out the young woman with the baby. " How do you do, Polly ? " " I 'm pretty well, I thank you. Ma'am," said Polly. By way of bringing her out dexterously. Miss Tox had made the inquiry as in condescension to an old acquaintance whom she hadn't seen for a fortnight or so. "I 'm glad to hear it," said Miss Tox. "The other yoimg woman is her unmaiTied sister who lives with them, and woidd take care of her children. Her name 's Jemima. How do you do, Jemima ? " " I 'm pretty well, I thank you, Ma'am," returned Jemima. " I 'm veiy glad indeed to hear it," said Miss Tox. " I hope you 'U keep so. Five children. Youngest six weeks. The fine little boy ^vith the blister on his nose is the eldest. The blister, I believe," said Miss Tox, looking round upon the family, " is not constitutional, but acci- dental?" The apple-faced man was understood to gi'owl, " Plat iron." " I beg yoiu- pardon. Sir," said IVIiss Tox, " did you? — " " Plat iron," he repeated. "Oh yes," said Miss Tox. "Yes ! quite true. I forgot. The little creatiu*e, in his mother's absence, smelt a waim flat iron. You 're quite right. Sir. You were going to have the goodness to infonn me, when we aiTived at the door, that you were by trade, a — " " Stoker," said the man. " A choker ! " said Miss Tox, quite aghast " Stoker," said the man. " Steam ingine " Oh-h ! Yes ! " retm-ned Miss Tox, looking thoughtftdly at him, and seeming still to have but a very imperfect understanding of his meaning. " And how do you hke it. Sir ? " " Wliich, Mum ? " said the man. " That," replied Mss Tox. " Yom- trade." " Oh ! Pretty well. Mum. The ashes sometimes gets in here ; " touching his chest ; " and makes a man speak grufi", as at the present time. But it is ashes, Mum, not crustiness." Miss Tox seemed to be so little enlightened by this reply, as to find a difficulty in pursuing the subject. But Mrs. Chick relieved her, by entering into a close private examination of PoUy, her children, her mar- riage certificate, testimonials, and so forth. Polly coming out unscathed fi'om this ordeal, Mrs. Chick T^athcbew with her report to her brother's room, and as an emphatic comment on it, and coiToboration of it, carried the two rosiest httle Toodles with her. Toodle being the family name of the apple-faced family. Mr. Dombey had remained in his own apartment since the death of his wife, absorbed in visions of the youth, education, and destination of his baby son. Sometliing lay at the bottom of his cool heart, colder and heavier than its ordinary load ; but it was more a sense of the child's loss than his own, awakening within lum an almost angiy sorrow. That the life and progi-ess on which he built such hopes, shovdd be endangered in the outset by so mean a want ; that Dombey and Son shoidd be tottering for a niu-se, was a sore humiliation. And yet in his pride and jealousy, he viewed ^vith so much bitterness the thought of heing dependent for the 3} 12 DOMBEY AND SON. veiy first step towards the accomplishment of his soul's desire, on a hired serving-woman Avho would be to the child, for the time, all that even Ids alliance could have made his own wife, that in every new rejection of a candidate he felt a secret pleasure. The time had now come, however, when he could no longer be divided between these two sets of feehngs. The less so, as there seemed to be no flaw in the title of Polly Toodle after liis sister had set it forth, with many commendations on the indefatigable friendship of Miss Tox. " These children look healthy," said Mr. Dombey. " But to think of their some day claiming a sort of relationship to Paid ! Take them away, Louisa ! Let me see this woman and her husband." Mrs. Chick bore off the tender pair of Toodles, and presently retm-ned with that tougher couple whose presence her brother had commanded. " My good woman," said Mr. Dombey turning romid in his easy chair, as one piece, and not as a man with limbs and joints, " I understand you are poor, and msli to earn money by nm-sing the little boy, my son, who has been so prematm-ely deprived of what can never be replaced. I have no objection to your adding to the comforts of yom* family by that means. So far as I can tell, you seem to be a deserving object. But I must impose one or two conditions on you, before you enter my house in that capacity. While you are here, I must stipulate that you are always known as — say as Kichards — an ordinary name, and convenient. Have you any objection to be known as Eichards ? You had better consult your husband." As the husband did nothing but chuckle and gi'in, and continually draw his right hand across his mouth, moistening the palm, ^frs. Toodle, after nudging him twice or thrice in vain, dropped a curtsey and replied " that perhaps if she was to be called out of her name, it woidd be considered in the wages." " Oh, of com*se," said 1VL-. Dombey. " I desire to make it a question of wages, altogether. Now Richards, if you nurse my bereaved child, I wish you to remember this always. You will receive a Uberal stipend in retura for the discharge of certain duties, in the performance of which, I wish you to see as little of yom* family as possible. When those duties cease to be required and rendered, and the stipend ceases to be paid, there is an end of all relations between us. Do you understand me ?" Mrs. Toodle seemed doubtful about it ; and as to Toodle himself, he had evidently no doubt whatever, that he was all abroad. " You have children of your own," said Mr. Dombey. " It is not at all in this bargain that you need become attached to my child, or that my child need become attached to you. I don't expect or desire anytliing of the kind. Quite the reverse. When you go away from here, you will have concluded what is a mere matter of bargain and sale, luring and letting : and will stay away. The child ^vill cease to remember you ; and you will cease, if you please, to remember the child." Mrs. Toodle, with a little more color in her cheeks than she had had before, said " she hoped she knew her place." " I hope you do, Richards," said Mr. Dombey. " I have no doubt you know it very AveU. Indeed it is so plain and obvious that it could hardly be otherwise. Louisa, my dear, an-ange wdth Richards about money, and DOMBEY AND SON. 13 let her have it when and how she pleases. Mr. what 's-your-name, a word with you, if yon please ! " Thus arrested on the threshold as he was folloAving his wife out of the room, Toodle returned and confronted Mr. Dombey alone. He was a strong, loose, ronnd-shoiddered, shidlling, shaggy fellow, on whom his clothes sat neghgently : with a good deal of hair and whisker, deepened in its natm-al thit, perhaps by smoke and coal-dust : hard knotty hands : and a square forehead, as coarse in grain as the bark of an oak. A thorough contrast in all respects, to ^Ii*. Dombey, who was one of those close- shaved close-cut monied gentlemen who are glossy and crisp like new bank notes, and who seem to be artificially braced and tightened as by the stimulating action of golden shower-baths. " You have a son I believe ?" said Mr. Dombey. " Four on 'em Sir. Four hims and a her. All alive !" " Why, it's as much as you can afford to keep them!" said Mr. Dombey. " I couldn't hardly afford but one thing in the world less, Sii-." "What is that?" " To lose 'em Sir." " Can you read?" asked Mr. Dombey. " Wliy, not partick'ler Su-." "Write?" "With chalk, Sir?" "With anything?" " I coidd make shift to chalk a little bit, I think, if I was put to it," said Toodle after some reflection. " And yet," said !Mr. Dombey, " you are two or three and thirty I suppose?" " Thereabouts, I suppose Sir," answered Toodle, after more reflection. " Then why don't you leara?" asked Mr. Dombey. " So I 'm a going to Sir. One of my little boys is agoing to learn me, when he 's old enough, and been to school himself." "Well!" said Mr. Dombey, after looking at him attentively, and A\'ith no great favoiu", as he stood gazing roimd the room (principally round the ceding) and stiU di'awing his hand across and across his mouth. " You heard what I said to yoiu* wife just now?" " Polly heerd it," said Toodle, jerking his hat over his shoidder in the direction of the door, with an air of perfect confidence in his better half. " It 's aU right." " As you appear to leave everything to her," said IVIi'. Dombey, fnis- trated in his intention of impressing his views still more distinctly on the husband, as the stronger character, " I suppose it is of no use my saying anytliing to vou." " Not a bit," said Toodle. " Polly heerd it. She 's awake Sir." " I won't detain you any longer then," returned Mr. Dombey disap- pointed. " Where have you worked aU your hfe ?" " Mostly underground Sir, 'till I got married. I come to the level then. I 'm a going on one of these here raih-oads when they comes into fidl play." As the last straw breaks the laden camel's back, this piece of under- gi'ound information crushed the sinking spirits of Mi-. Dombey. He 14 DOMBEY AND SON. motioned Ms child's foster-father to the door, who departed by no means miwillingly : and then tmiiing the key, paced up and down the room in solitary wretchedness. For all liis starched, impenetrable dignity and composm-e, he wiped blinding tears from liis eyes as he did so ; and often said, Avith an emotion of which he woidd not, for the world, have had a witness, " Poor httle fellow !" It may have been characteristic of Mi*. Dombey's pride, that he pitied himself through the child. Not poor me. Not poor widower, confiding by constraint in the wife of an ignorant Hind who has been working ' mostly midergi-oimd ' aU his Ufe, and yet at whose door Death has never knocked, and at whose poor table foui- sons daily sit — but poor little feUow ! Those words being on his Ups, it occmTed to him — and it is an instance of the strong attraction with which his hopes and fears and aU his thoughts were tending to one centre — that a great temptation was being placed in this woman's way. Her infant was a boy too. Now, would it be possible for her to change them ? Though he was soon satisfied that he had dismissed the idea as romantic and unlikely — though possible, there was no denying — ^he could not help piusuing it so far as to entertain within himself a pictm'e of what his con- dition would be, if he should discover such an impostiue when he was grown old. Whether a man so situated, woidd be able to pluck away the result of so many years of usage, confidence, and belief, from the im- postor, and endow a stranger with it ? As his unusual emotion subsided, these misgivings gradually melted away, though so much of then' shadow remained behind, that he was con- stant in his resolution to look closely after Richards himself, -without appealing to do so. Being now in an easier frame of mind, he regarded the woman's station as rather an advantageous cu'cumstance than other- wise, by placing, in itself, a broad distance between her and the child, and rendering their separation easy and natm'al. Meanwhile terms Avere ratified and agreed upon between Mrs. Chick and Eichards, with the assistance of Miss Tox ; and Eichai'ds being with much ceremony invested with the Dombey baby, as if it were an Order, resigned her own, with many tears and kisses, to Jemima. Glasses of wine were then produced, to sustain the drooping spirits of the family. "You'll take a glass yourself, Su-, Avon't you?" said Miss Tox, as Toodle appeared. "Thankee, Mum," said Toodle, "since you are suppressing." " And you 're very glad to leave yom- dear good wife in such a comfort- able home, aint you, Sii- ? " said IVliss Tox, nodding and winking at him stealthily. " No, Mum," said Toodle. " Here 's wishing of her back agin." PoUy cried more than ever at this. So Mi's. Chick, who had her matronly apprehensions that this indidgence in grief might be prejudicial to the little Dombey (" acid, indeed," she whispered Miss Tox), hastened to the rescue. "Your little child wdl thi'ive charmingly with yom- sister Jemima, Eichai-ds," said INIrs. Chick ; " and you have oidy to make an efl'ort — this is a world of efi'ort, you know, Richards — to be very happy indeed. Y'ou have been ah-eady measm-ed for your mourning, haven't you, Eichards ? " DOMBEY AND SON. 15 " Ye — yes, ma'am," sobbed Polly. " And it '11 fit beautiMly, I know," said IVIi-s. Cliick, " for the same young person has made me many dresses. The very best materials, too ! " " Lor, you '11 be so smart," said Miss Tox, " that yom* husband won't know you ; wiU you, Sii* ? '■' " I should know her," said Toodle, giniffly, " anyhows and anywheres." Toodle was evidently not to be bought over. " As to living, Eichards, you know," pm-sued Mrs. Cliick, " why, the very best of everything will be at your disposal. You will order yom* little dinner eveiy day ; and anything you take a fancy to, I 'm sure will be as readily provided as if you were a Lady." "Yes, to be sure!" said Miss Tox, keeping up the ball with great sympathy. " And as to porter ! — quite unlimited, will it not, Louisa ? " "Oh, certainly!" retm-ned Mrs. Chick in the same tone. "With a little abstinence, you know, my dear, in point of vegetables." " And pickles, perhaps," suggested Miss Tox. " With such exceptions," said Louisa, " she '11 consult her choice entirely, and be under no restraint at all, my love." " And then, of course, you know," said Miss Tox, " however fond she is of her OAvn dear little child — and I 'm sm'e, Louisa, you don't blame her for being fond of it ? " " Oh no ! " cried Mrs. Chick benignantly. " Still," resumed Miss Tox, " she natm-ally must be interested in her young charge, and must consider it a privilege to see a little cherub closely connected with the superior classes, gradually unfolding itself from day to day at one common fountain. Is it not so, Louisa ? " " Most undoubtedly ! " said Mi-s. Chick. " You see, my love, she 's akeady quite contented and comfortable, and means to say good-bye to her sister Jemima and her little pets, and her good honest husband, with a light heart and a smde, don't she, my dear ? " " Oh yes ! " cried Miss Tox. " To be sm-e she does ! " NotAvithstanding which, however, poor Polly embraced them aU round in gi-eat distress, and finally ran away to avoid any more particular leave- taking between herself and the children. But the stratagem hai'dly succeeded as well as it deserved ; for the smallest boy but one divining her intent, immediately began swarming up stairs after her — if that word of doubtful etymology be admissible — on his arms and legs; while the eldest (known in the family by the name of BUer, in remembrance of the steam engine) beat a demoniacal tattoo with his boots, expressive of grief; in which he was joined by the rest of the family. A quantity of oranges and halfpence, thrust indiscriminately on each young Toodle, checked the fii-st violence of their regi-et, and the family were speedily transported to their own home, by means of the hackney- coach kept in waiting for that purpose. The chilcken under the guardian- ship of Jemima, blocked up the Avindow, and dropped out oranges and halfpence all the way along. Mr. Toodle himself preferred to ride behind among the spikes, as being the mode of conveyance to which he was best accustomed. 16 DOMBEY AND SON. CHAPTER III. IN WHICH MK. DOMBEY, AS A MAN AND A FATHER, IS SEEN AT THE HEAD OF THE HOME-DEPAKTMENT. The funeral of the deceased lady having been "performed," to the entire satisfaction of the undertaker, as weU as of the neighbourhood at large, which is generally disposed to be captious on such a point, and is prone to take offence at any omissions or short-comings in the ceremonies, the various members of JIi'. Dombey's household subsided into their several places in the domestic system. That small world, like the great one out of doors, had the capacity of easily forgetting its dead ; and when the cook had said she was a quiet-tempered lady, and the house-keeper had said it was the common lot, and the butler had said who 'd have thought it, and the housemaid had said she couldn't hardly believe it, and the footman had said it seemed exactly like a dream, they had quite worn the subject out, and began to think theii* mom-ning was wearing rusty too. On Eichards, Avho was established up-stairs in a state of honom'able captivity, the dawn of her new life seemed to break cold and grey. Mr. Dombey's house was a large one, on the shady side of a taU, dark, dread- fully genteel street in the region between Portland-place and Biyanstone- square. It was a corner house, with great wide areas containing cellars frowned upon by banned windows, and leered at by crooked-eyed doors leading to dustbinns. It was a house of dismal state, with a circular back to it, containing a whole suit of drawing-rooms looking upon a gravelled yard, where two gaunt trees, with blackened trunks and branches, rattled rather than rustled, their leaves were so smoke-di'ied. The summer sun was never on the street, but in the morning about breakfast time, when it came Avith the water-carts and the old clothes-men, and the people with geranimns, and the umbrella mender, and the man who trilled the little beU of the Dutch clock as he Avent along. It was soon gone again to return no more that day ; and the bands of music and the straggling Punch's shows going after it, left it a prey to the most dismal of organs, and white mice ; with now and then a porcupine, to vary the entertain- ments ; until the butlers whose families were dining out, began to stand at the house doors in the twilight, and the lamp-lighter made his nightly fadm-e in attempting to brighten up the street with gas. It Avas as blank a house inside as outside. When the funeral was over, Mr. Dombey ordered the furnitiu-e to be covered up — perhaps to preserve it for the son Avith Avhom his plans Avere all associated — and the rooms to be ungarnished, saving such as he retained for himself on the grouiul Hoor. Accordingly, mysterious shapes Avere made of tables and chairs, heaped together in the middle of rooms, and covered over Avith great Avinding- sheets. Bell -handles, AvindoAV -blinds, and looking-glasses, being papered up in jom-nals, daily and Aveekly, obtruded fragmentary accounts of deaths and dreadfid mm-ders. Every chandelier or lustre, muffled in holland, looked like a monstrous tear depending from the ceiling's eye. Odom-s, DOMBEY AND SON. 17 as from vaults and clamp places, came out of tlie cliimneys. The dead and buried lady Avas awful in a pictm'e-frame of ghastly bandages. Every gust of wind that rose, brought eddying roimd the corner from the neigh- bouring mews, some fragments of the straw that had been strewn before the house when she was iU, mildewed remains of which were stiU cleaving to the neighbom-hood : and these, being always di-awn by some invisible attraction to the tlu-eshold of the dirty house to let immediately opposite, addressed a dismal eloquence to 'Mr. Dombey's windows. The apartments which Mr. Dombey reserved for his own inhabiting, Avere attainable from the haU, and consisted of a sitting-room ; a library, which was in fact a di-essing-room, so that the smell of hot-pressed paper, veUum, inorocco, and Russia leather, contended in it with the smell of divers pairs of boots ; and a kind of conservatory or little glass breakfast- room beyond, commanding a prospect of the trees before mentioned, and, generally speaking, of a few proAvling cats. These three rooms opened upon one another. In the morning, Avhen Mi\ Dombey was at his breakfast in one or other of the two first mentioned of them, as well as in the afternoon when he came home to dinner, a bell was rung for Richards to repau- to this glass chamber, and there walk to and fro Avith her young charge. From the glimpses she caught of IVIr. Dombey at these times, sitting in the dark distance, looking out tOAvards tlie infant from among the dark heavy fiu-nitm'e — the house had been inhabited for years by his father, and in many of its appointments was old-fashioned and grim — she began to entertain ideas of him in his solitaiy state, as if he Avere a lone prisoner in a cell, or a strange appaiition that Avas not to be accosted or understood. Little Paid Dombey's foster-mother had led this life herself, and had canied little Paul tlu'ough it for some Aveeks ; and had retmiied up stairs one day from a melancholy saunter thi'ough the di'eary rooms of state (she never went out Avithout IVIi's. Chick, Avho called on fine mornings, usually accompanied by Miss Tox, to take her and Paby for an airing — or in other words, to march them gi-avely up and doAvn the pavement, like a Avalking fimeral) ; when, as she Avas sitting in her oAvn room, the door Avas sloAvly and quietly opened, and a dark-eyed little gui looked in. " It 's Miss Florence come home from her amit's, no doubt," thought Richards, Avho had never seen the child before. " Hope I see you AveU Miss." " Is that my brother ? " asked the child, pointing to the Baby. " Yes my pretty," ansAvered Richards. " Come and kiss him." But the child, instead of advancing, looked her earnestly in the face,, and said : " WTiat have you done Avith my Mama ? " " Lord bless the little creeter 1 " cried Richards, " Avhat a sad question ! I done ? Nothing Miss." " What have thei/ done Avith my Mama ? " inquired the child, " I never saAv such a melting thing in aU my life ! " said Richards, Avho natm-aUy substituted for this cliild one of her OAvn, inquiring for herself in like circumstances. " Come nearer here my dear IVIiss ! Don't be afraid of me." "I am not afraid of you," said the child, di-awing nearer. "But I Avant to knoAv what they have done with my Mama." c 18 DOMBEY AND SON. "My dai'ling," said Eichards, "you wear that pretty black frock in remembrance of vom- Mama." " I can remember my Mama," returned the child, with tears springing to her eyes, "in any frock." " But people put on black, to remember peoj)le when they 're gone." " Where gone?" asked the cliild. " Come and sit down by me," said Kichards, " and I '11 tell vou a story." With a quick perception that it was intended to relate to what she had asked, little Florence laid aside the bonnet she had held in her hand imtil now, and sat down on a stool at the Nurse's feet, looking up into her face. " Once upon a time," said Eichards, " there was a lady — a veiy good lady, and her Httle daughter dearly loved her." " A very good lady and her little daughter dearly loved her," repeated the child. " Who, when Grod thought it right that it should be so, was taken iU and died." The child shuddered. " Died, never to be seen again by any one on earth, and was buried in the ground where the trees grow." " The cold gromid," said the child shuddering again. " No ! The warm ground," retmiied Polly, seizing her advantage, " where the ugly little seeds turn into beautifid ilowers, and into gi'ass, and corn, and I don't know what all besides. Wliere good people tm'n into bright angels, and fly away to Heaven!" The child, who had di-ooped her head, raised it again, and sat looking at her intently. " So ; let me see," said PoUy, not a little tiurried between this earnest scrutiny, her desire to comfort the cluld, her sudden success, and her very shght confidence in her own powers. " So, when this lady died, wherever they took her, or wherever they put her, she went to God ! and she prayed to Him, this lady did," said PoUy, affecting herself beyond mea- sure ; being heartily in earnest, " to teach her little daiighter to be siu:e of that in her heart : and to know that she was happy there and loved her stiU : and to hope and try — Oh all her life — to meet her there one day, never, never, never to part any more." " It was my Mama ! " exclaimed the cliild, springing up, and clasping her roimd the neck. " And the child's heart," said PoUy, di-aAvmg her to her breast : " the little daughter's heart, was so full of the truth of this, that even when she heard it fi'om a strange nm-se that couldn't tell it right, but Avas a poor mother herself, and that was all, she found a comfort in it — didn't feel so lonely — sobbed and cried upon her bosom — took kindly to the baby lying in her lap — and — there, there, there!" said Polly, smoothing the child's cm-Is and dropping tears upon them. " There, poor dear !" " Oh AveU Miss Floy ! And won't yom' Pa be angry neither ! " cried a quick voice at the door, proceeding from a short, brown, womanly girl of fom-teen, with a Httle snub nose, and black eyes like jet beads. " When it was 'tickerlerly given out that you wasn't to go and worrit the M^et nm-se." DOMBEY AND SON. 19 " She don't woriy me," was the sui-prised rejoinder of Polly. " I am veiy fond of children." " Oh ! but begging yonr pardon, Mrs. Eichards, that don't matter you know," returned the black-eyed girl, who was so desperately shai-p and biting that she seemed to make one's eyes water. " I may be very fond of pennywinkles Mi's. Eichards, but it don't foUoAV that I 'm to have 'em for tea." " Well, it don't matter," said Polly. "Oh, thank'e Mrs. Eichards, don't it!" returned the sharp gu-1. " Eemembering, however, if you '11 be so good, that Miss Ploy 's under my charge, and Master Paid 's under your'n." " But still we needn't quaii'el," said Polly. " Oh no, Mrs. Eichards," rejoined Spitfire. " Not at all, I don't wish it, we needn't stand upon that footing. Miss Ploy being a peraianency. Master Paul a temporaiy." Spitfire made use of none but comma pauses ; shooting out whatever she had to say ui one sentence, and in one breath, if possible. " Miss Florence has just come home, hasn't she ?" asked PoUy. " Yes, Mi's. Eichards, just come home, and here, Miss Ploy, before you 've been in the house a quarter of an horn*, you go a smearing your wet face against the expensive mourning that Mrs. Eichards is a wearing for yoiu* Ma ! " With this remonstrance, yoimg Spitfii'e, whose real name was Susan Nipper, detached the child from her new friend by a wrench — as if she were a tooth. But she seemed to do it, more in tlie exces- sively sharp exercise of her official functions, than with any deliberate imkindness. " She '11 be quite happy, now she has come home again," said Polly, nodding to her ^v'ith an encouraging smile upon her wholesome face, " and will be so pleased to see her dear Papa to-night." " Cork, Mrs. Eichards !" cried Miss Nipper, taking up her words with a jerk. " Don't. See her dear Papa indeed ! I should like to see her doit!" " Won't she then ? " asked PoUy. " Lork, Mrs. Eichards, no, her Pa 's a deal too ^vi-appedup in somebody else, and before there was a somebody else to be Avrapped up in she never was a favorite, gii'ls are throAvn away in this house, Mrs. Eichards, / assure you.'* The child looked quickly from one nm'se to the other, as if she under- stood and felt Avhat was said, "You sui-prise me!" cried Polly. "Hasn't Mr. Dombey seen her since — " " No," iuten-upted Susan Nipper. " Not once since, and he hadn't hardly set his eyes upon her before that for months and months, and I don't think he 'd have known her for his own child if he had met her in the streets, or would know her for his own child if he was to meet her in the streets to-morrow, IVIi-s. Eichards, as to me" said Spitiire, with a giggle, " I doubt if he 's aweer of my existence." "Pretty dear!" said Eichards j meaning, not Miss Nipper, but the little Florence. " Oh ! there 's a Tartar within a hundred miles of where we 're now iu c 2 20 DOMBEY AND SON. conversation, I can tell you, Mrs. Ricliards, present company always ex- cepted too," said Susan Nipper ; " wish you good morning, Mrs. Richards, now Miss Floy, you come along with me, and don't go hanging back hke a naughty wicked child that judgments is no example to, don't !" In spite of being thus adjui-ed, and in spite also of some haiding on the part of Susan Nipper, tending towards the dislocation of her right shoidder, little Florence broke away, and kissed her new friend, affectionately. "Goodbye!" said the child. " God bless you! I shall come to see you again soon, and you 'U come to see me ? Susan will let us. Won't you, Susan?" Spitfire seemed to be in the main a good-natured little body, although a disciple of that school of trainers of the young idea Avhich holds that child- hood, hke money, must be shaken and rattled and jostled about a good deal to keep it bright. For, being thus appealed to with some endearing gestures and caresses, she folded her small arms and shook her head, and conveyed a relenting expression into her very-wide-open black eyes. " It ain't right of you to ask it. Miss Floy, for you know I can't refuse you, but Mrs. Eichards and me vnR see what can be done, if Mrs. Richards Hkes, I may -wish, you see, to take a voyage to Chancy, Mrs. Richards, but I mayn't know how to leave the London Docks." Richards assented to the proposition. "Tliis house ain't so exactly ringing with merry-making," said Miss Nipper, " that one need be loneHer than one must be. Tour Toxes and your Chickses may di'aAv out my two front double teeth, INIrs. Richards, but that 's no reason why I need offer 'em the whole set." This proposition was also assented to by Richards, as an obvious one. " So I 'm agreeable, I 'm siu'e," said Susan Nipper, " to live friendly, Mrs. Richards, wliile Master Paul continues a permanency, if the means can be planned out without going openly against orders, but goodness gi'acious ME, Miss Floy, you haven't got youi" things oft" yet, you naughty child, you haven't, come along ! " With these words, Susan Nipper, in a transport of coercion, made a charge at her young ward, and swept her out of the room. The child, in her grief and neglect, was so gentle, so cpiiet, and imcom- plaining ; was possessed of so nmch affection that no one seemed to care to have, and so much sorroAvfid intelligence that no one seemed to mind or think about the wounding of; that Polly's heart was sore when she Avas left alone again. In the simple passage that had taken place between her- self and the motherless little girl, her own motherly heart had been touched no less than the child's ; and she felt, as the child did, that there was some- thing of confidence and interest between them from that moment. Notwithstanchng Mr. Toodle's gi-eat rehance on Polly, she was perhaps in point of artificial accompUshments veiy little his superior. But she was a good plain sample of a natm'e that is ever, in the mass, better, truer, higher, nobler, quicker to feel, and much more constant to retain, aU ten- derness and pity, self-denial and devotion, than the nature of men. And perhaps, unlearned as she w^as, she could have brought a dawning know^- ledge home to Mr. Dombey at that early day, which wo\dd not then have struck him in the end like lightning. But this is from the piirpose. Polly only thought, at that time, of im- DOMBEY AND SON. 21 proving on her siiccessM propitiation of IMiss Nipper, and devising some means of having Uttle Florence beside her, lawfully, and without rebellion. An opening happened to present itself that veay night. She had been rung down into the glass room as usual, and had walked about and about it a long time, with the baby in her arms, when, to her gi-eat sm"prise and dismay, Mi\ Dombey came out, suddenly, and stopped before her. " Good evening, Eichards." Just the same austere, stiff gentleman, as he had appeared to her on that first day. Such a hard-looking gentleman, that she involuntarily di'opped her eyes and her curtsey at the same time. " How is Master Paid, Eichards ?" " Quite thriving. Sir, and well." " He looks so," said Mr. Dombey, glancing with great interest at the tiny face she uncovered for his observation, and yet affecting to be half careless of it. " They give you everything you want, I hope?" " Oh yes, thank you Sir." She suddenly appended such an obvious hesitation to this reply, how- ever, that 'Mx. Dombey, who had tmiied away, stopped, and turned round again, inquiringly. " I believe nothing is so good for making children lively and cheerful Sir, as seeing other children playing about 'em," observed Polly, taking covu-age. " I tliink I mentioned to you, Eichards, when you came here," said Mr. Dombey, with a frown, " that I wished you to see as little of your family as possible. You can continue your walk if you please." With that, he disappeared into his inner room ; and Polly had the satis- faction of feeling that he had thoroughly misunderstood her object, and that she had fallen into disgrace without the least advancement of her piu*pose. Next night, she found him walking about the conservatoiy when she came doAvn. As she stopped at the door, checked by tliis unusual sight, and \mcertain whether to advance or retreat, he called her in. " If you really think that sort of society is good for the child," he said sharply, as if there had been no interval since she proposed it, " where 's Miss Plorence?" " Nothing could be better than Miss Florence Sii*," said Polly eagerly, " but I understood from her little maid that they were not to — " Mr. Dombey rang the beU, and walked till it was answered. "TeU them always to let -Miss Florence be with Eichards w^hen she chooses, and go out ynih. her, and so forth. Tell them to let the cluldreu be together, wiien Eichards Avishes it." The iron was now hot, and Eichards striking on it boldly — it was a good cause and she was bold in it, though instinctively afraid of Mr. Dombey — requested that Miss Florence might be sent down then and there, to make friends Avith her little brother. She feigned to be dandling the child as the servant retii'ed on this en-and, but she thought she saw that Mr. Dombey's colour changed ; that the ex- pression of his face qixite altered ; that he turned, hurriedly, as if to gainsay what he had said, or she had said, or both, and was onlv'deten-ed bv very shame. 22 DOMBEY AND SON. And she was right. The last time he had seen liis shghted chUd, there had been that in the sad embrace between her and her dying mother, which was at once a revelation and a reproach to him. Let him be absorbed as he would in the Son on whom he built such high hopes, he could not forget that closing scene. He coidd not forget that he had had no part in it. That, at the bottom of its clear depths of tenderness and truth, lay those two figures clasped in each other's arms, while he stood on the bank above them, looking down a mere spectator — ^not a sharer with them — quite shut out. Unable to exclude these things fi'om liis remembrance, or to keep his mind free from such imperfect shapes of the meaning with which they were fraught, as were able to make themselves visible to him through the mist of liis pride, liis previous feebng of indiiference towards httle Florence changed into an uneasiness of an extraordinary kind. He almost felt as if she watched and distrusted him. As if she held the clue to something secret in his breast, of the nature of which he was hardly informed Idmself. As if she had an innate knowledge of one jarring and discordant string witliin him, and her vei-v breath could sound it. His feeUng about the child had been negative from her bii-th. He had never conceived an aversion to her ; it had not been worth his while or in his humom". She had never been a positively disagi-eeable object to him. But now he was ill at ease about her. She troubled his peace. He woidd have preferred to put her idea aside altogether, if he had known how. Perhaps — who shall decide on such mysteries !— he was afraid that he might come to hate her. When httle Florence timidly presented herself, Mr. Dombey stopped in his pacing up and down and looked towards her. Had he looked with greater interest and Avith a father's eye, he might have read in her keen glance the impulses and fears that made her waver ; the passionate desire to nm clinging to liim, crying, as she hid her face in his embrace, " Oh father, tiy to love me ! there 's no one else ! " the di-ead of a repulse ; the fear of being too bold, and of offending him ; the pitiable need in which she stood of some assm-ance and encom-agement ; and how her overcharged yovmg heart was wandering to find some natm-al resting-place, for its soitow and affection. But he saw nothing of this. He saw her pause irresolutely at the door and look towards him ; and he saw no more. " Come in," he said, " come in : what is the child afi-aid of?" She came in ; and after glancing round her for a moment with an im- certain air, stood pressing her small hands hard together, close within the door. *' Come here, Florence," said her father, coldly. " Do you know who lam?" " Yes Papa." " Have you notlung to say to me ?" The tears that stood in her eyes as she raised them quickly to his face, were frozen by the expression it wore. She looked down again, and put out her trembhng hand. Mr. Dombey took it loosely in his own, and stood looking down upon her for a moment as if he knew as little as the child, what to say or do. - # n J- ,■ !!■., i;|^t, '"A ayAe (^'• ^ DOMBEY AND SON. 23 " There ! Be a good gii'l," he said, patting her on the head, and re- garding her as it were by stealth with a disturbed and doubtM look. " Go toEiehards! Go!" His little daughter hesitated for another instant as though she woidd have clung about him stUl, or had some lingering hope that he might raise her in his arms and kiss her. She looked up in his face once more. He thought how like her expression was then, to what it had been when she looked round at the Doctor — that night — and instinctively dropped her hand and turned away. It was not difficxdt to perceive that Florence was at a great disadvantage in her father's presence. It was not oidy a constraint upon the child's mind, but even upon the natm'al gi'ace and freedom of her actions. Still, PoUy persevered Avith aU the better heart for seeing this ; and, judging of Mr. Dombey by herself, had great confidence in the mute appeal of poor little Florence's moui'ning di-ess. " It 's hard indeed," thought PoUy, " if he takes only to one Kttle motherless child, when he has another, and that a girl, before his eyes." So, Polly kept her before liis eyes, as long as she could, and managed so well with little Paul, as to make it very plain that he was aU the livelier for his sister's company. When it was time to withdraw up stairs again, she woidd have sent Florence into the inner room to say good-night to her father, but the cliUd was timid and drew back ; and when she vu'ged her again, said, spreading her hands before her eyes, as if to shut out her own nnworthiness, " Oh no no ! He don't want me. He don't want me ! " The little altercation between them had attracted the notice of Mr. Dombey, who inquired from the table where he was sitting at his wine, what the matter was. " Miss Florence Avas afraid of iutennipting. Sir, if she came in to say good-night," said Eieliards. "It doesn't matter," returned Mr. Dombey. "You can let her come and go without regarding me." The cliild shrunk as she listened — and was gone, before her humble friend looked round again. However, Polly triumphed not a little in the success of her well- intentioned scheme, and in the addi-ess with which she had brought it to bear : whereof she made a fuU disclosm'e to Spitfire when she was once more safely entrenched up stairs. Miss Nipper received that proof of her confidence, as well as the prospect of their free association for the futm-e, rather coldly, and was anything but enthusiastic in her demonstra- tions of joy. " I thought you would have been pleased," said Polly, " Oh yes Mrs. Eichards, I 'm very well pleased, thank you," returned Susan, Avho had suddenly become so veiy upright that she seemed to have put an additional bone in her stays. " You don't shoAV it," said Polly. " Oh ! Being only a permanency I couldn't be expected to show it like a temporary," said Susan Nipper. " Temporaries carries it all before 'em here, I find, but though there 's a excellent party-wall between tlus house and the next, I mayn't exactly like to go to it, ^Irs. Eichards, notAvithstanding ! " 24 DOMBEY AND SON. CHAPTER IV. IN WHICH SOME MOBE FIRST APPEARANCES ARE MADE ON THE STAGE OP THESE ADVENTURES. Though the offices of Dombey and Son were within the liberties of the city of London, and within hearing of Bow Bells, when their clasliing voices were not dro^Tied by the uproar in the streets, yet were there hints of adventurous and romantic story to be observed in some of the adjacent objects. Gog and Magog held their state ^vitliin ten minutes' walk ; the Eoyal Exchange was close at hand ; the Bank of England with its vaults of gold and silver " down among the dead men " undergTound, was theu' magnificent neighbour. Just round the corner stood the rich East India House, teeming with suggestions of precious stuifs and stones, tigers, elephants, howdahs, hookahs, umbrellas, palm trees, palanquins, and gor- geous princes of a brown complexion sitting on cai-pets with theii' slippers very much turned up at the toes. Anywhere in the immediate vicinity there might be seen pictm'cs of ships speeding away fidl sail to all parts of the world ; outfitting warehouses ready to pack off anybody anywhere, fully equipped in half an hour ; and little timber midshipmen in obsolete naval uniforms, eternally employed outside the shopdoors of nautical instru- ment-makers in taking observations of the hackney coaches. Sole master and proprietor of one of these effigies - — of that which might be called, familiarly, the woodenest — of that which thrust itself out above the pavement, right leg foremost, Avith a suavity the least endurable, and had the shoe buckles and flapped waistcoat the least reconcUeable to human rea- son, and bore at its right eye the most offensively disproportionate piece of machinery — sole master and proprietor of that midshipman, and proud of liim too, an elderly gentleman in a Welsh wig had paid house-rent, taxes, rates, and dues, for more years than many a fuU-grown midsliipmau of flesh and blood has numbered in his life ; and midshipmen who have attained a pretty gi'eeu old age, have not been wanting in the English navy. Tlie stock in trade of this old gentleman comprised cluonometers, baro- meters, telescopes, compasses, charts, maps, sextants, quadi'ants, and specimens of every kind of instrument used in the working of a ship's com'se, or the keeping of a ship's reckoning, or the prosecuting of a ship's discoveries. Objects in brass and glass were in his drawers and on his shelves, which none but the initiated coidd have found the top of, or guessed the use of, or having once examined, could have ever got back again into their mahogony nests without assistance. Everything was jammed into the tightest cases, fitted into the narrowest corners, fenced up beliind the most impertinent cushions, and screwed into the acutest angles, to prevent its philosophical composure from being distm-bed by the rolling of the sea. Such extraordinaiy precautions were taken in eveiy instance to save room, and keep the tiling compact ; and so much practical navigation was fitted, and cushioned, and screwed, into every box (whether the box was a mere DOMBEY AND SON. 25 slab, as some were, or something between a cocked liat and a star-fish, as others Avere, and those quite niikl and modest boxes as compared with others) ; that the shop itself, partaking of the general infection, seemed almost to become a snug, sea-going, ship-shape concern, wanting only good sea-room, in the event of an unexpected launch, to work its way secm-ely, to any desert island in the world. Many minor incidents in the household life of the Ships' Instrument maker Avho was proud of his little midshipman, assisted and bore out this fancy. His acquaintance lying chiefly among ship-chandlers and so forth, he had always plenty of the veritable ships' biscuit on his table. It was familiar with dried meats and tongues, possessing an extraordinaiy flavour of rope yam. Pickles were produced upon it, in great wholesale jars, with " dealer in aU kinds of Ships' Provisions " on the label ; spirits were set forth in case bottles with no throats. Old prints of sliips with alphabetical references to their various mysteries, hung in frames upon the walls ; the Tartar Frigate under weigh, was on the plates ; outlandish shells, seaweeds, and mosses, decorated the chimney-piece ; the little wainscotted back parlom- was lighted by a skylight, like a cabin. Here he hved too, in skipper-like state, aU. alone yntlx his nephew Walter : a boy of fourteen who looked quite enough Hke a midshipman, to cany out the prevailing idea. But there it ended, for Solomon GDIs himself (more generally called old Sol) was far from having a maritime appearance. To say nothing of his Welsh Avig, which was as plain and stubborn a Welsh wig as ever was worn, and in which he looked like anything but a Kover, he was a slow, quiet-spoken, thoughtfid old fellow, with eyes as red as if they had been small suns looking at you through a fog ; and a newly awakened manner, such as he might have acquired by having stared for three or fom* days successively, through eveiy optical instrument in liis shop, and suddenly come back to the world again, to find it gi-een. The only change ever known in his outward man, was fi"om a complete suit of coffee-color cut very square, and ornamented with glaring buttons, to the same suit of coffee-color minus the inexpressibles, which were then of a pale nankeen. He wore a very precise shirt-frUl, and carried a pair of first-rate spectacles on his forehead, and a tremendous clu'onometer in his fob, rather than doubt which precious possession, he would have believed in a conspiracy against it on the part of all the clocks and watches in the city, and even of the very Sun itself. Such as he was, such he had been in the shop and parlor behind the little midshipman, for years upon years : going regularly aloft to bed every night in a hoAvling garret remote from the lodgers, where, when gentlemen of England Avho lived below at ease had little or no idea of the state of the weather, it often blew great guns. It is half-past five o'clock, and an aiitmnn afternoon, when the reader and Solomon GiUs become acquainted. Solomon Gills is in the act of seeing what time it is by the unimpeachable chi'onometer. The usual daily clearance has been making in the city for an horn* or more ; and the human tide is still rolling westward. ' The streets have thinned,' as INIr. GiUs says, 'veiy much.' It tlireatens to be wet to-night. AU the weather glasses in the shop are in low spirits, and the rain already shines upon the cocked hat of the wooden midsliipman. " Where's Walter, I wonder ! " said Solomon Gills, after he had carefully 26 DOMBEY AND SON. put up the clironometer again. " Here's dinner been ready, lialf an hour, and no Walter ! " Turning round upon his stool behind the counter, Mr. Gills looked out among the instruments in the window, to see if his nephew might be crossing the road. No. He was not among the bobbing umbrellas, and he certainly was not the newspaper boy in the oilskin cap Avho was slowly working lus way along the piece of brass outside, writing his name over Ml'. GiUs's name with his forefinger. " If I didn't know he was too fond of me to make a ran of it, and go and enter liimself aboard ship against my -wishes, I should begin to be fidgetty," said Mi*. GiUs, tapping two or three weather glasses with his knuckles. " I reaUy should. All in the Downs, eh ? Lots of moistm-e ! Well! it 's Avanted.'' "I believe," said Mr. Gills, blowing the dust off the glass top of a compass case, " that you don't point more dii-ect and due to the back parlour than the boy's incbnation does after aU. And the parlour couldn't bear straighter either. Due north. Not the twentieth part of a point either way." "HaUoa uncle Sol!" " HaUoa my boy !" cried the Instrument Maker, turning briskly round. " What ! you are here, are you ! " A cheerfid looking, merry boy, fresh with nmning home in the rain; fair- faced, bright-eyed, and curly-haii-ed. "Well uncle, how have you got on without me all day! Is dinner ready? I 'm so hungry." "As to getting on," said Solomon good-natiu-edly, "it would be odd if I couldn't get on without a young dog like you a gi-eat deal better than with you. As to dinner being ready, it 's been ready this half-horn- and waiting for you. As to being hungiy, / am ! " "Come along then, uncle ! " cried the boy. " Hirrrah for the admu-al ! " "Confound the admiral!" retmned Solomon GiUs. "You mean the Lord Mayor." " No I don't !" cried the boy. " Hurrah for the admiral. Hmi'ah for the admiral ! For— ward ! " At this word of command, the Welsh wig and its wearer were borne without resistance into the back parlom-, as at the head of a boarding pai-ty of five hundi-ed men ; and uncle Sol and his nephew were speedily engaged on a fided sole with a prospect of steak to follow. " The Lord Mayor, Wally," said Solomon, " for ever ! No more admii-als. The Lord Mayor 's your admii-al." " Oh, is he though ! " said the boy, shaking his head. _ " Why, the Sword Bearer 's better than him. He draws 7«'.s sword sometimes." "And a pretty figure he cuts with it for his pains," returned the uncle, " Listen to me WaUy, listen to me. Look on the mantel-shelf." "Why who has cocked my silver mug up there, on a nail !" exclaimed the boy. " I have," said his Uncle. "No more mugs now. We must begin to drink out of glasses to-day, Walter. We are men of business. We belong to the city. We started in life this morning." "Well, Uncle," said the boy, "I'U drink out of anytliing you like, so DOMBEY AND SON. 27 long as I can drink to you. Here 's to you, Uncle Sol, and Hurrali for the—" " Lord Mayor," internipted the old man. " For the Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, Common Council, and Livery," said the boy. " Long life to 'em ! " The Uncle nodded Ms head with gi-eat satisfaction. " And now," he said, "let 's hear sometliing about the Firm." " Oh ! there 's not much to be told about the Firm, Uncle," said the boy, plying liis knife and fork. " It 's a precious dark set of offices, and in the room where I sit, there 's a liigh fender, and an iron safe, and some cards about ships that are going to sail, and an almanack, and some desks and stools, and an inkbottle, and some books, and some boxes, and a lot of cobwebs, and in one of 'em, just over my head, a sluiveUed-up blue-bottle that looks as if it had hung there ever so long." "Nothing else?" said the uncle. " No, nothing else, except an old bii"d-cage (I wonder how that ever came there !) and a coal-scuttle." " No bankers' books, or cheque books, or bills, or such tokens of Avealth rolling in from day to day?" said old Sol, looking wistfully at his nephew out of the fog that always seemed to hang about him, and laying an imctiious emphasis ujjon the Avords. " Oh yes, plenty of that I suppose," returned his nephew carelessly ; " but all that sort of thing 's in ]\Ir. Carker's room, or Mr. Morfin's, or Mr. Dombey's." " Has Mr. Dombey been there to-day ? " inquii'ed the uncle. " Oh yes ! In and out aU day." "He didn't take any notice of you, I suppose?" " Yes he did. He walked up to my seat, — I wish he wasn't so solemn and stiff, Uncle — and said ' Oh ! you are the son of Mr. Gills the Sliips' Instrument Maker.' 'Nephew Sir,' I said. 'I said nephew, boy,' said he. But I could take my oath he said Son, uncle." "You're mistaken I dare say. It 's no matter." " No, it 's no matter, but he needn't have been so sharp, I thought. There was no harm in it though he did say Son. Then he told me that you had spoken to him about me, and that he had found me employment in the House accordingly, and that I Avas expected to be attentive and punctual, and then he went away. I thought he didn't seem to Hke me much." " You mean, I suppose," observed the Instrmnent Maker, " that you didn't seem to Hke him much." " WeU, Uncle," returned the boy, laughing. " Perhaps so ; I never thought of that." Solomon looked a little gi'aver as he finished his dinner, and glanced from time to time at the boy's bright face. When dinner Avas done, and the cloth Avas cleared aAvay (the entertainment had been brought from a neighbouring eating-house), he Hghted a candle, and Avent down beloAv into a Utile cellar, AvhUe his nephcAV, standing on the mouldy staircase, dutifully held the hght. After a moment's groping here and there, he presently retm-ned Avith a very ancient -looking bottle, covered with dust and dirt. "^Tiy, Uncle Sol ! " said the boy, "Avhat are you about ! that 's the wonderful Madeii'a ! — there 's only one more bottle ! " 28 DOMBEY AND SON. Uncle Sol nodded liis head, implying that he knew very well what he Avas about ; and ha^ang drawn the cork in solemn silence, filled two glasses and set the bottle and a third clean glass on the table. "You shall di-ink the other bottle Wally," he said, "when you have come to good fortune ; when you are a tluiving, respected, happy man ; when the start in life you have made to-day shall have brought you, as I pray Heaven it may ! — to a smooth part of the coiu'se you have to run, my child. My love to you ! " Some of the fog that himg about old Sol seemed to have got into his throat; for he spoke huskily. His hand shook too, as he clinked his glass against his nephew's. But having once got the wine to liis Hps, he tossed it off like a man, and smacked them afterwards. "Dear Uncle," said the boy, affecting to make light of it, while the tears stood in his eyes, " for the honour you have done me, et cetera, et cetera. I shall now beg to propose Air. Solomon Gdls with three times three and one cheer more. Hurrah ! and you 'U return thanks, unde, when we diink the last bottle together ; won't you ? " They clinked their glasses again ; and Walter, who was hoarding his wine, took a sip of it, and held the glass up to his eye with as critical an air as he could possibly assiime. His Uncle sat looking at him for some time in silence. "VMien their eyes at last met, he began at once to pursue the theme that had occupied his thoughts, aloud, as if he had been speaking all the time. "You see Walter," he said, "in truth this business is merely a habit with me. I am so accustomed to the habit that I coidd hardly Hve if I rehnquished it : but there 's nothing doing, nothing doing. When that uniform was Avorn," pointing out towards the little midshipman, " then indeed, fortunes Avere to be made, and Avere made. But competition, competition — ^new invention, new invention — alteration, alteration — the Avorld 's gone past me. I hardly knoAv Avhere I am myself; much less where my customers arc." " Never mind 'em Uncle ! " " Since you came home from Aveekly boarding-school at Peckham, for instance — and that 's ten days," said Solomon, " I don't remember more than one person that has come into the shop." " Tavo Uncle, don't you recollect? There was the man aa'Iio came to ask for change for a sovereign — " " That 's the one," said Solomon. "Why Uncle ! don't you caU the Avoman anybody, Avho came to ask the way to Mile-End Tiu-npike ? " " Oh ! it 's true," said Solomon, " I forgot her. Two persons." " To be sure, they didn't buy anything," cried the boy. " No. They didn't buy anything," said Solomon, quietly. " Nor want anything," cried the boy. " No. If they had, they 'd have gone to another shop," said Solomon, in the same tone. " But there Avere tAvo of 'em Uncle," cried the boy, as if that were a great triumph. " You said only one." "Well, WaUy," resiimed the old man, after a short pause: "not being like the Savages Avho came on Eobinson Crusoe's Island, Ave can't live on DOMBEY AND SON. 29 a man who asks for change for a sovereign, and a woman who inqiui-es the way to Mile-End Tmnpike. As I said just now, the world has gone past me. I don't blame it ; but I no longer understand it. Tradesmen are not the same as they used to be, apprentices are not the same, business is not the same, business commodities are not the same. Seven-eighths of my stock is old-fashioned. I am an old-fa sliioned man in an old-fashioned shop, in a street that is not the same as I remember it. I have fallen behind the time, and am too old to catch it again. Even the noise it makes a long way ahead, confuses me." Walter was going to speak, but his Uncle held up his hand. "Therefore Wally — therefore it is that I am anxious you shoidd be early in the busy world, and on the world's track. I am only the ghost of this business — ^its substance vanished long ago ; and when I die, its ghost will be laid. As it is clearly no inheritance for you then, I have thought it best to use for yom- advantage, ahnost the only fragment of the old connexion that stands by me, through long habit. Some people suppose me to be wealthy. I wish for your sake, they were right. But whatever I leave behind me, or whatever I can give you, you in such a house as Dombey's are in the road to use well and make the most of. Be dihgent, try to hke it my dear boy, work for a steady independence, and be happy ! " " I '11 do everything I can. Uncle, to deserve your affection. Indeed I will," said the boy, earnestly. " I know it," said Solomon. " I am sure of it," and he applied himself to a second glass of the old Madeira, with increased relish. " As to the Sea," he pursued, " that 's well enough in fiction, WaUy, but it won't do in fact : it won't do at aU. It 's natural enough that you shoidd think about it, associating it with all these familiar tilings ; but it Avon't do, it Avon't do." Solomon Gills rubbed liis hands Avith an air of stealthy enjoyment, as he talked of the sea, though ; and looked on the seafaring objects about him with inexpressible complacency. " Tliink of this Avine for instance," said old Sol, " wliich has been to the East Indies and back, I 'm not able to say how often, and has been once round the world. Think of the pitch-dark nights, the roaring winds, and roUing seas : " " The thunder, lightning, rain, hail, storm of all kinds," said the boy. " To be sm-e," said Solomon, — " that this Avine has passed through. Think what a straining and creaking of timbers and masts : what a whistling and howHng of the gale through ropes and rigging :" " What a clambering aloft of men, vying Avith each other Avho shall lie out first upon the yards to furl the icy sails, Avlule the ship rolls and pitches, hke mad ! " cried his nephcAv. " Exactly so," said Solomon : " has gone on, over the old cask that held tliis Avine. Why, Avhen the Charming Sally went down in the — " " In the Baltic Sea, in the dead of night ; five-and-twenty minutes past twelve when the captain's Avatch stopped in his pocket ; he lying dead against the main-mast — on the fourteenth of Eebruary, seventeen forty- nine ! " cried Walter, Avith gi-eat animation. " Ay, to be sm-e !" cried old Sol, " quite right ! Then, there were five 30 DOMBEY AND SON. hundred casks of such ■\nne aboard ; and all hands (except the fu*st mate, fost lieutenant, two seamen, and a lady, m a leaky boat) going to work to stave the casks, got dnuik and died drunk, singing ' Eide Britannia,' when she settled and went down, and ending with one awM scream in chorus." " But when the George the Second drove ashore. Uncle, on the coast of Cornwall, in a dismal gale, two hours before daybreak, on the fom'th of March, 'seventy-one, she had near two hundred horses aboard ; and the horses breaking loose down below, early in the gale, and tearing to and fro, and tramjjhng each other to death, made such noises, and set up such human cries, that the crew believing the ship to be full of devils, some of the best men, losing heart and head, Avent overboard in despau", and only two were left aUve, at last, to tell the tale." "And when," said old Sol, "when the Polyphemus — " " Private West India Trader, bm'den thi'ce hundred and fifty tons, Captain, John Brown of Deptford. Owners, Wiggs and Co.," cried Walter. " The same," said Sol; "when she took fire, four days' sail with a fair wind out of Jamaica Harbour, in the night, — " " There were two brothers on board," interposed his nephew, speaking very fast and loud, "and there not being room for both of them in the only boat that wasn't swamped, neither of them woidd consent to go, until the elder took the younger by the waist, and flung him in. And then the younger, rising in the boat, cried out, ' Dear Edward, think of yom* pro- mised wife at home. I 'm only a boy. No one waits at home for me. Leap down into my place !' and flung himself into the sea !" The kindling eye and heightened colom' of the boy, who had risen from his seat in the earnestness of what he said and felt, seemed to remind old Sol of something he had forgotten, or that his encircling mist had hitherto shut out. Instead of proceeding with any more anecdotes, as he had evi- dently intended but a moment before, he gave a short dry cough, and said, "Well ! suppose we change the subject." The tnith was, that the simple-minded uncle in his secret attraction towards the marvellous and adventm'ous — of which he was, in some sort, a distant relation, by his trade — liad greatly encom-aged the same attraction in the nephew ; and that everything that had ever been put before the boy to deter him from a life of adventm'e, had had the usual unaccountable effect of sharpening his taste for it. This is invariable. It woidd seem as if there never was a book -written, or a story told, expressly with the object of keeping boys on shore, which did not lure and charm them to the ocean, as a matter of coiu'se. But an addition to the httle party now made its appearance, in the shape of a gentleman in a ^^nde suit of blue, with a hook instead of a hand at- tached to his right wrist ; very btishy black eyebrows ; and a thick stick in his left hand, covered all over (like his nose) with knobs. He wore a loose black silk handkerchief round his neck, and such a very large coarse shirt collar, that it looked like a small sail. He was evidently the person for whom the spare mne-glass was intended, and evidently knew it ; for having taken oft' his rough outer coat, and hung up, on a particular peg behind the door, such a hard glazed hat as a sjTnpathetic person's head might ache at the sight of, and which left a red rim round Ids own forehead as if he had been wearing a tight basin, he brought a chair to where the clean DOMBEY AND SON. m. glass was, and sat himself down behind it. He was usually addi-essed as Captain, this \'isitor ; and had been a pilot, or a skipper, or a privateers- man, or all three perhaps ; and was a very salt-looking man indeed. His face, remarkable for a brown soUdity, brightened as he shook hands with uncle and nephew ; but he seemed to be of a laconic disposition, and merely said : "How goes it?" " AU well," said Mr. GiUs, pushing the bottle towards him. He took it up, and having smweyed and smelt it, said with extraordi- naiy expression : " The," returned the Instrument Maker. Upon that he whistled as he filled his glass, and seemed to think they were making holiday indeed. " Wal'r ! " he said, arranging his hair (which was tliin) with his hook, and then pointing it at the Instrument Maker, " Look at him ! Love ! Honour ! And Obey ! Overhaid yom- catechism till you find that passage, and when found turn the leaf doAvn. Success, my boy ! " He was so perfectly satisfied both with liis quotation and his reference to it, that he coidd not help repeating the words again in a low voice, and saying he had forgotten 'em these forty year. "But I never wanted two or three words in my life that I didn't know where to lay my hand upon 'em, GiEs," he observed. " It comes of not wasting language as some do." The reflection perhaps reminded Mm that he had better, like young Norval's father, " increase his store." At any rate he became silent, and remained so, imtil old Sol went out into the shop to light it up, when he turned to Walter, and said, without any introductory remark : " I suppose he coidd make a clock if he tried ? " " I shoiddn't wonder. Captain Cuttle," retm-ned the boy. " And it woidd go ! " said Captain Cuttle, making a species of serpent in the aii' with his hook. " Lord, how that clock woidd go ! " For a moment or two he seemed quite lost in contemplating the pace of this ideal timepiece, and sat looking at the bov as if his face were the dial. " But he 's chockfuU of science," he observed, waving his hook towards the stock-in-trade. " Look 'ye here ! Here 's a collection of 'em. Earth, air, or water. It 's all one. Only say where you '11 have it. Up in a balloon? There you are. Down in a beU? There you are. D'ye want to put the North Star in a pair of scales and weigh it ? He 'U do it for you." It may be gathered from these remarks that Captain Cuttle's reverence for the stock of instrimients was profound, and that his philosophy knew little or no distinction between trading in it and inventing it. " Ah ! " he said, with a sigh, " it 's a fine thing to understand 'em. And yet it 's a fine thing not to understand 'em. I hardly know which is best. It 's so comfortable to sit here and feel that you might be weighed, measured, magnified, electrified, polarized, played the very devil with : and never know how." Nothing short of the wonderful Madeii'a, combined with the occasion 32 DOMBEY AND SON. (which rendered it desirable to improve and expand Walter's mind), could have ever loosened his tongue to the extent of giving utterance to this prodigious oration. He seemed quite amazed himself at the manner in Avhich it opened up to view the som-ces of the taciturn delight he had had in eating Sunday dinners in that parlom- for ten years. Becoming a sadder and a AAaser man, he mused and held his peace. " Come ! " cried the subject of his admii-ation, retm'ning. " Before you have yoiu* glass of grog, Ned, we must finish the bottle." " Stand by ! " said Ned, filling his glass. " Give the boy some more." " No more, thank'e, Uncle ! " " Yes, yes," said Sol, " a little more. We '11 finish the bottle, to the House, Ned — Walter's house. Why it may be his house one of these days, in part. Wlio knows? Sir Richard Whittington married Ids master's daughter." " ' Turn again Whittington, Lord Mayor of London, and when you are old you will never depart from it,'" interposed the Captain. "Walr! Overhaul the book, my lad." " And although Mr. Dombey hasn't a daughter," Sol began. " Yes, yes, he has, uncle," said the boy, reddening and laughing. " Has he ? " cried the old man. " Indeed I think he has too." " Oh ! I know he has," said the boy. " Some of 'em were talking about it in the office to-day. And they do say. Uncle and Captain Cuttle," lowering liis voice, " that he 's taken a dislike to her, and that she 's left, unnoticed, among the servants, and that his mind 's so set all the while upon having his son in the House, that although he 's only a baby noAv, he is going to have balances struck oftener than formerly, and the"^ books kept closer than they iised to be, and has even been seen (when he thought he wasn't) walking in the Docks, lookhig at his ships and property and aU that, as if he was exulting like, over what he and his son a\4i1 possess together. That 's what they say. Of course, / don't know." " He knows all about her akeady, you see," said the Listrument Maker. " Nonsense, uncle," cried the boy, still reddening and laughing, boy- like. " How can I help hearing what they tell me?" " The Son 's a little in our way, at present, I 'm afraid, Ned," said the old man, humoiu-ing the joke. " Very much," said the Captain. " Nevertheless, we '11 drink him," pursued Sol. " So, here 's to Dombey and Son." " Oh, veiy well, uncle," cried the boy, men-ily, " Since you have intro- duced the mention of her, and have connected me Avith her, and have said that I know aU about her, I shall make bold to amend the toast. So here's to Dombey — and Son — and Daughter ! " DOMBEY AND SON. 33 CHAPTER V. Paul's progress and christening. Little Paul, suifering no contamination from the blood of the Toodles grew stouter and stronger every day. Every day, too, he was more and more ardently cherished by Miss Tox, whose devotion was so far ajopre- ciated by Mr. Dombey that he began to regard her as a woman of great natm-al good sense, whose feelings did her credit and deserved encourage- ment. He was so lavish of his condescension, that he not only bowed to her, in a particidar manner, on several occasions, but even entrusted such stately recognitions of her to his sister as " pray teU your friend, Loiusa, that she is very good," or "mention to Miss Tox, Louisa, that I am obliged to her ; " speciaUties which made a deep impression on the lad/ thus distinguished. Miss Tox was often in the habit of assuring Mi's. Chick, that " nothing coidd exceed her interest in all connected Avith the development of that sweet chdd;" and an observer of Miss Tox's jiroceedings might have inferred so much without declaratory coniirmation. She would preside over the innocent repasts of the young heir, with ineffable satisfaction ; almost with an air of joint proprietorship ^vith Eichards in the entertain- ment. At the little ceremonies of the bath and toilette, she assisted with enthusiasm. The administration of infantine doses of physic awakened all the active sympathy of her character ; and being on one occasion secreted in a cupboard (whither she had fled in modesty), when ]VIi\ Dombey was introduced into the nm'sery by his sister, to behold his son, in the course of preparation for bed, taking a short walk uphdl over Kichards's gown, in a short and airy linen jacket. Miss Tox was so transported beyond the ignorant present as to be unable to refrain fi'om crying out, " Is he not beautiful, IVIi-. Dombey ! Is he not a Cupid, sir ! " and then almost sinking behind the closet door ivith confusion and blushes. " Louisa," said Mi-. Dombey, one day, to his sister, " I really think I must present yom- friend with some httle token, on the occasion of Paid's chi'istening. She has exerted herself so warmly in the child's behalf from the fii'st, and seems to understand her position so thoroughly (a very rare merit in this world, I am sorry to say), that it would really be agreeable to me to notice her." Let it be no detraction from the merits of Miss Tox, to hint that in Mr. Dombey's eyes, as in some others that occasionally see the light, they only achieved that mighty piece of knowledge, the understanding of their own position, Avho showed a fitting reverence for his. It was not so much theu- merit that they knew themselves, as that they knew him, and bowed low before him. " My dear Pad," retm-ned his sister, "you do jVIiss Tox but justice, as a man of your penetration was sure, I knew, to do. I believe if there are three words in the Enghsh language for which she has a respect amounting almost to veneration, those words are, Dombey and Son." D 34 DOMBEY AND SON. "Well," said Mr. Dombey, " I believe it. It does Miss Tox credit." " And as to anytliing in the shape of a token, my dear Paul," pursued his sister, " all I can say is that anytliing you give IVIiss Tox wiU be hoarded and prized, I am sure, like a relic. But there is a way, my dear Paul, of showing your sense of Miss Tox's friendliness in a stOl more flattering and acceptable manner, if you should be so inclined." "How is that?" asked Mr. Dombey. " Godfathers, of course," continued ^^Ii's. Chick, " are important in point of connexion and influence." " I don't know why they should be, to my son," said Mr. Dombey coldly, " Very true, my dear Paul," retorted Mrs. Chick, with an extraordinary show of animation, to cover the suddenness of her conversion ; " and spoken like yom'self. I might have expected nothing else from you. I might have known that such woidd have been yoiu- opinion. Perhaps;" here Mi's. Chick faltered again, as not quite comfortably feeling her way ; "perhaps that is a reason why you might have the less objection to allomng Miss Tox to be godmother to the dear thing, if it were only as deputy and proxy for some one else. That it would be received as a gi'eat honour and distinction. Paid, I need not say." "Louisa," said Mi". Dombey, after a short pause, "it is not to be supposed — " " Certainly not," cried IVIi's. Cliick, hastening to anticipate a refusal, " I never thought it was." Mr. Dombey looked at her impatiently. " Don't flun-y me, my dear Paul," said his sister ; " for that destroys me. I am far from strong. I have not been quite myself, since poor dear Panny departed." Mr. Dombey glanced at the pocket-handkerchief Avhich his sister applied to her eyes, and resumed : " It is not to be supposed, I say — " " And I say," murmm-ed Mrs. Chick, " that I never thought it was." " Good Heaven, Louisa ! " said Mr. Dombey. " No, my dear Paid," she remonstrated with tearful dignity, " I must reaUy be allowed to speak. I am not so clever, or so reasoning, or so eloquent, or so anything, as you are. I know that very well. So much the worse for me. But if they were the last words I had to utter — and last words should be very solemn to you and me, Paul, after poor dear Panny — I would still say I never thought it was. And what is more," added ISIrs. Chick with increased dignity, as if she had withheld her crusldng argument until now, " I never did think it was." Mr. Dombey walked to the windoAv and back again. " It is not to be supposed, Louisa," he said (Mrs. Chick had nailed her coloiu-s to the mast, and repeated " I know it isn't," but he took no notice of it), "but that there are many persons who, supposing that I recognized any claim at all in such a case, have a claim upon me superior to Miss Tox's. But I do not. I recognize no such thing. Paul and myself will be able, when the time comes, to hold oiu- own — the house, in other words, wiU be able to hold its own, and maintain its own, and hand down its own of itself, and without any such common-place aids. The kind of DOMBEY AND SON. 35 foreign help which people usually seek for their cliildren, I can afford to despise ; being above it, I hope. So that Paid's infancy and childhood pass away well, and I see liim becoming qualified -svithout waste of time for the career on wliich he is destined to enter, I am satisfied. He wiU make what powerful friends he pleases in after-life, when he is actively maintaining — and extending, if that is possible — the dignity and credit of the Fu-m. Until then, I am enough for Mm, perhaps, and all in aU. I have no wish that people should step in between us. I would much rather show my sense of the obhging conduct of a deserving person like yoiu- friend. Therefore let it be so ; and your husband and myself will do weU enough for the other sponsors, I dare say." In the com-se of these remarks, dehvered with gi-eat majesty and gran- deiu:, Mr. Dombey had truly revealed the secret feehngs of his breast. An indescribable distmst of anybody stepping in between himself and his son; a haughty di-ead of having any rival or partner in the boy's respect and deference ; a sharp misgiving, recently acquired, that he was not infalhble in his power of bending and binding human wills ; as sharp a jealousy of any second check or cross ; these were, at that time, the master keys of his sold. In aU liis hfe, he had never made a friend. His cold and distant nature had neither sought one, nor found one. And now, when that natm-e concentrated its whole force so strongly on a partial scheme of parental interest and ambition, it seemed as if its icy current, instead of being released by this influence, and running clear and free, had thawed for but an instant to admit its bm-den, and then frozen with it into one unyielding block. Elevated thus to the godmothership of httle Paid, in vu-tue of her insig- nificance. Miss Tox was from that horn* chosen and appointed to office ; and Ml". Dombey further signified his pleasure that the ceremony, already long delayed, shoidd take place Avithout fm-ther postponement. His sister, who had been far from- anticipating so signal a success, withdrew as soon as she could, to communicate it to her best of friends ; and JVIr. Dombey was left alone in his hbrary. There was anything but solitude in the nursery ; for there, IVIrs. Chick aud Miss Tox were enjoyuig a social evening, so much to the disgust of Miss Susan Nipper that that young lady embraced eveiy opportunity of making ^vry faces behind the door. Her feelings were so much excited on the occasion, that she found it indispensable to afford them this relief, even Avithout having the comfort of any audience or sympathy whatever- As the knight-errants of old relieved their minds by carving their mis- tress's names in deserts, and wildernesses, and other savage places where there was no probabiHty of there ever being anybody to read them, so did Miss Susan Nipper curl her snub nose into drawers and wardrobes, put away winks of disparagement in cupboards, shed derisive squints into stone pitchers, and contradict and caU names out in the passage. The two interlopers, however, blissfully unconscious of the young lady's sentiments, saw little Paul safe tlu'ough all the stages of undi-essing, aiiy exercise, supper and bed ; and then sat down to tea before the fii-e. The two children now lay, through the good offices of PoUy, in one room ; and it was not until the ladies were established at their tea-table that, happening to look towards the little beds, they thought of Florence. i> 2 36 DOMBEY AND SON. "How sound she sleeps ! " said Miss Tox, " Why, you know, my dear, she takes a gi-eat deal of exercise in the course of the day," returned Mi'S. Chick, "playing about little Paid so much." " She is a curious child," said Miss Tox. "My dear," retorted Mrs. Chick, in a low voice: "Her mama, aU over ! " " In-deed ! " said Miss Tox. " Ah dear me ! " A tone of most extraordinary compassion Miss Tox said it in, though she had no distinct idea why, except that it %Vas expected of her. " Florence wiU never, never, never, be a Dombey," said Mrs. Chick, " not if she lives to be a thousand years old." Miss Tox elevated her eyebrows, and was again full of commiseration. " I quite fret and wony myself about her," said Mrs. Chick, with a sigh of modest merit. " I reaUy don't see what is to become of her when she gi-ows older, or what position she is to take. She don't gain on her papa in the least. How can one expect she shoidd, when she is so veiy milike a Dombey ?" Miss Tox looked as if she saw no way out of such a cogent argument as that, at aU. " And the child, you see," said IVIi's. Chick, in deep confidence, " has poor dear Fanny's nature. She'll never make an eft'ort in after-life, I'll "ventm-e to say. Never ! She'll never wind and twine herseLT about her papa's heart like — " "Like the ivy?" suggested Miss Tox. "Like the ivy," Mrs. Chick assented. "Never! She'll never ghde and nestle into the bosom of her papa's affections like — ^the — " " Startled fawn?" suggested Miss Tox. " Like the startled fawn," said 'Mrs. Chick. " Never ! Poor Fanny ! Yet, how I loved her!" " You must not distress yom'self, my dear," said Miss Tox, in a sooth- ing voice. " Now, really ! You have too much feeling." " We have all om- faidts," said Mrs. Chick, weeping and shaking her head. " I dare say we have. I never was blind to hers. I never said I was. Far from it. Yet how I loved her !" What a satisfaction it was to IVIrs. Chick — a common-place piece of foUy enough, compared with whom her sister-in-law had been a very angel of womanly intelligence and gentleness — to patronise and be tender to the memory of that lady : in exact pursuance of her conduct to her in her life- time : and to thorougldy believe herself, and take herself in, and make herself uncommonly comfortable on the strength of her toleration ! What a mighty pleasant vntue toleration shoidd be when we are right, to be so veiy pleasant when we are wrong, and quite unable to demonstrate how we come to be invested with the privilege of exercising it ! IV&s. Chick was yet diying her eyes and shaking her head, Avlien Eichards made bold to caution her that Miss Florence was awake and sitting in her bed. Slie had risen, as the niu'se said, and the lashes of her eyes were Avet with tears. But no one saw them glistening save Polly. No one else leant over her, and whispered soothing words to her, or was near enough to hear the flutter of her beating heart. DOMBEY AND SON. 3T; " Oh ! dear nm-se ! " said tlie childj looking earnestly up in her face, '• let me lie by my brother ! " "Why, my pet?" said Kichards, " Oh ! I tliink he loves me," cried the child wildly. " Let me lie by him. Pray do !" 'Mis. Chick interposed with some motherly words about going to sleep like a dear, but Florence repe^ed her supplication, with a frightened look, and in a voice broken by sobs and tears. " I '11 not wake him," she said, covering her face and hanging down her head. " I 'U only touch liim with my hand, and go to sleep. Oh, pray, pray, let me lie by my brother to night, for I beUeve he 's fond of me !" llichards took her without a word, and carrying her to the Uttle bed in which the infant was sleeping, laid her down by liis side. She crept as near liim as she cotild without disturbing Ms rest ; and stretching out one arm so that it timidly embraced his neck, and hiding her face on the other, over wliich her damp and scattered hair fell loose, lay motionless. " Poor little thing," said Miss Tox ; " she has been dreaming, I dare say." This trivial incident had so interrupted the cmTcnt of conversation, that it was difficidt of resmnption; and Mrs. Cliick moreover had been so affected by the contemplation of her own tolerant nature, that she was not in spirits. The two friends accordingly soon made an end of their tea, and a servant was despatched to fetch a hackney cabriolet for Miss Tox. Miss Tox had gi-eat experience in hackney cabs, and her starting in one was generally a work of time, as she was systematic in the preparatory arrangements. " Have the goodness, if you please, Towlinson," said Miss Tox, " first of all, to caiTy out a pen and ink and take his number legibly." " Yes, Miss," said Towlinson. " Then, if you please, Towlinson," said Miss Tox, "have the goodness to turn the cushion. Which," said Miss Tox apart to IVIi-s. CMck, " is generally damp, my dear." " Yes, Miss," said Towlinson. " I '11 trouble you also, if you please, Towhnson," said Miss Tox, " with this card and this shilling. He 's to drive to the card, and is to under- stand that he wiU not on any account have more than the shilUng." " No, Miss," said Towhnson. " And — I 'm sorry to give you so much trouble, Towhnson," — said IMiss Tox, looking at him pensively. " Not at all. Miss," said Towhnson. " Mention to the man, then, if you please, Towlinson," said Miss Tox, " that the lady's uncle is a magistrate, and that if he gives her any of his impertinence he wiU be punished terribly. You can pretend to say that, if you please, Towhnson, in a friendly way, and because you know it Avas done to another man who died. " Certainly, Miss," said Towhnson. " And now good night to my sweet, sweet, sweet, godson," said Miss Tox, with a soft shower of kisses at each repetition of the adjective ; " and Louisa, my dear friend, promise me to take a little something warai before you go to bed, and not to distress yourself!" It was with extreme difficulty that Nipper, the black-eyed, who looked ■ on steadfastly, contained herself at this crisis, and until the subsequent 38 DOMBEY AND SON. deparhire of ]Mrs. CMck. But the nursery being at length free of visitors, she made herself some recompense for her late restraint. " You might keep me in a strait-waistcoat for six weeks," said Nipper, " and when I got it off I 'd only be more aggTavated, who ever heard the like of them two Griffins, Mrs. Kichards ?" " And then to talk of her having been dreaming, poor dear !" said PoUy. " Oh you beauties !" cried Susan Nipper, affecting to salute the door by which the ladies had departed. " Never be a Dombey won't she, it 's to be hoped sheAVon't, we don't want any more such, one 's enough." " Don't wake the children, Susan dear," said PoUy. " I 'm very much beholden to you, ]Mi"s. Eichards," said Susan, who was not by any means discriminating in her wrath, " and really feel it as a honom' to receive yom* commands, being a black slave and a mtilotter. IMrs. Eichards, if there 's any other orders you can give me, pray mention 'em." " Nonsense ; orders," said PoUy. " Oh ! bless your heart, Mrs. Eichards," cried Susan, " temporaries always orders permanencies here, didn't you know that, why wherever was you born, Mrs. Eichards? But wherever you was born, Mrs. Eichards," pursiied Spitfire, shaking her head resolutely, " and whenever, and however (which is best known to yourself), you may bear in mind, please, that it 's one thing to give orders, and quite another thing to take 'em. A person may tell a person to dive off a bridge head foremost into five-and-forty feet of water, Mrs. Eichards, but a person may be veiy far from diving." "There now," said PoUy, "you're angi-y because you're a good little thing, and fond of Miss Plorence ; and yet you tm'n round on me, because there's nobody else." " It 's very easy for some to keep their tempers, and be soft-spoken, Mrs. Eichards," returned Susan, sUghtly modified, " when theu* child 's made as much of as a prince, and is petted and patted tiU it wishes its fi-iends further, but when a sweet young pretty innocent, that never ought to have a cross word spoken to or of it, is run down, the case is very different indeed. My goodness gi-acious me. Miss Ploy, you naughty, sinful chUd, if you don 't shut yom* eyes this minute, I 'U caU in them hobgoblins that lives in the cock-loft to come and eat you up alive !" Here Miss Nipper made a horrible lomng, supposed to issue from a conscientious goblin of the buU species, impatient to discharge the severe duty of his position. Having fui-ther composed her young charge by covering her head w^ith the bed-clothes, and making tlu-ee or fom' angry dabs at the piUow, she folded her arms, and screwed up her mouth, and sat looking at the fire for the rest of the evening. Though little Paul was said, in nurseiy phrase, " to take a deal of notice for his age," he took as Uttle notice of aU this as of the preparations for his christening on the next day but one ; which nevertheless went on about him, as to his personal appai-el, and that of his sister and the two nm-ses, with gi-eat activity. Neither did he, on the arrival of the appointed moniing, show any sense of its importance ; being, on the contrary, unusually incUned to sleep, and unusuaUy incUned to take it iU in liis attendants that they di'cssed him to go out. It happened to be an iron-grey autumnal day, with a shrewd east wind blowing — a day in keeping with the proceedings. ]\Ii-. Dombey represented b DOMBEY AND SON. 39 in himself the "wind, the shade, and autumn of the christening. He stood in Ms libraiy to receive the company, as hard and cokl as the weather ; and when he looked out thi-ough the glass room, at the trees in the little garden, their brown and yellow leaves came fluttering down, as if he blighted them. tjgh ! They were black, cold rooms ; and seemed to be in momTung, like the inmates of the house. The books jn-ecisely matched as to size, and drawn up in hue, like soldiers, looked in their cold, hard, slippery uniforms, as if they had but one idea among them, and that was a freezer. The bookcase, glazed and locked, repudiated all familiarities. IVIr. Pitt, in bronze, on the top, with no trace of his celestial origin about him, g-uarded the miattainable treasure like an enchanted Moor. A dusty urn at each high comer, dug up from an ancient tomb, preached desolation and decay, as from two pulpits ; and the chimney-glass, reflecting Mr. Dombey and his portrait at one blow, seemed fraught with melancholy meditations. The stiff and stark fii'e-irons appeared to claim a nearer relationship than anything else there to Mr. Dombey, with his buttoned coat, his white cravat, his heavy gold watch-chain, and liis creaking boots. But this was before the amval of ]Mr. and Mrs. Chick, his lawful relatives, who soon presented themselves. "My dear Paul," Mrs. Chick murmured, as she embraced him, "the beginning, I hope, of many joyful days ! " " Thank you, Louisa," said Mi-. Dombey, grimly. " How do you do, Ml-. John?" " How do you do. Sir," said Chick. He gave Mi-. Dombey liis hand, as if he feared it might electi-ify him. IVIr. ])ombey took it as if it were a fish, or seaweed, or some such clammy substance, and immediately returned it to him with exalted politeness. " Perhaps, Louisa," said Mr. Dombey, sHghtly tm-ning his head in liis cravat, as if it were a socket, "you would have prefeiTcd a fire ? " " Oh, my dear Paid, no," said Mrs. Chick, who had much ado to keep her teeth from chattering ; " not for me." "Ml-. John," said Mr. Dombey, "you are not sensible of any chiU?" Mr. John, who had already got both his hands in his pockets over the wrists, and was on the very threshold of that same canine chorus which had given Mrs. Ciiick so much offence on a former occasion, protested that he was perfectly comfortable. He added in a low voice, "With my tiddle tol toor rul" — when he was providentially stopped by Towlinson, who aimounced : " Miss Tox ! " And enter that fair enslaver, with a blue nose and an indescribably frosty face, referable to her being very thinly clad in a maze of fluttering odds and ends, to do honor to the ceremony. " How do you do, Miss Tox," said Mr. Dombey. Miss Tox in the midst of her spreading gauzes, went down altogether like an opera-glass shutting-up ; she curtseyed so low, in acknowledgment of Ml-. Dombey's advancing a step or two to meet her. " I can never forget this occasion, Su-," said Miss Tox, softly. " 'Tis impossible. My dear Louisa, I can hardly believe the evidence of my senses " 40 DOMBEY AND SON. If Miss Tox could believe tlie evidence of one of her senses, it was a very cold day. That was quite clear. She took an early opportunity of promoting the circulation in the tip of her nose by secretly chafing it with her pocket handkerchief, lest, by its very low temperatui-e, it should dis- agreeably astonish the baby when she came to kiss it. The baby soon appeared, carried in great glory by Eichards ; while Flo- rence, in custody of that active young constable, Susan Nipper, brought up the rear. Though the Avhole nurseiy party were dressed by this time in lighter mourning than at fii'st, there was enough in the appearance of the bereaved childi'en to make the day no brighter. The baby too — ^it might have been IVIiss Tox's nose — began to cry. Thereby, as it happened, preventing Mr. Chick from the awkward fidfilment of a very honest pm-pose he had ; wliich was, to make much of Florence. For this gentleman, in- sensible to the superior claims of a perfect Dombey (perhaps on account of having the honom* to be imited to a Dombey himself, and being familiar with excellence), really liked her, and shewed that he Mked her, and was about to shew it in his own way now, when Paul cried, and his helpmate stopped liim short, " Now Florence cliild ! " said her aunt, briskly, " what are you doing, love ? Shew yourself to him. Engage his attention, my dear ! " The atmosphere became or might have become colder and colder, when ]\Ii-. Dombey stood frigidly watching Ms little daughter, who, clapping her hands, and standing on tiptoe before the thi'one of his son and heir, lured him to bend down from liis high estate, and look at her. Some honest act of Kichards' may have aided the effect, but he did look down, and held his peace. As his sister hid behind her nurse, he followed her with his eyes ; and when she peeped out with a merry cry to him, he sprang up and crowed lustily — laughing outright when she ran in upon him ; and seeming to fondle her curls with liis tiny hands, wliile she smothered him with kisses. Was ]Mi\ Dombey pleased to see this ? He testified no pleasm*e by the relaxation of a nerve ; but outward tokens of any kind of feeling were un- usual with him. If any sunbeam stole into the room to light the childi-en at then* play, it never reached his face. He looked on so fixedly and coldly, that the warm light vanished even from the laugliing eyes of little Florence, when, at last, they happened to meet liis. It was a duU, gTcy, autumn day indeed, and in a minute's pause and silence that took place, the leaves fell sorrowfully. " ]\£i-. John," said ]\Ii-. Dombey, referring to liis watch, and assuming his hat and gloves. " Take my sister, if you please : my arm to-day is ^liss Tox's. You had better go first with Master Paid, Kichards. Be very careful." in 'Mi: Dombey's carnage, Dombey and Son, Miss Tox, ]\Irs. Chick, Eichards, and Florence. In a little carriage following it, Susan Nipper and the owner IMr. Chick. Susan looking out of window, without inter- mission, as a relief from the embarrassment of confronting the large face of that gentleman, and thinking whenever anything rattled that he was putting up in paper an appropriate pecuniary compUment for herself. Once upon the road to church, ill-. Dombey clapped his hands for tlie amusement of his son. At which instance of parental enthusiasm Miss % 'M: W ^ li^ >|FJ| / , /yy Ovy, "Z DOMBEY AND SON. 41 Tox was enchanted. But exclusive of this incident, the chief difference between the christening party and a party in a moui'ning coach, consisted in the colours of the caniage and horses. Arrived at the church steps, they were received by a portentous beadle. Mr. Dombey dismounting first to help the ladies out, and standing near him at the coach door, looked like another beadle. A beadle less gor- geous but more di-eadful ; the beadle of private life ; the beadle of our business and oui- bosoms. Miss Tox's hand trembled as she slipped it through ]\Ir. Dombey's arm, and felt herself escorted up the steps, preceded by a cocked hat and a Babylonian coUar. It seemed for a moment like that other solemn insti- tution " Wilt thou have this man, Lucretia ?" " Yes, I wUl." "Please to bring the child in quick out of the air there," whispered the beadle, holding open the inner door of the church. Little Paul might have asked mth Hamlet "into my grave ?" so chiU and earthy Avas the place. The tail shrouded pulpit and reading desk ; the dreary perspective of empty pews stretching away \inder the galleries, and empty benches mounting to the roof and lost in the shadow of the great giim organ ; the dusty matting and cold stone slabs ; the grisly free seats in the aisles ; and the damp corner by the beU-rope, where the black tressels used for funerals were stowed away, along with some shovels and baskets, and a coil or two of deadly-looking rope ; the strange, un- usual, uncomfortable smell, and the cadaverous light ; were aU in unison. It was a cold and dismal scene. " There 's a wedding just on, sir," said the beadle, " but it 'U be over directly, if you 'U walk into the westry here." Before he turned again to lead the way, he gave Mr. Dombey a bow and a half smile of recognition, importing that he (the beadle) remem- bered to have had the pleasm'e of attending on him when he buried his wife, and hoped he had enjoyed himself since. The very wedding looked dismal as they passed in front of the altar. The bride was too old and the bridegroom too young, and a superannuated beau with one eye and an eye-glass stuck in its blank companion, was giving away the lady, while the friends were shivering. In the vestry the fire was smoking ; and an over-aged and over-worked and undei-paid attorney's clerk, "making a search," was running his forefinger down the parchment pages of an immense register (one of a long series of similar volmnes) gorged with burials. Over the fireplace Avas a ground-plan of the vaults underneath the chm'ch ; and Mr. Chick, skimming the literary portion of it aloud, by way of enlivening the company, read the reference to IVIi's. Dombey's tomb in full, before he could stop himself. After another cold interval, a wheezy little pew-opener afflicted, with an asthma, appropriate to the chm'chyard, if not to the church, summoned them to the font. Here they waited some little time wliile the marriage party enrolled themselves ; and meanwhile the wheezy little pew-opener — partly in consequence of her infirmity, and partly that the marriage party might not forget her — went about the buUding coughing like a grampus. Presently the clerk (the only cheerful-looking object there, and lie was an undertaker) came up vpith a jug of warm water, and said something, as he poured it into the font, about taking the chill off; which millions of 4^ DOMBEY AND SON. gallons boiling liot could not have clone for the occasion. Then the cler- gyman, an amiable and mild-looking young curate, but obviously afraid of the baby, appeared like the principal character in a ghost-story, " a tail figiu-e aU in white ; " at sight of whom Paul rent the air with his cries, and never left off again till he was taken out black in the face. Even when that event had happened, to the great relief of everybody, he was heard under the poi-tico, dm-ing the rest of the ceremony, now fainter, now louder, now hushed, now bm-sting forth again with an irre- pressible sense of his wrongs. This so distracted the attention of the two ladies, that Mrs. Chick was constantly deploying into the centre aisle, to send out messages by the pew -opener, while IVIiss Tox kept her Prayer- book open at the Gunpowder Plot, and occasionally read responses from that service. , During the whole of these proceedings, JVir. Dombey remained as impassive and gentlemanly as ever, and perhaps assisted in making it so cold, that the young curate smoked at the mouth as he read. The only time that he mibent his visage in the least, was when the clergyman, in deUvering (very unaifectedly and simply) the closing exhortation, relative to the futm'e examination of the child by the sponsors, happened to rest his eye on INIr. Chick ; and then IVir. Dombey might have been seen to express by a majestic look, that he woidd hke to catch him at it. It might have been well for Mr. Dombey, if he had thought of his own dignity a little less ; and had thought of the gi'cat origin and piu'pose of the ceremony in which he took so formal and so stiff a part, a little more. His aiTOgance contrasted strangely with its history. Wlien it was aU over, he again gave his aitn to Miss Tox, and conducted her to the vestiy, where he informed the clergyman how much pleasure it would have given him to have solicited the honom* of his company at dinner, but for the mrfortunate state of his household affairs. The register signed, and the fees paid, and the pew-opener (whose cough was very bad again) remembered, and the beadle gi-atitied, and the sexton (who was acci- dentally on the door-steps, looking with great interest at the weather) not forgotten, they got into the carriages again, and drove home in the same bleak fellowship. There they found Mr. Pitt tm-ning up his nose at a cold coUation, set forth in a cold pomp of glass and sdver, and looking more like a dead dinner lying in state than a social refreshment. On their amval, Miss Tox produced a mug for her godson, and Mr. Chick a knife and fork and spoon in a case. Mr. Dombey also produced a bracelet for IVIiss Tox ; and, on the receipt of this token, Miss Tox was tenderly affected. " Mr. John," said ]\Ii-. Dombey, " wiU you take the bottom of tlie table, if you please. What have you got there, Mr. John? " " I have got a cold fillet of veal here. Sir," replied Mr. Chick, rubbing his numbed hands hard together, " what have i/oti got there. Sir ? " " This," returned Mr. Dombey, "is some cold preparation of calf's head, I think. I see cold fowls — ham — ^patties — salad — lobster. Miss Tox wdl do me the honour of taking some wine ? Champagne to Miss Tox." There was a toothache in everything. The wine was so bitter cold that it forced a little scream from Miss Tox, which she had great difficulty in tui-ning into a " Hem ! " The veal had come from such an any pantry, DOMBEY AND SON. 43 ttat tlie first taste of it stiniclc a sensation as of cold lead to Mr. Chick's extremities. Mr. Dombey alone remained unmoved. He miglit have been hung up for sale at a Russian fair as a specimen of a frozen gentleman. The prevailing influence was too much even for his sister. She made no effort at flatteiy or small-talk, and dii'ected all her efforts to looking as warm as she could. " WeU, Sii'," said Mr. Chick, making a desperate plunge, after a long silence, and filling a glass of sherry ; " I shall drink tins, if you '11 allow me, Sii', to little Paul." " Bless him !" murmm-ed IVIiss Tox, taking a sip of wine. " Dear little Dombey !" mmTuured Mrs. Chick. " Mr. John," said IMr. Dombey, with severe gravity, " my son would feel and express himself obliged to you, I have no doubt, if he could appre- ciate the favour you have done him. He wiU prove, in time to come, I trust, equal to any responsibility that the obliging disposition of his rela- tions and friends, in private, or the onerous natiu'e of our position, in public, may impose upon him." The tone in wliicli this was said admitting of nothing more, Mr. Chick relapsed into low spirits and silence. Not so Miss Tox, who, having listened to Mr. Dombey with even a more emphatic attention than usual, and with a more expressive tendency of her head to one side, now leant across the table, and said to Mi's. Chick softly : "Louisa!" " My dear," said Mrs. Chick. " Onerous nature of om* position in public, may — I have forgotten the exact term." " Expose him to," said Mrs. Chick. " Pardon me, my dear," returned Miss Tox, " I think not. It was more rounded and flo^ving. Obliging disposition cf relations and friends in private, or onerous nature of position in pubhc — may — impose upon Mm ? " " Impose upon him, to be sure," said Mi's. Chick. Miss Tox struck her delicate hands together Lightly, in triumph ; and added, casting up her eyes, " eloquence indeed !" Mr. Dombey, in the meanwliile, had issued orders for the attendance of Eichards, who now entered curtseying, but without the baby ; Paul being asleep after the fatigues of the morning. Mr. Dombey, having delivered a glass of fldne to this vassal, addi-essed her in the following words : Miss Tox previously settling her head on one side, and making other little arrangements for engTaving them on her heart. " During the six months or so, Eichards, wliich have seen you an inmate of this house, you have done yom' duty. Desiring to connect some little service to you with tliis occasion, I considered how I could best effect that object, and I also ad\dsed with my sister Mrs. — " ". Chick," interposed the gentleman of that name. " Oh, hush if you please !" said Miss Tox. " I Avas about to say to you, Eichards," resumed Mr. Dombey, with an appalling glance at IVIi-. John, " that I was further assisted in my decision, by the recollection of a conversation I held with your husband in this room, on the occasion of your being hired, when he disclosed to me the 44) DOMBEY AND SON. melancholy fact tliat your family, himself at their head, were sunk and steeped in ignorance." Richards quailed under the magnificence of the reproof. " I am far from being friendly," pursued Mr. Dombey, " to what is called by persons of levelling sentiments, general education. But it is necessary that the inferior classes should continue to be taught to know their position, and to conduct themselves properly. So far I approve of schools. Having the power of nominating a child on the foundation of an ancfent estabhshment, called (from a worshipful company) the Charitable Grinders ; where not only is a wholesome education bestowed upon the scholars, but where a di-ess and badge is likewise provided for them ; I have (first communicating, through Mrs, Chick, with yoiu- family) nomi- nated yom' eldest son to an existing vacancy ; and he has this day, I am informed, assumed the habit. The number of her son, I believe," said Mr. Dombey, tm-ning to his sister and speaking of the child as if he were a hackney coach, " is one hundred and forty-seven. Louisa, you can tell her." " One hundred and forty-seven," said Mrs. Chick. " The di-ess, Eichards, is a nice, warm, blue baize tailed coat and cap, tm-ned up v/ith orange- coloured binding ; red worsted stockings ; and very strong leather small- clothes. One might wear the articles one's-self," said Mrs. Chick, with enthusiasm, " and be grateful." " There, Eichards !" said Miss Tox, " ISTow, indeed, you may be proud. The Charitable Grinders ! " "I am sm-e I am very much obliged. Sir," returned Eichards faintly, " and take it very kind that you should remember my little ones." At the same time a vision of Biler as a Charitable Grinder, with Ms very small legs encased in the serviceable clotliing described by Mrs, Chick, swam before Eichards' eyes, and made them water, *' I am very glad to see you have so much feeling, Eichards," said Miss Tox, " It makes one almost hope, it really does," said Mrs. Chick, who prided herself on taking trustful views of human nature, " that there may yet be some faint spark of gratitude and right feeling left in the Avorld." Eichards deferred to these compliments by curtseying and murmm'ing her thanks ; but finding it quite impossible to recover her spirits from the disorder into which they had been throAvn by the image of her son in his precocious nether garments, she gradually approached the door and was heartily reheved to escape by it. Such temporaiy indications of a partial thaw as had appeared with her, vanished with her ; and the frost set in again, as cold and hard as ever. Mr. Chick was twice heard to hum a tune at the bottom of the table, but on both occasions it was a fragment of the Dead March in Said, The party seemed to get colder and colder, and to be gradually resolving itself into a congealed and solid state, like the collation round which it was assembled. At length Mrs. Cluck looked at Miss Tox, and Miss Tox returned the look, and they both rose and said it was really time to go. IVIi-. Dombey receiving this announcement with perfect equanimity, they took leave of that gentleman, and presently departed under the protection of Mr. Chick ; Avho, when they had turned their backs upon the house and left its master DOMBEY AND SON. 45 in his usual solitary state, put liis hands in his pockets, threw himself back in the carriage, and whistled "With a hey ho chevy!" all through; con- veying into his face as he did so, an expression of such gloomy and tenible defiance, that Mi's. Chick dared not protest, or in any way molest him. Eichards, though she had Uttle Paul on her lap, coiild not forget her own first-born. She felt it was ungrateful; but the influence of the day fell even on the Chaiitable Grinders, and she could hardly help regarding liis pewter badge, number one hundi'ed and forty-seven, as, somehow, a part of its formahty and sternness. She spoke, too, in tlie nursery, of his " blessed legs," and was again troubled by his spectre in uniform. " I don 't know what I wouldn't give," said Polly, " to see the poor little dear before he gets used to 'em." " IVhy, then, I teU you what, Mrs. Eichards," retorted Nipper, who had been admitted to her confidence, " see him and make your mind easy." " m. Dombey wouldn't like it," said Polly. • " Oh wouldn't he, IVIrs. Eichards ! " retorted Nipper, " he 'd like it veiy much, I think, when he was asked." " You wouldn't ask liim, I suppose, at aU? " said Polly. " No, Mi's. Eichards, quite contrairy," retmned Susan, " and them two inspectors Tox and Chick, not intending to be on duty to-morrow, as I heard 'em say, me and ]\Iiss Ploy will go along with you to morrow morning, and welcome, 'Mis. Eichards, if you- like, for we may as well walk there as up and do^vn a street, and better too." PoUy rejected the idea pretty stoutly at first ; but by little and little she began to entertain it, as she entertained more and more distinctly the for- bidden pictm'es of her childi'en, and her own home. At length, arguing that there could be no great harm in calling for a moment at the door, she yielded to the Nipper proposition. The matter being settled thus, little Paid began to cry most piteously, as if he had a foreboding that no good would come of it. " What 's the matter with the cliild ? " asked Susan. " He 's cold, I think," said Polly, walking with him to and fro, and hushing him. It ■was a bleak autumnal afternoon indeed ; and as she walked, and hushed, and, glancing through the di-eary windows, pressed the little feUow closer to her breast, the withered leaves came shoAvering down. CHAPTER VI. Paul's second deprivation. Polly was beset by so many misgivings in the morning, that but for the incessant promptings of her black-eyed companion, she would have abandoned aU thoughts of the expedition, and formally petitioned for leave to see number one hundred and forty-seven, under the awful shadow of Mr. Dombey's roof. But Susan who was personally disposed in favour of the excm'sion, and who (Uke Tony Lumpkin), if she could bear the disap- pointments of other people with tolerable fortitu^le, coidd not abide to disappoint herself, thi-cw so many ingenious doubts in the way of tliis 46 DOMBEY AND SON. second tliotiglit, and stimulated tlie original intention witli so many in- genious arguments, that almost as soon as IVIr. Dombey's stately back was turned, and that gentleman was pm-suing his daily road towards the city, liis unconscious son was on his way to Staggs's Gai'dens. Tliis euphonious locality was situated in a subm-b, known by the inha- bitants of Staggs's Gardens by the name of Camberhng Town ; a designa- tion which the Strangers' Map of London, as printed (with a view to pleasant and commodious reference) on pocket-handkerchiefs, condenses, with some show of reason, into Camden Town. Hither the two mu'ses bent their steps, accompanied by their charges ; Eichards caiiying Paul, of course, and Susan leading Httle Florence by the hand, and giving her such jerks and pokes from time to time, as she considered it wholesome to administer. The fii'st shock of a gi-cat earthquake had, just at that period, rent the whole neiglibom'hood to its centre. Traces of its com-se were visible on every side. Houses were knocked down ; streets broken through and stopped ; deep pits and trenches dug in the ground ; enormous heaps of earth and clay thi'own up ; buildings that were undermined and shaking, propped by great beams of wood. Here, a chaos of carts, overthro-vvn and jumbled together, lay topsy-tm-\T at the bottom of a steep unnatm-al hiE ; there, confused treasm-es of iron soaked and rusted in something that had accidentally become a pond. Eveiywhere were bridges that led nowhere ; thoroughfares that were wholly impassable ; Babel towers of chimneys, wanting half their height ; temporary wooden houses and enclosm-es, in the most unlikely situations ; carcases of ragged tenements, and fragments of unfinished walls and arches, and piles of scaflblding, and wildernesses of bricks, and giant forms of cranes, and tripods straddhng above notliing. There were a hundi-ed thousand shapes and substances of incompleteness, wildly mingled out of their places, upside down, biurow- ing in the earth, aspii-ing in the air, moiddering in the water, and imintel- ligible as any dream. Hot springs and fiery eraptions, the usual attend- ants upon earthquakes, lent then contribiitions of confusion to the scene. BoiHng water liissed and heaved within dilapidated AvaUs ; whence, also, the glare and roar of flames came issuing forth ; and mounds of ashes blocked up rights of way, and whoUy changed the law and custom of the neighboiu'hood. In short, the yet unfinished and unopened Eaih'oad was in progress ; and, from the very core of aU this dire disorder, trailed smoothly away, upon its mighty com-se of civilisation and improvement. But as yet, the neighbom-hood was shy to own the Eailroad. One or two bold speculators had projected streets ; and one had built a httle, but had stopped among the mud and ashes to consider farther of it. A bran- new Tavern, redolent of fresh mortar and size, and fronting nothing at all, had taken for its sign The Eailway Arms ; but that might be rash enter- prise — and then it hoped to sell drink to the workmen. So, the Exca- vators' House of Call had sprung up from a beer shop ; and the old- established Ham and Beef Shop had become The Eailway Eating House, with a roast leg of pork daily, thi-ough interested motives of a similar immediate and popular description. Lodgmg-house keepers were favour- able in hke manner ; and for the like reasons were not to be trusted. The DOMBEY AND SON. general belief was very slow. Tliere Avere frowzy fields, and cowhouses, and dimgliills, and dustheaps, and ditches, and gardens, and summer- houses, and carpet-beating groimds, at the veiy door of the EaUway. Little tumiUi of oyster shells in the oyster season, and of lobster shells in the lobster season, and of broken crockeiy and faded cabbage leaves in all seasons, encroached upon its high places. Posts, and rails, and old cautions to trespassers, and backs of mean houses, and patches of wretched vegetation, stared it out of coimtenance. Nothing was the better for it, or thought of being so. If the miserable waste ground lying near it could have laughed, it would have laughed it to scorn, hke many of the miserable neighbours. Staggs's Gardens was uncommonly incredidous. It was a Uttle row of houses, with httle squahd patches of ground before them, fenced off with old doors, barrel staves, scraps of tarpauhn, and dead bushes ; with bot- tomless tin kettles and exhausted iron fenders, thrust into the gaps. Here, the Staggs's Gardeners trained scarlet beans, kept fowls and rabbits, erected rotten summer houses (one Avas an old boat), dried clothes, and smoked pipes. Some were of opinion that Staggs's Gardens derived its name from a deceased capitalist, one Mr. Staggs, who had built it for his delectation. Others, who had a natural taste for the country, held that it dated from those rm-al times when the antlered herd, imder the familiar denomination of Staggses, had resorted to its shady precincts. Be this as it may, Staggs's Gardens was regarded by its popidation as a sacred grove not to be withered by raUroads ; and so confident were they generally of its long outhving any such ridiculous inventions, that the master chimney-sweeper at the corner, who was understood to take the lead in the local politics of the Gardens, had publicly declared that on the occasion of the Kaih-oad opening, if it ever did open, two of his boys shoidd ascend the flues of his dweRing, with instructions to had the failm'e with derisive jeers from the chimney pots. To this unhallowed spot, the very name of which had hitherto been carefully concealed from Mr. Dombey by his sister, was httle Paul now borne by Pate and Kichards. " That 's my house, Susan," said PoUy, pointing it out. " Is it, indeed, Mfs. Eichards," said Susan, condescendingly. " And there 's my sister Jemima at the door, I do declare !" cried Polly, " with my own sweet precious baby in her arms !" The sight added such an extensive pan* of wings to Polly's impatience, that she set off down the Gardens at a run, and bouncing on Jemima, changed babies with her in a twinkling ; to the unutterable astonishment of that young damsel, on whom the heir of the Dombeys seemed to have fallen from the clouds. "^\'hy, PoUy!" cried Jemima. "You! what a tm'n jou. Imve given me ! who 'd have thought it ! come along in PoUy ! How well you do look to be sure ! The childi-cn Avill go half wild to see you Polly, that they wiU." That they did, if one might judge from the noise they made, and the way in which they dashed at Polly and dragged her to a Ioav chah in the chimney comer, where her own honest apple face became immediately the centre of a bunch of smaller pippins, all laying then* rosy cheeks close to 48 DOMBEY AND SON. it, and all evidently tlie gi-owth of tlie same tree. As to PoUy, sKe was full as noisy and vehement as tlie cliddren ; and it was not until slie was quite out of breath, and her haii- was hanging all about her flushed face, and her new cln-istening attire was veiy much dishevelled, that any pause took place in the confusion. Even then, the smallest Toodle but one remained in her lap, holcKng on tight with both arms round her neck ; while the smallest Toodle but two mounted on the back of the chair, and made desperate efforts, with one leg in the ah', to kiss her round the corner. " Look ! there 's a pretty little lady come to see you," said Polly ; " and see how quiet she is ! what a beautiful little lady, ain't she ?" This reference to Florence, who had been standing by the door not unobservant of Avliat passed, du-ected the attention of the younger branches towards her ; and had Ukewise the happy effect of leading to the formal recognition of Miss Nipper, who was not quite free from a mis- giving that she had been already slighted. " Oh do come in and sit down a minute, Susan, please," said Polly ! " This is my sister Jemima, this is. Jemima, I don't know what I should ever do Avith myself, if it wasn't for Susan Nipper ; I shouldn't be here now but for her." " Oh do sit down Mss Nipper, if you please," cpioth Jemima. Susan took the extreme comer of a chau", with a stately and ceremonious aspect. " I never was so glad to see anybody in all my life ; now really I never was. Miss Nipper," said Jemima. Susan relaxing, took a little more of the chair, and smiled graciously. " Do untie yom* bonnet-strings and make yom'self at home. Miss Nipper, please," entreated Jemima. " I am afraid it 's a poorer place than you 're used to ; but you '11 make allowances, I 'm sm'e." The black-eyed was so softened by this deferential behaviom*, that she caught up little Miss Toodle who was running past, and took her to Banbiu"y Cross immediately. "But where 's my pretty boy?" said Polly. " My poor fellow? I came all this way to see him in his new clothes." " Ah what a pity ! " cried Jemima. " He '11 break Ms heart, when he hears his mother has been here. He 's at school, Polly." " Gone abeady ! " " Tes. He went for the first time yesterday, for fear he should lose any learning. But it 's half-holiday, PoUy ; if you could only stop 'till he comes home — you and Mss Nipper, leastways," said Jemima, mindful in good time of the dignity of the black-eyed. " And how does he look, Jemima, bless him ! " faltered Polly. " Well, really he don 't look so bad as you 'd suppose," returned Jemima, " Ah ! " said Polly, with emotion, " I knew his legs must be too short." " His legs is short," returned Jemima; " especially belund ; but they 'U get longer, Polly, every day." It was a slow, prospective kind of consolation ; but the cheerfidness and good nature Avith Avhich it was administered, gave it a value it did not intrinsically possess. Mter a moment's silence, Polly asked, in a more sprightly manner : DOMBEY AND SON. 49 " And where 's Eather, Jemima dear ? " — for by that patriarchal appel- lation, ^Ii\ Toodle was generally known in the family, " There again ! " said Jemima. " Wliat a pity ! Father took his dinner with him this morning, and isn't coming home till night. But he 's always talking of you PoUy, and telling the cliildren about you ; and is the peaceablest, patientest, best-temperedest soul in the world, as he always was and will be ! " " Thankee, Jemima," cried the simple PoUy ; delighted by the speech, and disappointed by the absence. " Oh you needn't thank me, Polly," said her sister, giving her a sound- ing kiss upon the cheek, and then dancing little Paul cheerfully. " I say the same of you sometimes, and think it too." In spite of the double disappointment, it was impossible to regard in the light of a failure a visit which was gi-eeted Avith such a reception ; so the sisters talked hopefidly about family matters, and about Biler, and about all his brothers and sisters : while the black-eyed, having performed several journeys to Banbuiy Cross and back, took sharp note of the furni- ture, the Dutch clock, the cvipboard, the castle on the mantelpiece with red and green mndows in it, susceptible of illumination by a candle-end Avithin ; and the pair of small black velvet kittens, each with a lady's reti- cule in its mouth ; regarded by the Staggs's Gardeners as prodigies of imitative art. The conversation soon becoming general lest the black- eyed should go off at score and tiu-n sarcastic, that young lady related to Jemima a summary of everything she knew concerning Mr. Dombey, his prospects, family, pursuits, and character. Also an exact inventory of her personal Avardrobe, and some account of her principal relations and friends. Having relieved her mind of these disclosm'es, she jiartook of shrimps and porter, and evinced a disposition to swear eternal friendship. Little Florence herself was not behind-hand in improving the occasion ; for, being conducted forth by the young Toodles to inspect some toadstools and other curiosities of the Gardens, she entered with them, heart and soul, on the formation of a temporary breakwater across a smaU green pool that had collected in a comer. She was stiU busily engaged in that labour, Avhen sought and found by Susan ; who, such Avas her sense of duty, even under the humanizing influence of shrimps, deUvered a moral address to her (punctuated Avitli thumps) on her degenerate natm'e, Avhile Avashing her face and hands ; and predicted that she AA^ould bring the grey hairs of her family in general, Avith sorroAV to the grave. After some delay, occasioned by a pretty long confidential intervieAV above stairs on I^ecuniary subjects, betAveen PoUy and Jemima, an interchange of babies Avas again effected — for PoUy had aU this time retained her OAvn child, and Jemima Uttle Paul — and the visitors took leave. But first the yoimg Toodles, victims of a pious fraud, Avere aeluded into repaii-ing in a body to a chandler's shop in the neighbom-hood, for tlie ostensible pm-pose of spending a penny ; and Avhen the coast Avas quite clear, PoUy fled : Jemima caUing after her that if they could only go round toAvards the City Koad on theh Avay back, they would be sure to meet Uttle Biler coming from school. " Do you think Ave might make time to go a Uttle romid in that dii-ec- tion, Susan ? " inquired PoUy, Avhen they halted to take breath. JG 50 DOMBEY AND SON. " Wliy not, Mrs. Kichards ? " retm-ned Susan. " It's getting on towards our dinner time you know," said Polly, But lunch had rendered her companion more than indifferent to this grave consideration, so she allowed no weight to it, and they resolved to go " a Httle round." Now, it happened that poor Biler's hfe had been, since yesterday morning, rendered weary by the costume of the Charitable Grinders. The youth of the streets could not endm^e it. No young vagabond coidd be brought to bear its contemplation for a moment, without throwing himself upon the nnoifending wearer, and doing him a mischief. His social existence had been more hke that of an early Christian, than an innocent child of the nineteenth century. He had been stoned in the streets. He had been overthro^\^l into gutters; bespattered Avith mud; violently flattened against posts. Entire strangers to his person had lifted his yellow cap ofl:" his head, and cast it to the winds. His legs had not only undergone verbal criticisms and revilings, but had been handled and pinched. That very morning, he had received a perfectly unsolicited black eye on his way to the Grinders' establishment, and had been pvmished for it by the master : a superannuated old Grinder of savage disposition, who had been appointed schoolmaster because he didn't know anything, and wasn't fit for anything, and for whose cruel cane aU chubby Httle boys had a perfect fascmation. Thus it fell out that Biler, on his way home, sought unfrequented paths ; and slunk along by naiTOW passages and back streets, to avoid his tormentors. Being compelled to emerge into the main road, his iU fortune brought him at last where a small party of boys, headed by a ferocious young butcher, were lying in wait for any means of pleasurable excitement that might happen. These, finding a Charitable Grinder in the midst of them — unaccountably delivered over, as it were, into theii- hands — set up a general yell and rushed upon liim. But it so fell out likewise, that, at that same time, Polly, looking hope- lessly along the road before her, after a good hoiu-'s walk, had said it was of no use going any fm'ther, when suddeidy she saw this sight. She no sooner saAV it than, uttering a hasty exclamation, and giving Master Dombey to the black-eyed, she started to the rescue of her unhappy little son. Surprises, like misfortunes, rarely come alone. The astonished Susan Nipper and her two young charges, were rescued by the bystanders from under the very wheels of a passing carriage before they knew what had happened ; and at that moment (it was market day) a thundering alarm of "Mad Bidl!" was raised. With a wald confusion before her, of people i-unning up and down, and shouting, and wheels running over them, and boys fighting, and mad bulls coming up, and the nurse in the midst of all these dangers being torn to pieces, Florence screamed and ran. She ran tiU she Avas exhausted, urging Susan to do the same ; and then, stopping and wringing her hands as she remembered they had left the other mu'se behind, found, with a sen- sation of terror not to be described, that she was quite alone. "Susan! Susan!" cried Florence, clapping her hands in the very eostacy of her alarm. " Oh, where are they ! where are they !" "Where are they?" said an old woman, coming hobbling across as fast C-'.ycro^jf^ y^^-^^^^'^ ^^ /?^.,>//:^/y^-^ rY^^no^, DOMBEY AND SON. 51 as slie could from tlie opposite side of tlie way. " "VVliy did you run away from 'em ? " " I was frightened," answered Florence. " I didn't know wliat I did. I thought they were with me. Where are they?" The old woman took her by the wrist, and said " I'U show you." She was a veiy ugly old woman, with red rims round her eyes, and a mouth that mumbled and chattered of itself when she was not speaking. She was miserably dressed, and earned some skins over her arm. She seemed to have followed Florence some little way at all events, for she had lost her breath ; and this made her ugUer stiU, as she stood trying to regain it : working her shrivelled yellow face and throat into all sorts of contortions. Florence was afraid of her, and looked, hesitating, up the street, of which she had almost reached the bottom. It was a sohtaiy place — more a back road than a street — and there was no one in it but herself and the old woman. " You needn't be fi-ightened now," said the old woman, still holding her tight. " Come along with me." " I — I don't know you. What's yom' name ? " asked Florence. " Mi-s. Brown," said the old woman. " Good IVIi-s. Brown." "Are they near here?" asked Florence, beginning to be led away. "Susan an't far otf," said Good IV'Ii-s. Brown; "and the others are close to her." "Is anybody hm-t?" ciied Florence, " Not a bit of it," said Good Mrs. Bro^vn. The child shed tears of dehght on hearuig tliis, and accompanied the old woman willingly ; though she could not help glancing at her face as they went along — ^particularly at that industrious mouth — and wondering whether Bad IVIi-s. Brown, if there were such a person, was at all like her. They had not gone very far, but had gone by some very uncomfortable places, such as brick-fields and tile-yards, when the old woman turned down a dirty lane, where the mud lay in deep black ruts in the middle of the road. She stopped before a shabby little house, as closely shut up as a house that was fuU of cracks and crevices could be. Opening the door with a key she took out of her bonnet, she pushed the child before her into a back room, where there was a gi-eat heap of rags of different colours lying on the floor ; a heap of bones, and a heap of sifted dust or cinders ; but there was no furniture at all, and the walls and ceihng were quite black. The cluld became so terrified that she was stricken speecldess, and looked as though about to swoon. " Now don't be a young mule," said Good ]\Irs. Brown, reviving her with a shake. " I 'm not a going to hurt you. Sit upon the rags." Florence obeyed her, holding out her folded hands, in mute supphcation, " I 'm not a going to keep you, even, above an horn-," said Mi-s. Brown. " D 'ye understand what I say ? " The cluld answered with great difficulty, " Yes." " Then," said Good IVIi-s. Brown, taking her own seat on the bones, " don't vex me. If you don't, I tell you I won't hurt you. But if you do, I '11 kiU you. I coidd have you killed at any time— even if you was ' E 3 50 DOMBEY AND SON. ill your ovra bed at home. Now let 's know who you are, and what you are, and all about it." The old woman's threats and promises ; the dread of giving her offence ; and the habit, unusual to a child, but almost natm-al to Florence now, of being quiet, and repressing what she felt, and feared, and hoped ; enabled her to do this bidding, and to tell her little history, or what she knew of it. Mrs. Brown listened attentively, until she had finished. " So yom- name 's Dombey, eh? " said Mrs. Brown. "Yes, Ma'am." " I want that pretty frock. Miss Dombey," said Good Mrs. Brown, " and that little bonnet, and a petticoat or two, and anything else you can spare. Come ! Take 'em off." Florence obeyed, as fast as her trembling hands would allow ; keeping, aU the wlnle, a frightened eye on Mrs. Brown. When she had divested herself of all the articles of apparel mentioned by that lady, Mrs. B. examined them at leism-e, and seemed tolerably well satisfied with their quality and value. " Humph ! " she said, running her eyes over the child's shght figiue. " I don't see anything else — except the shoes. I must have the shoes, Miss Dombey." Poor httle Florence took them off Avith equal alacrity, only too glad to have any more means of concihation about her. The old woman then produced some wretched substitutes from the bottom of the heap of rags, which she tmiied up for that purpose ; together with a girl's cloak, quite worn out and very old ; and the crushed remains of a boimet that had pro- bably been picked up from some ditch or dunghill. In this dainty raiment, she instructed Florence to dress herself; and as such preparation seemed a prelude to her release, the child complied mth increased readiness, if possible. In hurriedly putting on the bonnet, if that may be called a bonnet which was more Like a pad to carry loads on, she caught it in her hair which gi-ew luxuriantly, and could not immediately disentangle it. Good ^Irs. Brown whipped out a lai'ge pair of scissors, and fell into an unaccountable state of excitement. " Why coiddn't you let me be ! " said JVIi-s. Brown, " when I was con- tented. You Httle fool ! " " I beg yom- pardon. I don't know what I have done," panted Florence. " I couldn't help it." " Coiddn't help it ! " cried Mrs. Brown. " How do you expect I can help it ? Wliy, Lord ! " said the old woman, ruffling her cm-Is with a fm-ious plcasm'c, " anybody but me woidd have had 'em off", fu-st of all." Florence was so relieved to find that it was only her hair and not her head which Mrs. Brown coveted, that she offered no resistance or entreaty, and merely raised her mild eyes towards the face of that good soul. " If I hadn't once had a gal of my own — beyond seas noAV — that was proud of her hair," said Mrs. Brown, " I 'd have had every lock of it. She's far away, she's far away ! Oho ! Oho !" Mrs. Brown's was not a melodious cry, but, accompanied -ttdth a wild tossing up of her lean arms, it was fidl of passionate grief, and tlu-iUed to the heart of Florence, whom it frightened more than ever. It had its part, perhaps, in saving her curlsj for IVIi-s. Brown, after hovering about her with DOMBEY AND SON. 53 the scissors for some moments, like a new kind of butterfly, bade her hide them under the bonnet and let no trace of them escape to tempt her. Having accompHshed this victory over herself, Mrs. Brown resumed her seat on the bones, and smoked a veiy short black pipe, mowing and mumbhng aU the time, as if she were eating the stem. When the pipe was smoked out, she gave the child a rabbit-skin to caiTj'-, that she might appear the more like her ordinary companion, and told her that she was now going to lead her to a public street whence she covld inquire her way to her friends. But she cautioned her, with threats of summary and deadly vengeance in case of disobedience, not to talk to strangers, nor to repair to her own home (which may have been too near for Mrs. Brown's convenience), but to her father's office in the city; also to wait at the street corner where she would be left, until the clocks struck tlu-ee. These du-ections Mrs. BroAvn enforced Avith assurances that there would be potent eyes and ears in her employment cognizant of aU she did; and these directions Florence promised faithfully and earnestly to observe. At length, Mrs. Brown, issuing forth, conducted her changed and ragged little friend thi-ough a labyrinth of narrow streets and lanes and alleys, M'hich emerged, after a long time, upon a stable yard, with a gateway at the end, whence the roar of a great thorouglifare made itself audible. Pointing out tliis gateway, and informing Florence that when the clocks struck thi'ee she was to go to the left, IVIi's. Brown, after making a part- ing gi-asp at her hair which seemed involuntaiy and quite beyond her own control, told her she knew what to do, and bade her go and do it : remembering that she was watched. With a lighter heart, but still sore afi'aid, Florence felt herself released, and tripped off to the comer. WTien she reached it, she looked back and saw the head of Good Mrs. Brown peeping out of the low wooden passage, where she had issued her parting injunctions ; likewise the fist of Good Mrs. Brown shaking towards her. But though she often looked back afteiTvards — eveiy minute, at least, in her nervous recollection of the old woman — she could not see her again. Florence remained there, looking at the bustle in the street, and more and more bewildered by it ; and in the meanwliile the clocks appeared to have made up their minds never to strike three any more. At last the steeples rang out tlu'ee o'clock ; there was one close by, so she couldn't be mistaken ; and — after often looking over her shoulder, and often going a httle way, and as often coming back again, lest the aU-poAverful spies of IVIi's. Brown should take offence — she hurried off, as fast as she could in her slipshod shoes, holding the rabbit skin tight in her hand. AU she knew of her father's offices was that they belonged to Dombey and Son, and that that was a great power belonging to the city. So she coidd only ask the way to Dombey and Son's in the city ; and as she generally made the inquiry of children — being afraid to ask gTown people — she got very httle satisfaction indeed. But by dint of asking her way to the city after a while, and dropping the rest of her inquuy for the present, she reaUy did advance, by slow degi-ees, towards the heart of that great region which is governed by the temble Lord Mayor. Tired of walking, repulsed and pushed about, stunned by the noise and 54 DOMBEY AND SON. confusion, anxions for lier brother and the nm-ses, terrified by what she had undergone, and tlie prospect of encountering her angry father in sucli an altered state ; perplexed and frightened alike by what had passed, and what was passing, and what was yet before her ; Florence went upon her weary way with tearfid eyes, and once or twice could not help stopping to ease her biursting heart by crying bitterly. But few people noticed her at those times, in the garb she wore ; or if they did, believed that she was tutored to excite compassion, and passed on. Florence, too, called to her aid aU the finnness and self-rehance of a character that her sad experience had prematurely fonned and tried ; and keeping the end she had in view, steadily before her, steadily pm-sued it. It was fidl two hours later in the afternoon than when she had started on this strange adventiu-e, when, escaping from the clash and clangor of a narrow street fuU of carts and waggons, she peeped into a kind of wharf or landing-place upon the river side, where there were a great many pack- ages, casks, and boxes, stre^vn about ; a large pair of wooden scales ; and a little wooden house on wheels, outside of which, looking at the neigh- boui'ing masts and boats, a stout man stood whistling, with his pen behind his ear, and his hands in his pockets, as if his day's work were nearly done. " Now then ! " said this man, happening to turn round. " We haven't got anything for you, little girl. Be off! " " If you please, is this the city ? " asked the trembling daughter of the Dombeys. "Ah ! It's the city. You know that well enough, I dare say. Be off! We haven't got anything for you." " I don't want anything, thank you," was the timid answer. " Except to know the way to Dombey and Son's." The man who had been stroUing carelessly towards her, seemed sur- prised by this reply, and looking attentively in her face, rejoined : " Why, what can you Avant with Dombey and Son's." " To knoAV the way there, if you please." The man looked at her yet more curiously, and rubbed the back of his head so hard in his wonderment that he knocked his own hat off. " Joe ! " he called to another man — a labourer — as he picked it up and put it on again. " Joe it is ! " said Joe. " Wliere 's that young spark of Dombeys who's been watching the ship- ment of them goods ? " " Just gone, by the t'other gate," said Joe. " Call him back a minute." Joe ran up an archway, bawling as he went, and very soon returned with a blithe-looking boy. " You 're Dombey's jockey, an't you ?" said the first man. " I 'm in Dombey's House, Mr. Clark," retm-ned the boy, " Look'ye here, then," said IVIi-. Clark. Obedient to the indication of Mr. Clark's hand, the boy approached towards Florence, wondering, as well he might, what he had to do with her. But she, who had heard Avhat passed, and who, besides the relief of so suddenly considering herself safe and at her journey's end, felt re-assured beyond all measiu'c by his lively youtlifid face and manner. DOMBEY AND SON. 55 ran eagerly up to Mm, leaving one of the slipsliod shoes upon the ground, and caught his hand in both of hers. " I am lost, if you please ! " said Florence. "Lost !" cried the boy. " Yes, I was lost this morning, a long way from here — and I have had my clothes taken away, since — and I am not dressed in my ovm now — and my name is Florence Dombey, my Httle brother's only sister — and, oh dear, dear, take care of me, if you please!" sobbed Florence, giving fidl vent to the childish feehngs she had so long suppressed, and bm'sting into tears. At the same time her miserable bonnet falUng off, her hair came tumbhng down about her face : moving to speechless admii'ation and commiseration, young Walter, nephew of Solomon Grills, Ships' Instru- ment-maker in general. IVIr. Clark stood rapt in amazement : observing under his breath, /never saw such a start on this wharf before. Walter picked up the shoe, and put it on the little foot as the Prince in the story might have fitted Cinde- rella's slipper on. He hung the rabbit-skin over his left arm ; gave the right to Florence; and felt, not to say like Ei chard Whittington — that is a tame comparison — but hke Saint George of England, with the di'agon Ijing dead before him. " Don't ciy. Miss Dombey," said Walter, in a transport of enthusiasm. " What a wonderful thing for me that I am here. You are as safe now as if you were guarded by a whole boat's crew of picked men from a man-of-war. Oh don't cry." " I won't cry any more," said Florence. " I am only crying for joy." " Crying for joy !" thought Walter, " and I'm the cause of it ! Come along. Miss Dombey. There 's the other shoe off now ! Take mine, IVIiss Dombey." " No, no, no," said Florence, checking him in the act of impetuously pidling off his own. " These do better. These do very weU." " Why, to be siu'c," said Walter, glancing at her foot, " mine are a mile too large. Wliat am I thinking about ! You never coidd walk in mine ! Come along, Miss Dombey. Let me see the villain who will dare molest you now." So Walter, looking immensely fierce, led off Florence, looking veiy happy ; and they went arm in arm along the streets, perfectly indifferent to any astonishment that then* appearance might or did excite by the way. It was gi'owing dark and foggy, and beginning to rain too ; but they cared nothing for this : being both wholly absorbed in the late adventures of Florence, which she related vdth the innocent good faith and confidence of her years, while Walter listened as if, far from the mud and gi'case of Thames-street, they were rambling alone among the broad leaves and taU trees of some desert island in the tropics — as he veiy likely fancied, for the time, they were. " Have we far to go? " asked Florence at last, lifting her eyes to her companion's face. " Ah ! By the bye," said Walter, stopping, " let me see ; where are we ? Oh ! I know. But the offices are shut up now, Mss Dombey. There 's nobody there. Mr. Dombey has gone home long ago. I suppose we must go home too ? or, stay. Suppose I take you to my uncle's, where I 56 DOMBEY AND SON. live — it 's veiy near here — and go to your liouse in a coacli to tell tliem you are safe, and bring you back some clothes. Won't that be best ? " " I think so," answered Florence. "Don't you ? "Wliat do you think ? " As they stood deUberating in the street, a man passed them, who glanced quickly at Walter as he went by, as if he recognized him ; but seeming to correct that first impression, he passed on without stopping. " Why, I think it 's Mi-. Carker," said Walter. " Carker in our House. Not Carker our manager, Miss Dombey — the other Carker ; the junior — Halloa! Mi-. Carker!" " Is that W"alter Gay ? " said the other, stopping and retm-ning. " I coiddn't beheve it, Avith such a strange companion." As he stood near a lamp, listening with surprise to Walter's hurried explanation, he presented a remarkable contrast to the two youthful figm-es arm-in-arm before Mm. He was not old, but his hair was white ; his body was bent, or bowed as if by the weight of some gi-eat trouble ; and there were deep lines in his worn and melancholy face. The fire of his eyes, the expression of his features, the very voice in which he spoke, were aU subdued and quenched, as if the spmt within him lay in ashes. He was respectably, though vei-y plainly di-essed, in black ; but his clothes, moulded to the general character of his figm-e, seemed to shrink and abase themselves upon him, and to join in the sorrowful solicitation Avhich the whole man from head to foot expressed, to be left unnoticed, and alone in his humility. And yet his interest in youth and hopefulness was not extinguished with the other embers of his soid, for he watched the boy's eai-nest coun- tenance as he spoke with unusual sympathy, though with an inexpli- cable show of trouble and compassion, Avhicli escaped into his looks, however hard he strove to hold it prisoner. When Walter, in conclusion, put to him the question he had put to Florence, he still stood glancing at him with the same expression, as if he read some fate upon his face, mournfully at variance with its present brightness. " What do you advise, Mr. Carker ? " said Walter, smiling. " You always give me good advice, you know, when you do speak to me. That's not often, though." " I think your own idea is the best," he answered : looking from Flo- rence to Walter, and back again. " Mr. Carker," said Walter, brightening with a generous thought, " Come ! Here 's a chance for you. Go you to Mr. Dombey's, and be the messenger of good news. It may do you some good, Sii-. I '11 remain at home. You shaU go." " I ! " returned the other. " Yes. Why not, Mr. Carker ? " said the boy. He merely shook him by the hand in answer ; he seemed in a manner ashamed and afraid even to do that ; and bidding him good night, and advising him to make haste, turned aAvay. " Come, Miss Dombey," said Walter, looking after him as they turned away also, " we 'U go to my uncle's as quick as we can. Did you ever hear Mr. Dombey speak of Mr. Carker the junior. Miss Florence ? " " No," returned the child, mildly, " I don't often hear papa speak." " Ah ! true ! more shame for him," thought Walter. After a minute's pause, during wliich he had been looking down upon the gentle patient little DOMBEY AND SON. 57 face moving on at liis side, lie bestiiTed himself with his accustomed boyish animation and restlessness to change the subject ; and one of the unfortunate shoes coming off again ojiportunely, proposed to carry Flo- rence to his uncle's in his arms. Florence, though very tired, laughingly - declined the proposal, lest he should let her fall ; and as they were akeady near the wooden midshipman, and as Walter Avent on to cite various pre- cedents, from shipwrecks and other moving accidents, where younger boys than he had triumphantly rescued and canied off older girls than Flo- rence, they were still in full conversation about it when they arrived at the instrument maker's door. " Holloa, uncle Sol ! " cried Walter, bursting into the shop, and speaking incoherently and out of breath, from that time forth, for the rest of the evening. " Here 's a wonderful adventm-e ! Here 's Mr. Dombey's daughter lost in the streets, and robbed of her clothes by an old witch of a woman — foxmd by me — ^brought home to om* parlour to rest — look here ! " " Good Heaven ! " said uncle Sol, starting back against his favom'ite compass-case. " It can't be ! Well, I — ." " No, nor anybody else," said Walter, anticipating the rest. " Nobody would, nobody could, you know. Here ! just help me lift the httle sofa near the fire, will you, uncle Sol — take care of the plates — cut some dinner for her, will you uncle — throw those shoes imder the grate, ]\Iiss Florence — put yom' feet on the fender to chy — how damp they are — ^here 's an adven- ture, uncle, eh? — God bless my soid, how hot I am ! " Solomon Gills was quite as hot, by sympathy, and in excessive bewilder- ment. He patted Florence's head, pressed her to eat, pressed her to diink, rubbed the soles of her feet with his pocket handkerchief heated at the fire, followed his locomotive nephew with his eyes, and ears, and had no clear perception of anything except that he was being constantly knocked against and tumbled over by that excited young gentleman, as he darted about the room attempting to accompHsh twenty things at once, and doing notlxing at all. " Here, wait a minute, uncle," he continued, catching up a candle, " till I ran up stairs, and get another jacket on, and then I '11 be oft". I say, uncle, isn 't this an adventm-e? " " My dear boy," said Solomon, who, with his spectacles on his forehead and the great chi'onometer in liis pocket, was incessantly oscillating between Florence on the sofa, and his nephew in all parts of the parlom-, " it 's the most extraordinaiy — " " No, but do, uncle, please — do, MissFlorence — dinner, you know, uncle." " Yes, yes, yes," cried Solomon, cutting instantly into a leg of mutton, as if he were catering for a giant. " I '11 take care of her, Wally ! I under- stand. Pretty dear ! Famished, of course. You^ go and get ready. Lord bless me ! Sh Eichard Whittington thrice Lord Mayor of London ! " Walter was not very long in mounting to his lofty garret and descending from it, but in the mean time Florence, overcome by fatigue, had sunk into a doze before the fii-e. The short interval of quiet, though only a few minutes in duration, enabled Solomon Gills so far to collect his wits as to make some little arrangements for her comfort, and to darken the room, and to screen her from the blaze. Thus, when the boy retiuned, she was sleeping peacefully. " That 's capital ! " he whispered, giving Solomon such a hug that it 58 DOMBEY AND SON. squeezed a new expression into Ms face. " Now I 'm off. I '11 just take a crust of bread with me, for I 'm very hungry — and — don 't wake her, uncle Sol." " No, no," said Solomon. " Pretty child." " Pretty, indeed ! " cried Walter. " /never saw such a face, uncle Sol. Now I 'm off." " That 's right," said Solomon, greatly reheved. " I say, uncle Sol," cried Walter, putting his face in at the door. " Here he is again," said Solomon. " How does she look now ? " " Quite happy," said Solomon. " That's famous ! now I'm off." " I hope you are," said Solomon to himself. " I say, uncle Sol," cried Walter, reappearing at the door. " Here he is again ! " said Solomon. " We met Mr. Carker the junior in the street, queerer than ever. He bade me good bye, but came behind us here — there's an odd thing ! — for when we reached the shop doo]-, I looked round, and saw him going quietly away, like a servant who had seen me home, or a faithful dog. How does she look now, uncle?" " Pretty much the same as before, WaUy," replied uncle Sol. " That 's right. Now I am off ! " And this time he really was : and Solomon Gills, with no appetite for dinner, sat on the opposite side of the fire, Avatching Elorence in her slumber, building a great many aiiy castles of the most fantastic architec- tm-e, and looking, in the dim shade, and in the close vicinity of aU the instruments, like a magician disguised in a Welch wig and a suit of coffee colom', who held the child in an enchanted sleep. In the mean time, Walter proceeded towards Mr. Dombey's house at a pace seldom achieved by a hack horse from the stand ; and yet with his head out of window every two or three minutes, in impatient remonstrance with the driver. Arriving at his journey's end, he leaped out, and breath- lessly annoimcing his errand to the servant, followed him straight into the library, where there Avas a great confusion of tongues, and where IVIi'. Dom- bey, his sistei*, and Miss Tox, Eichards, and Nipper, Avere all congregated together. " Oh ! I beg yom* pardon, Sir," said Walter, rushmg up to him, " but I 'm happy to say it 's all right, Sir. Miss Dombey 's found ! " The boy with his open face, and floAving hair, and sparkling eyes, pant- ing with pleasm-e and excitement, Avas Avonderfidly opposed to Air. Dom- bey as he sat confronting him in his library chair. " I told you, Louisa, that she Avould certainly be foimd," said Mr. Dombey, looking slightly over his shoulder at that lady, who Avept in company Avith Miss Tox. " Let the servants knoAV that no further steps are necessary. This boy who brings the information, is young Gay, from the office. Hoav Avas my daughter found. Sir ? I knoAV hoAV she Avas lost." Here he looked majestically at Eichards. " But how was she found ? Avho found her ? " " Why, I believe / found Miss Dombey, Sh," said Walter modestly; " at least I don't know that I can claim the merit of having exactly found her. Sir, but I Avas the fortunate instiniment of — " " Wliat do you mean. Sir," interrupted Mr. Dombey, regarding the DOMBEY AND SON. 59 boy's evident pride and pleasure in Ms share of the transaction Avitli an instinctive dislike, " by not having exactly found my daughter, and by being a fortunate instrument ? Be plain and coherent, if you please." It was quite out of Walter's poAver to be coherent ; but he rendered himself as explanatory as he could, in his breathless state, and stated why he had come alone. " You hear this, girl ?" said ]\Ir, Dombey sternly to the black-eyed. " Take what is necessary, and retiu-n immediately with this young man to fetch Miss Florence home. Gay, you vnW. be rewarded to-morrow." " Oh ! thank you, Sii-," said Walter, " You are veiy kind. I 'm sure I was not tliinking of any reward. Sir." " You are a boy," said Mr. Dombey, suddenly and almost fiercely ; " and what you think of, or affect to think of, is of httle consequence. You have done well. Sir. Don 't undo it. Louisa, please to give the lad some wine." Mr. Dombey's glance followed Walter Gay with sharp disfavour, as he left the room under the pilotage of Mrs. Chick ; and it may be that liis mind's eye followed liim with no gi-eater relish, as he rode back to liis uncle's with Miss Susan Nipper. There they found that Florence, much refreshed by sleep, had dined, and greatly improved the acquaintance of Solomon GiUs, with whom she was on terms of perfect confidence and ease. The black-eyed (who had cried so much that she might now be called the red-eyed, and who was very silent and depressed) caught her in her arms without a word of con- tradiction or reproach, and made a very hysterical meeting of it. Tiien converting the parloui*, for the nonce, into a private tyring room, she dressed her, with great care, in proper clothes ; and presently led her forth, as hke a Dombey as her natiu-al disquaUfications admitted of her being made. " Good night !" said Florence, running up to Solomon. " You have been very good to me." Old Sol was quite dehghted, and kissed her like her grandfather. " Good night, Walter ! Good bye !" said Florence. " Good bye !" said Walter, giving both his hands. " I 'U never forget you," pm-sued Florence. " No ! indeed I never wiU. Good bye, Walter !" In the innocence of her grateful heart, the child lifted up her face to his. Walter, bending down his own, raised it again, aU red and bui'ning ; and looked at uncle Sol, quite sheepislily. " Where 's Walter ! " " Good night, Walter ! " " Good bye, Walter ! " " Shake hands, once more, Walter!" This was stdl Florence's cry, after she was shut vip with her little maid, in the coach. And when the coach at length moved oft", Walter on the door-step gaily returned the waving of her handkercliief, while the wooden midshipman behind him seemed, like himself, intent upon that coach alone, excluding all the other passing coaches from his observation. In good time Mr. Dombey's mansion was gained again, and again there was a noise of tongues in the hbrary. Again, too, the coach was ordered to wait — " for Mrs. Eichards," one of Susan's fellow-servants ominously whispered, as she passed with Florence. The entrance of the lost child made a sKght sensation, but not much. 60 DOMBEY AND SON. Mr. Dombey, who had never found her, kissed her once upon the forehead, and cautioned her not to run aAvay again, or wander anywhere with trea- cherous attendants. Mrs. Chick stopped in her lamentations on the cor- ruption of human nature, even when beckoned to the paths of virtue by a Charitable Grinder ; and received her with a welcome something short of the reception due to none but perfect Dombeys. Miss Tox regulated her feebngs by the models before her. Kichards, the culprit Eichards, alone poured out her heart in broken words of welcome, and bowed herself over the little wandering head as if she really loved it. "Ah Eichards ! " said ]\Ii-s. Chick, with a sigh. "It woidd have been much more satisfactory to those who wish to think weU of their fellow creatm'es, and much more becoming in you, if you had shown some proper feeling, in time, for the little child that is now going to be prematurely deprived of its natural nom'ishment." " Cut oif," said ]\Iiss Tox in a plaintive whisper, " from one common fountain ! " " If it was my ungratefid ease," said Mrs. Chick, solemnly, " aiid I had your reflections, Eichards, I should feel as if the Charitable Grinders' dress would bUght my child, and the education choke him." For the matter of that — but ]\Irs. Chick didn't knoAV it — he had been pretty well blighted by the dress akeady ; and as to the education, even its retributive effect might be produced in time, for it was a storm of sobs and blows. " Louisa ! " said Wx. Dombey. " It is not necessary to prolong these observations. The woman is discharged and paid. You leave this house, Eichards, for taking my son — my son " said Mi-. Dombey, emphatically repeating those two Avords, " into haimts and into society which are not to be thought of without a shudder. As to the accident which befel Miss Florence this morning, I regard that, as, in one gi-eat sense, a hajDpy and fortunate circumstance; inasmu.ch as, but for that occurrence, I never could have known — and from yom* own Hps too — of what you had been guilty. I think, Louisa, the other nurse, the young person," here Miss Nipper sobbed aloud, "being so much younger, and necessarily influenced by Paul's nurse, may remain. Have the goodness to direct that this woman's coach is paid to — " IVIi". Dombey stopped and evinced — " to Staggs's Gardens." PoUy moved towards the door, with Florence holding to her dress, and crying to her in the most pathetic manner not to go away. It was a dagger in the haughty father's heart, an arrow in his brain, to see hoAV the flesh and blood he covdd not disoAvai clung to this obscvue stranger, and he sitting by. Not that he cared to whom his daughter tm'ued, or from whom tmiied away. The swift sharp agony struck through Mm, as he thought of what liis son might do. His son cried lustily that night, at aU events. Sooth to say, poor Paul had better reason for his tears than sons of that age often have, for he had lost his second mother — his first, so far as he knew — by a stroke as sudden as that natural affliction Avhich had darkened the beginning of his life. At the same blow, his sister, too, Avho cried herself to sleep so mom-nfuUy, had lost as good and true a friend. But that is quite beside the question. Let us waste no words about it. DOMBEY AND SON. 61 CHAPTER VII. A bird's eye glimpse of miss TOx's DWELLING-PLACE; ALSO OF THE STATE OF MISS TOX's AFFECTIONS. Miss Tox inliabited a dark little house that had been squeezed, at some remote period of English History, into a fashionable neighbourhood at the Avest end of the town, where it stood in the shade Hke a poor relation of the great street round the corner, coldly looked down upon by mighty mansions. It was not exactly in a court, and it was not exactly in a yard ; but it was in the dullest of No-Thoroughfares, rendered anxious and hag- gard by distant double knocks. The name of tliis retirement, where grass gTCw between the chinks in the stone pavement, was Princess's Place ; and in Princess's Place was Princess's Chapel, with a tinkling beU, where some- times as many as five-and-twenty people attended service on a Sunday. The Princess's Anns was also there, and much resorted to by splendid footmen. A sedan chau' was kept inside the raihng before the Princess's Arms, but it had never come out witlun the memory of man ; and on fine mornings, the top of every rail (there wei-e eight-and-forty, as IVIiss Tox had often counted) was decorated -with a pewter-pot. There was another private house besides Miss Tox's in Princess's Place : not to mention an immense pair of gates, with an immense pair of lion- headed knockers on them, which were never opened by any chance, and were supposed to constitute a disused entrance to somebody's stables. Indeed, there was a smack of stabhng in the aii' of Princess's Place ; and Miss Tox's bedi'oom (which was at the back) commanded a vista of Mews, where hostlers, at whatever sort of work engaged, were continually accom- panying themselves with effervescent noises ; and where the most domestic and confidential garments of coachmen and their wives and families, usually hung, hke Macbeth's banners, on the outward walls. At this other private house in Princess's Place, tenanted by a retired butler who had married a housekeeper, apartments were let Pm-nished, to a single gentleman : to wit a wooden-featured, blue-faced. Major, with his eyes starting out of liis head, in whom Miss Tox recognised, as she herself expressed it, " something so truly miUtary;" and between whom and herself, an occasional interchange of newspapers and pampldets, and s\ich Platonic daUiance, Avas effected through the medium of a dark servant of the Major's, Avhom Miss Tox was quite content to classify as a " native," without con- necting him with any geogi-aphical idea whatever. Perhaps there never was a smaller entry and staircase, than the entry and staircase of Miss Tox's house. Perhaps, taken altogether, from top to bottom, it was the most inconvenient httle house in England, and the crookedest ; but then. Miss Tox said, what a situation ! There was very little dayhght to be got there in the winter : no sun at the best of times : air was out of the question, and traffic was walled out. StiU Miss Tox said, think of the situation ! So said the blue-faced Major, whose eyes were starting out of his head : who gloried in Prmcess's Place : and who 62 DOMBEY AND SON. delighted to turn the conversation at his ckib, whenever he could, to something connected with some of the gi-eat people in the great street roimd the corner, that he might have the satisfaction of saying they were his neighbours. The dingy tenement inhabited by Miss Tox was her own ; having been devised and bequeathed to her by the deceased owner of the fishy eye in the locket, of whom a miniature portrait, with a powdered head and a pig- tail, balanced the kettle-holder on opposite sides of the parlour fire-place. The gi-eater part of the furniture was of the powdered-head and pig-tail period : comprising a plate-warmer, always languishing and sprawling its four attenuated bow legs in somebody's way ; and an obsolete hai-psichord, illuminated round the maker's name with a painted garland of sweet peas. Although Major Bagstock had arrived at what is called in polite htera- ture, the grand meridian of life, and was proceeding on liis joiu'ney down- hill with hardly any throat, and a very rigid pair of jaw-bones, and long-flapped elephantine ears, and his eyes and complexion in the state of artificial excitement abeady mentioned, he was mightily proud of awakening an interest in Miss Tox, and tickled his vanity with the fiction that she was a splendid woman who had her eye on him. This he had several times hinted at the club : in connexion with little jocidarities, of which old Joe Bagstock, old Joey Bagstock, old J. Bagstock, old Josh. Bagstock, or so forth, was the perpetual theme : it being, as it were, the Major's stronghold and donjon-keep of light humour, to be on the most familiar terms with his own name. " Joey B., Sii'," the Major woidd say, with a flourish of his walking-stick, " is worth a dozen of you. If you had a few more of the Bagstock breed among you. Sir, you 'd be none the worse for it. Old Joe, Sir, needn't look far for a wife even now, if he was on the look-out ; but he's hard- hearted. Sir, is Joe — he 's tough. Sir, tough, and de-vilish sly ! " After such a declaration, wheezing sounds woidd be heard; and the Major's blue woidd deepen into pm-ple, while his eyes strained and started convulsively. Notwithstanding his veiy liberal laudation of himself, however, the Major was selfish. It may be doubted whether there ever was a more entirely selfish person at heart; or at stomach is perhaps a better expression, seeing that he was more decidedly endowed with that latter organ than with the fonuer. He had no idea of being overlooked or sHghted by anybody ; least of aU, had he the remotest comprehension of being overlooked and slighted by Miss Tox. And yet. Miss Tox, as it appeared, forgot him — gradually forgot him. She began to forget him soon after her discoveiy of the Toodle family. She continued to forget him up to the time of the christening. She went on forgetting him with compound interest after that. Sometliing or somebody had superseded him as a source of interest. " Good morning. Ma'am," said the Major, meeting Miss Tox in Prin- cess's Place, some weeks after the changes chi'onicled in the last chapter. " Good morning, Sir," said Miss Tox ; very coldly. " Joe Bagstock, Ma'am," obsei*ved the Major, with his usual gaUantiy, " has not had the happiness of bowing to you at yom- window, for a con- siderable period. Joe has been hardly used, Ma'am. His sun has been behind a cloud." DOMBEY AND SON. 63 Miss Tox inclined her head ; but very coldly indeed. " Joe's luminary has been out of town Ma'am, perhaps," euquii-ed the Major. " I ? out of town ? oh no, I have not been out of town," said Miss Tox. I have been much engaged lately. My time is nearly all devoted to some very intimate friends. I am afraid I have none to spare, even now. Good morning, Sn ! " As Miss Tox, with her most fascinating step and carriage, disappeared from Princess's Place, the Major stood looking after her with a bluer face than ever : muttering and gi'owUng some not at aU comphmentary remarks. " ^liy, damme. Sir," said the Major, rolling his lobster eyes round and round Princess's Place, and apostrophizing its fi-agi-ant aii-, " six months ago, the woman loved the gi-ound Josh. Bagstock walked on. What 's the meaning of it ? " The Major decided, after some consideration, that it meant man-traps ; that it meant plotting and snaring ; that Miss Tox was digging pitfalls. " But you won't catch Joe, Ma'am," said the Major. " He 's tough. Ma'am, tough, is J. B. Tough, and de-vilish sly ! " over wliich reflection he chuckled for the rest of the day. But still, when that day and many other days were gone and past, it seemed that Miss Tox took no heed whatever of the Major, and thought notliing at aU about him. She had been wont, once upon a time, to look out at one of her httle dark windows by accident, and blushingly return the Major's greeting ; but now, she never gave the Major a chance, and cared nothing at all whether he looked over the way or not. Other changes had come to pass too. The Major, standing in the shade of his own apartment, coidd make out that an air of greater smartness had recently come over Miss Tox's house ; that a new cage with gilded whes had been provided for the ancient little canary bird ; that divers ornaments, cut out of colom*ed card-boards and paper, seemed to decorate the chimney-piece and tables ; that a plant or two had suddenly sprung up in the windows ; that Miss Tox occasionally practised on the harpsichord, whose garland of sweet peas Avas always displayed ostentatiously, ci'owned with the Copenhagen and Bird Waltzes in a Music Book of Miss Tox's own copying. Over and above all this. Miss Tox had long been dressed with uncommon care and elegance in slight momiiing. But this helped the Major out of his difficulty ; and he determined witliin himself that she had come into a small legacy, and grown proud. It was on the very next day after he had eased his mind by arriving at this decision, that the Major, sitting at his breakfast, saw an apparition so tremendous and wonder fid in Miss Tox's little drawing-room, that he remained for some time rooted to his chair ; then, rushing into the next room, returned with a double-ban-elled opera-glass, through which he surveyed it intently for some minutes. " It 's a Baby, Sii'," said the Major, shutting up the glass again, " for fifty thousand pound ! " The Major couldn't ftn-get it. He could do nothing but wliistle, and stare to that extent, that liis eyes, compared with what they now became, had been in former times quite cavernous and sunken. l)ay after day, two, three, four times a week, this Baby reappeared. The Major continued 64. DOMBEY AND SOX. to stare and wliistle. To all other intents and pm-poses he Avas alone in Princess's Place. Miss Tox had ceased to mind what he did. He might have been black as well as blue, and it w^oidd have been of no con- sequence to her. The perseverance with which she walked out of Princess's Place to fetch this baby and its nm-se, and walked back with them, and walked home with them again, and continually mounted guard over them ; and the per- severance with which she nursed it herself, and fed it, and played with it, and froze its young blood with airs upon the harpsichord ; was extraordinary. At about this same period too, she was seized with a passion for looking at a certain bracelet ; also with a passion for looking at the moon, of which she Avould take long observations from her chamber window. But what- ever she looked at ; sun, moon, stars, or bracelets ; she looked no more at the Major. And the Major whistled, and stared, and wondered, and dodged about his room, and could make nothing of it. " You '11 quite win my brother Paul's heart, and that 's the truth, my dear," said Mrs. Chick, one day. Miss Tox turned pale. " He grows more like Paul every day," said Mrs. Chick, Miss Tox returned no other reply than by taking the little Paul in her arms, and making his cockade perfectly flat and limp with her caresses. " His mother, my dear," said Miss Tox, " whose acquaintance I was to have made through vou, does he at all resemble her ?" " Not at all," returned Louisa. " She was — she was pretty, I believe ?" Mtered Miss Tox, " Why, poor dear Panny was interesting," said Mi-s. Chick, after some judicial consideration. " Certainly interesting. She had not that air of commanding superiority which one wo\dd somehow expect, almost as a matter of com-se, to find in my brother's wife ; nor had she that strength and vigour of mind which such a man requires." Miss Tox heaved a deep sigh. " But she was pleasing ." said Mrs. Chick : " extremely so. And she meant ! — oh, dear, how well poor Fanny meant ! " " You Angel !" cried INIiss Tox to little Paul. " You Pictm-e of your own Papa!" If the Major could have known how many hopes and ventm-es, what a midtitude of plans and speculations, rested on that baby head ; and could have seen them hovering, in all their heterogeneous confusion and disorder, round the puckered cap of the unconscious little Paid; he might have stared indeed. Then would he have recognised, among the croAvd, some few ambitious motes and beams belonging to Miss Tox ; then woidd he perhaps have understood the natm-e of that lady's faltering investment in the Dom- bey Pii'm. If the cliild liimself could have awakened in the night, and seen, gathered about liis cradle-curtains, faint reflections of the di-eams that other people had of him, they might have scared liim, with good reason. But he slumbered on, alike unconscious of the kind intentions of IMiss Tox, the wonder of the Major, the early sorrows of his sister, and the sterner visions of his father; and innocent that any spot of earth contained a Dombey or a Son. DOMBEY AND SOX. 65 CHAPTER VIII. Paul's fukthek progress, growth, and character. Beneath the watching and attentive eyes of Time — so far another Major — Paul's slumbers gradually changed. More and more light broke in upon them ; distincter and distincter di-eams distm'bed them ; an accu- mulating crowd of objects and impressions swarmed about his rest ; and so he passed from babyhood to childhood, and became a talking, walking, wondering Dombey. On the downfall and banishment of Eichards, the nursery may be said to have been put into commission; as a PubHc Department is sometimes, when no individual Atlas can be found to support it. The Commissioners were, of course, IVIi's. Cliick and Miss Tox : who devoted themselves to their duties with such astonishing ardor that Major Bagstock had every day some new reminder of liis being forsaken, while Mr. Cliick, bereft of domestic supervision, cast himself upon the gay world, dined at clubs and coffee-houses, smelt of smoke on three distinct occasions, went to the play by himself, and in short; loosened (as IVIrs. Chick once told him) every social bond, and moral obligation. Yet, in spite of his early promise, all this vigilance and care coidd not make little Paul a thriving boy. Naturally delicate, perhaps, he pined and Avasted after the dismissal of his nurse, and, for a long time, seemed but to Avait Ids opportunity of gUding through then* hands, and seeking his lost mother. This dangerous ground in his steeple-chase towards man- hood passed, he still found it very rough riding, and was giievously beset by all the obstacles in his com*se. Every tooth was a break-neck fence, and every pimple in the measles a stone wall to him. He was down in every fit of the hooping-cough, and rolled upon and crushed by a whole field of small diseases, that came trooping on each other's heels to prevent his getting up again. Some bird of prey got into his tluoat instead of the thrush; and the very chickens turning ferocious — if they have anything to do with that infant malady to which they lend their name — worried him like tiger-cats. The chill of Paul's christening had struck home, perhaps, to some sensi- tive part of his natiu-e, which could not recover itself in the cold shade of his father; but he Avas an unfortunate child from that day. Mrs. Wickam often said she never see a dear so put upon. IVIrs. Wickam Avas a waiter's Avife — Avhich Avould seem equivalent to being any other man's AAddoAV — Avhose appKcation for an engagement in Mr. Dombey's service had been favorably considered, on aceount of the apparent impossibility of her having any foUoAvers, or any one to foUow; and who, from Avithin a day or tAvo of Paul's sharp Aveaning, had been engaged as his nurse. IVIi-s. Wickam Avas a meek Avoman, of a fail' com- plexion, Avith her eyebrows always elevated, and her head ahvays drooping ; who was ahvays ready to pity herself, or to be pitied, or to pity anybody else ; and Avho had a sui-prising natm'al gift of vicAving all subjects in an utterly forlorn and pitiable light, and bringing di'eadfid precedents to bear upon them, anddcriAdngthegi-eatest consolationfromthe exerciseof thattalent. . It is hardly necessaiy to observe, that no touch of tliis quality ever F 66 DOMBEY AND SOX. reached the magnificent knowledge of JMi-. Dombey. It woidd have been remarkable, indeed, if any had ; when no one in the house — not even ]VIi-s. Chick or Miss Tox — dared ever whisper to him that there had, on any one occasion, been the least reason for uneasiness in reference to httle Paul. He had settled, within himself, that the cliild must necessarily pass tlu'ough a certain routine of minor maladies, and that the sooner he did so the better. If he coidd have bought him oft", or provided a substitute, as in the case of an unlucky di-awdng for the mihtia, he would have been glad to do so, on hberal terms. But as this was not feasible, he merely won- dered, in his haughty manner, now and then, what Natiu'e meant by it; and comforted liimself with the reflection that there Avas another milestone passed upon the road, and that the gi-eat end of the jom-ney lay so much the nearer. For the feehng uppermost in his mind, now and constantly intensifying, and increasing in it as Paul gi-ew older, was impatience. Impatience for the time to come, when liis visions of their united conse- quence and grandem* would be triumphantly realized. Some philosophers teU. us that selfishness is at the root of om' best loves and aff"ections. iSix. Dombey's yoxmg cliild was, from the beginning, so distinctly important to him as a part of his owoi gi'eatness, or (which is the same thing) of the greatness of Dombey and Son, that there is no doubt his parental aft'ection might have been easily traced, Hke many a goodly superstructure of fan- fame, to a very low foundation. But he loved Ms son with all the love he had. If there were a wann place in his frosty heart, his son occupied it; if its very hard smface coidd receive the impres- sion of any image, the image of that son was there ; though not so much as an infant, or as a boy, but as a grown man — the " Son " of the Firm. Therefore he was impatient to advance into the futm'e, and to InuTy over the intei-vening passages of his history. Therefore he had little or no anxiety about them, in spite of his love ; feeling as if the boy had a charmed life, and must become the man with Avhom he held such constant communication in his thoughts, and for whom he planned and projected, as for an existing reality, eveiy day. Thus Paul grew to be neai'ly five years old. He was a pretty little fellow; though there was something wan and wistfid in his small face, that gave occasion to many significant shakes of Mis. Wickam's head, and many long-di-awn inspu'ations of JVIi's. Wickam's breath. His temper gave abundant promise of being imperious in after life ; and he had as hopeful an apprehension of his own importance, and the rightful subserWence of aU other things and persons to it, as heart eoidd desu-e. He was childish and sportive enough at times, and not of a suUen disposition ; but he had a strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful Avay, at other times, of sitting brooding in his miniatm-e arm-chau', when he looked (and talked) like one of those terrible little Beings in the Pairy tales, who, at a hundred and fifty or two huncbed years of age, fantastically represent the children for Avhoni they have been substituted. He woidd frequently be sti-icken with this preco- cious mood upstau-s in the nm-sery ; and woidd sometimes lapse into it suddenly, exclaiming that he was tired : even while plajdng Avith Florence, or driving Miss Tox in single harness. But at no tune did he faU into it so sm-ely, as Avhen, his httle chah being carried doAvn into his father's room, he sat there with him after dinner, by the fii-e. They Avere the strangest pail" at such a time that ever fii-ehght shone \ipon, j\Ii-. Dombey so erect DOMBEY AND SON. 67 and solemn, gazing at the blaze ; his Kttle image, with an old, old, face, peering into the red j^erspective with the fixed and rapt attention of a^sage. Mr. Dombey entertaining complicated worldly schemes and plans ; the Uttjg image entertaining Heaven knows what wild fancies, half-formed thoughts, and wandering specidations. IMr. Dombey stiff with starch and arrogance ; the little image by inheritance, and in unconscious imitation. The two so very much ahke, and yet so monstrously contrasted. On one of these occasions, when they had both been perfectly qioiet for a long time, and IVIi-. Dombey oidy knew that the child was awake by occa- sionally glancing at his eye, where the bright fire was sparkling hke a jewel, Uttle Paul broke silence thus . "Papa! what's money?" The abrupt question had such immediate reference to the subject of Ml'. Dombey's thoughts, that IVIr. Dombey was quite disconcerted. " "What is money, Paid?" he answered. " Money ?" " Yes," said the child, laying liis hands upon the elbows of his Little chau-, and tiuming the old face up towards Mr. Dombey's; " what is money ?" Mr. Dombey was in a difficulty. He woidd have hked to give him some explanation involving the terms circvdating-medium, cmTency, depre- ciation of cun-ency, paper, bullion, rates of exchange, value of precious metals in the market, and so forth ; but looking doAvn at the little chair, and seeing what a long way down it Avas, he answered: " Gold, and silver, and copper. Guineas, shillings, half-pence. You know what they m'e?" " Oh yes, I know what they are," said Paid. " I don't mean that. Papa. I mean, what 's money after aU." Heaven and Earth, how old his face was as he tm-ned it up again towards Ids father's ! "What is money after all!" said Mr. Dombey, backing his chair a little, that he might the better gaze in sheer amazement at the presump- tuous atom that propomided such an inquiry. "I mean, Papa, what can it do?" retm-ned Paul, folding his arms (they were hardly long enough to fold), and looking at the fire, and up at liim, and at the fire, and up at him again. IVIi-. Dombey drew liis chair back to its fonner place, and patted him on the head. " You 'U know better bye-and-bye, my man," he said. " Money, Paid, can do anything." He took hold of the httle hand, and beat it softly against one of his own as he said so. But Paul got Ids hand free as soon as he could ; and rubbing it gently to and fro on the elbow of his chair, as if Ids wit were in the palm, and he were shai-pemng it — and looking at the fire again, as though the fire had been his adviser and prompter — repeated, after a short pause : "Anything, Papa?" " Yes. Anytlung — almost," said 'Mx. Dombey. "Anything means eveiything, don't it. Papa ? " asked his son : not observing, or possibly not understanding, the qualification. " It includes it : yes," said jVIr. Dombey. " Wliy didn't money save me my mama ? " returned the chdd. " It isn't cruel, is it ? " " Cruel ! " said Mi*. Dombey, settling his neckcloth, and seeming to resent the idea. " No. A good thing can't be cruel." "If it's a good thing, and can do anything," said the little fellow F 2 68 DOMBEY AND SON. thoughtfully, as he looked back at the fire, " I wonder why it didn't save me my mania." ^ He didn't ask the question of his father ihis time. Perhaps he had seen, with a child's quickness, that it had aheady made his father uncom- fortable. But he repeated the thought aloud, as if it were q\ute an old one to him, and had troubled him veiy much ; and sat with his chin resting on his hand, still cogitating and looking for an explanation in the fu'e. Mr. Dombey having recovered from his surprise, not to say liis alann (for it was the ^^ry first occasion on which the child had ever broached the subject of his mother to him, though he had had him sitting by liis side, , in this same manner, evening after evenhig), expounded to him how that money, though a very potent spirit, never to be disparaged on any account whatever, could not keep people ahve whose time was come to die; and how that we must aU die, unfortunately, even in the city, thougli we were never so rich. But how that money caused us to be honored, feared, re- spected, com'ted, and admned, and made us powerful and glorious in the eyes of all men ; and how that it could, very often, even keep off death, for a long time together. How, for example, it had secm-ed to liis mama the services of j\Ir. Pilkins, by which he, Paid, had often profited himself ; likewise of the gi-eat Doctor Parker Peps, whom he had never kno^^ai. And how it coidd do all, that could be done. This, with more to the same pm-pose, Mr. Dombey instilled into the mind of his son, who listened atten- tively, and seemed to understand the greater part of what was said to him. "It can't make me strong and quite well, either. Papa; can it?" asked Paul, after a short silence : nibbing his tiny hands. " Why, you are strong and quite well," retm'ned Mr. Dombey. "Are you not ? " Oh ! the age of the face that was tiu'ned up again, with an expression, half of melancholy, half of slyness, on it ! " You are as strong and well as such little people usually are ? Eh ? " said jVIi-. Dombey. " Florence is older than I am, but I'm not as strong and well as Plo- rence, I know," retm'ned the child; "and I beheve that when Florence was as httle as me, she could play a great deal longer at a time without tiring herself. I am so tii'cd sometimes," said Uttle Paid, warming his hands, and looking in between the bars of the gi'ate, as if some ghostly puppet- show were performing there, " and my bones ache so (Wickam says it's my bones), that I don't know what to do." " Aye ! But that 's at night," said IVIr. Dombey, di-a^vdng liis own chair closer to Ms son's, and laying his hand gently on his back ; " little people should be tired at night, for then they sleep well." " Oh, it 's not at night, Papa," retm-ned the cluld, " it 's in the day ; and I lie down in Florence's lap, and she sings to me. At night I dream about such cu-ri-ous things !" And he went on, warming Ids hands again, and tliinking about them, like an old man or a young goblin. !Mr. Dombey was so astonished, and so uncomfortable, and so perfectly at a loss how to pursue the conversation, that he could only sit looking at his son by the hght of the fire, with his hand resting on his back, as if it were detained there by some magiietic attraction. Once he advanced his other hand, and tm'ued the contemplative face towards his owa for a DOMBEY AND SON. 69 moment. But it sought the tire again as soon as he released it; and remained, addi-essed towards the Hickering blaze, until the nm-se appeared, to summon him to bed. " I want Florence to come for me," said Paul. "Won't you come wdth yom* poor Nurse Wickam, Master Paul?" inqiured that attendant, with gi-eat pathos. " No, I won't," rephed Paul, composing himself in his arm-chair again, like the master of the hoiise. Invoking a blessing upon his innocence, Mrs. Wickam withdrew, and presently Plorence appeared in her stead. The child immediately started up with sudden readiness and animation, and raised towards liis father in bidding him good night, a countenance so much brighter, so much younger, and so much more eliild-like altogether, that Mr. Dombey, yvhile he felt greatly re-assm'cd by the change, was quite amazed at it. After they had left the room together, he thought he heard a soft voice singing; and remembering that Paul had said his sister sung to him, he had the cm'iosity to open the door and listen, and look after them. She was toiling up the "great, wide, vacant staircase, Avitli liim in her arms ; his head Avas lying on her shoulder, one of his aiins tin-own negligently round her neck. So they went, toiling up; she singing all the way, and Paul sometimes crooning out a feeble accompaniment. Mr. Dombey looked after them until they reached the top of the staircase — not without halting to rest by the way — and passed out of liis sight ; and then he still stood gazing upward, until the dull rays of the moon, glimmering in a melancholy manner through the dim skyhght, sent him back to his own room. Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox were convoked in council at dinner next day ; and when the cloth was removed, Mr. Dombey opened the proceedings by requiring to be informed, without any gloss or reservation, whether there was anything the matter Avith Paul, and what IMr. Pilkins said about him. " For the child is hardly," said Mr. Dombey, " as stout as I could wish." "With your usual happy discrimination, my dear Paid," retm-ned Mrs. Chick, " you have hit the point at once. Oiu* darhng is not altogether as stout as we could wish. The fact is, that his mind is too much for him. His sold is a gi-eat deal too large for his frame. I am sm-e the Avay in Avhich that dear child talks !" said Mrs. Chick, shaking her head ; "no one would believe. His expressions, Lucretia, only yesterday upon the subject of Funerals ! — " "I am afraid," said ]\li'. Dombey, uiterrupting her testdy, "that some of those persons upstairs suggest improper subjects to the child. He was speaking to me last m'ght about his — about his Bones," said jMi-. Dombey, laying an irritated stress upon the word. " What on earth has anybody to do with the — with the — Bones of my son? He is not a living skeleton, I suppose." " Very fai- from it," said ]\Ii-s. Chick, with unspeakable expression. " I hope so," retm-ned her brother. " Funerals again ! who talks to the child of funerals? We are not undertakers, or mutes, or grave-diggers, I believe." " Very far from it," interposed Mrs. Chick, with the same profound expression as before. " Then who puts such things into his head ? " said ]Mr. Dombey. 70 DOMBEY AND SON. " Keally I was quite dismayed and shocked last night. "VSTio puts such things into his head, Louisa? " " My dear Paid," said Mrs. Chick, after a moment's silence, " it is of no use inquii-ing. I do not think, I will tell you candidly, that Wickam is a person of very cheerfid sphits, or what one woidd call a — " "A daughter of Momus," Miss Tox softly suggested. "Exactly so," said IVIi's. Chick; "but she is exceedingly attentive and useful, and not at all presumptuous ; indeed I never saw a more biddable woman. If the dear child," pursued Mi's. Cliick, in the tone of one Avho was summing up what had been previously quite agi'eed upon, instead of saying it all for the first time, "is a Httle weakened by that last attack, and is not in qiute such vigorous health as we could wdsh ; and if he has some temporary weakness in his system, and does occasionally seem about to lose, for the moment, the use of his — " Mrs. Chick was afraid to say limbs, after ]\Ir. Dombey's recent objection to bones, and therefore waited for a suggestion from IVIiss Tox, who, true to her office, hazarded " members." " Members ! " repeated Mr. Dombey. " I think the medical gentleman mentioned legs this morning, my dear Louisa, did he not," said Miss Tox. " Why, of course he did, my love," retorted Mrs. Chick, mildly reproach- ful. "How can you ask me? You heard him. I say, if om* dear Paid shoidd lose, for the moment, the use of his legs, these are casualties common to many children at his time of hfe, and not to be prevented by any care or caution. The sooner you understand that, Paul, and admit that, the better." " Sm-ely you must know, Louisa," observed IMi-. Dombey, "that I don't question yom* natural devotion to, and natural regard for, the futui'e head of my house. Mr. PdMns saAv Paul this morning, I believe?" said ]VIx'. Dombey. " Yes, he did," retmned his sister. " IVIiss Tox and myself were present. Miss Tox and myself are always present. We make a point of it. Ml'. PUkins has seen him for some days past, and a very clever man I beheve him to be. He says it is notliing to speak of; which I can confirm, if that is any consolation ; but he recommended, to-day, sea-air. Very wisely, Paul, I feel convinced." " Sea-air," repeated Mr. Dombey, looking at liis sister. " There is nothing to be made uneasy by, in that," said Mi-s. Chick. " My George and Frederick were both ordered sea-ah, when they were about his age ; and I have been ordered it myself a great many tunes. I quite agree with you. Paid, that perhaps topics may be incautiously mentioned upstairs before him, Avhich it woidd be as well for his little mind not to expatiate upon ; but I really don't see how that is to be helped, in the case of a child of his quickness. If he were a common child, there would be nothing in it. I must say I think, with IVIiss Tox, that a short absence from this house, the air of Brighton, and the bodily and mental training of so judicious a person as IVIrs. Pipchin for instance — " "Wlio is Mi-s. Pipcliin, Louisa?" asked Mi-. Dombey; aghast at this amdiar introduction of a name he had never heard before. " Mrs. Pipcliin, my dear Paul," returned his sister, " is an elderly lady — Miss Tox knows her whole liistory — who has for some time devoted aU the energies of her mind, with the greatest success, to the study and treat- DOMBEY AND SON. 71 ment of infancy, and who lias been extremely well connected. Her husband broke his heart in — how did you say her husband broke liis heart, my dear? I forget the precise circumstances." " In pumping water out of the Peravian Mines," replied Miss Tox. "Not being a Pumper himself, of com-se,""saidMi-s. Cluck, glancing at her brother ; and it really did seem necessary to oifer the explanation, for Miss Tox had spoken of him as if he had died at the handle ; " but having invested money in the speculation, which failed. I believe that Mrs. Pipchin's management of children is quite astonishing. I have heard it commended in private circles ever since I was — dear me — how high ! " Mrs. Chick's eye wandered round the bookcase near the bu^t of Mr. Pitt, which was about ten feet from the ground. " Perhaps I should say of Mi's. Pipchin, my dear Sii-," observed IVIiss Tox, with an ingenuous blush, "having been so pointedly referred to, that the encomium which has been passed upon her by youi* sweet sister is well merited. Many ladies and gentlemen, now grown up to be interest- ing members of society, have been indebted to her care. The humble individual who addresses you was once under her charge. I believe juvemle nobiUty itself is no stranger to her estabhsluuent." " Do I understand that this respectable matron keeps an establishment, Miss Tox?" inquired Mr. Dombey, condescendingly. " Why, I really don't know," rejoined that lady, " whether I am justified in calling it so. It is not a Preparatory School by any means. Shoidd I express my meaning," said Miss Tox, with pecid^iar sweetness, " if I desig- nated it an infantine Boarding-House of a very select description?" " On an exceedingly hmitecl and particular scale," suggested IMrs. Cluck, mth a glance at her brother. " Oh! Exclusion itself!" said Miss Tox. There was sometliing in this. Mi's. Pipchin's husband having broken his heart of the Peruvian naines was good. It had a rich soimd. Besides, Ml'. Dombey was in a state almost amounting to consternation at the idea of Paid remaining where he was one hour after his removal had been recommended by the medical practitioner. It was a stoppage and delay upon the road the child must traverse, slowly at the best, before the goal was reached. Then- recommendation of ]\Irs. Pipchin had great weight with liim ; for he knew that they were jealous of any interference with their charge, and he never for a moment took it into account that they might be soUcitous to divide a responsibility, of which he had, as shown just now, his own estabhshed views. Broke his heart of the Peinivian mines, mused Mr. Dombey. Well ! a very respectable way of doing it. " Supposing we should decide, on to-moiTOw's inquiries, to send Paul down to Brighton to this lady, who would go with him?" inquired IMr. Dombey, after some reflection. " I don't think you could send the child anywhere at present mthout Florence, my dear Paul," returned his sister, hesitating. " It 's quite an infatuation with him. He 's very young, you know, and has liis fancies." Mr. Dombey tm-ned his head away, and going slowly to the book-case, and unlocking it, brought back a book to read. " Anybody else, Louisa ?" he said, without looking up, and tm-ning over the leaves. " Wickam, of com'se. Wickam would be quite sufficient, I should say," 72 DOMBEY AND SON. returaed his sister. " Paul being in such hands as Mrs. Pipchin's, yon coidd hardly send anybody who woidd be a fiu-ther check iipon her. You w'oidd go down yoiu'self once a- week at least, of course." " Of course," said Mr. Dombey ; and sat looking at one page for an hour afterwards, without reading one word. This celebrated Mi's Pipcliin was a marvellous ill-favored, ill-conditioned old lady, of a stooping figm'e,with a mottled face, like bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye, that looked as if it might have been hammered at on an anvil without sustaining any injury. Porty years at least had elapsed since the Peruvian mines had been the death of Mr. Pipchin ; but his relict stiU wore black bombazeen, of such a lustreless, dee]), dead, sombre shade, that gas itself coiddn't light her up after dark, and her presence was a quencher to any munber of candles. She was generally spoken of as " a gi'cat manager" of chikben ; and the secret of her management was, to gixe them everything that they didn't like, and nothing that they did — ^which was found to sweeten their dispositions veiy much. She was such a bitter old lady, that one was tempted to believe there had been some mistake in the application of the Peruvian machinery, and that aU her waters of gladness and milk of Imman kindness had been pimiped out dry, instead of the mines. The Castle of this ogress and child-queUer was in a steep bye-street at Brighton; where the sod was more than usually chalky, flinty, and sterile, and the houses were more than usually brittle and thin ; where the small front-gardens had the unaccountable property of producing nothing but marigolds, whatever was so^vn in them ; and where snaUs were constantly discovered holding on to the street doors, and other public places they were not expected to ornament, Avith the tenacity of cupping-glasses. In the winter time the air couldn't be got out of the Castle, and in the summer-time it couldn't be got in. There Avas such a continual reverbera- tion of Avind in it, that it sounded like a gi-eat shell, Avhich the inhabitants were obliged to hold to their ears night and day, whether they liked it or no. It Avas not, naturally, a fresh-smeUing house; and in the windoAV of the front parlom*, AAdnch Avas never opened, Mrs. Pipchin kept a collection of plants in pots, Avhich imparted an earthy flavor of their OAvn to the establishment. HoAvever choice examples of their kind, too, these plants were of a kind pecidiarly adapted to the embowerment of Mrs. Pipchin. There were half-a-dozen specimens of the cactus, writhing round bits of lath, like hauy serpents ; another specimen shooting out broad claAvs, like a green lobster ; several creeping vegetables, possessed of sticky and adhesive leaves ; and one uncomfortable floAver-pot hanging to the ceiling, Avhich appeared to have boiled over, and tickling people underneath Avith its long green ends, reminded them of spiders — in Avliich Mi-s. Pipchin's dAveUing Avas uncommonly prolific, though perhaps it challenged competi- tion still more proudly, in the season, in point of earwigs. Mi-s. Pipchin's scale of charges being high, hoAvever, to all avIio could afford to pay, and Mrs. Pipchin very seldom sweetening the equable acidity of her natm-e in favor of anybody, she Avas held to be an old lady of remark- able finnncss, Avho Avas quite scientific in her knoAvledge of the childisli character. On this reputation, and on the broken heart of IVIi'. Pipchin, she had contrived, taking one year with another, to eke out a tolerably sufficient living, since her husband's demise. Within three days after Mrs. DOMBEY AND SON. 73, Cliick's fii-st allusion to lier, tliis excellent old lady had tlie satisfaction of anticipating a handsome addition to her ciu-rent receipts, from the pocket of jVIi-. Dombev; and of receiving; Florence and her httle brother Paid, as inmates of the Castle. Mrs. Chick and ]\Iiss Tox, who had brought them down on the previous night (which they all passed at an Hotel), had just diiven away from the door, on theii* journey home again ; and Mvs. Pipchin, with her back to the fire, stood, reviewing the new-comers, hke an old soldier. IVIi's. Pip- chin's middle-aged niece, her good-natm^ed and devoted slave, but possess- ing a gaunt and ii-on-bound aspect, and much afflicted with bods on her nose, ^vas divesting Master Bitherstone of the clean collar he had worn on parade. Miss Pankey, the only other little boarder at present, had that moment been walked off to the Castle Dungeon (an empty apartment at the back, devoted to coiTectional purposes), for having sniffed thrice, in the presence of visitors. "Well, Su-," said Mrs. Pipchin to Paul, "hovr do vou think you shall Hke me?" " I don't think I shall like yon at all," repKcd Paul, " I want to go away. This isn't my house." "No. It's mine," retorted Mrs. Pipchin. " It's a very nasty one," said Paid. "There 's a worse place in it than this though," said Mrs. Pipchin, " where we shut up om* bad boys." " Has ke ever been in it ? " asked Paid : pointing out Master Bitherstone. ]\Irs. Pipchin nodded assent ; and Paul had enough to do, for the rest of that day, in siu-veying Master Bitherstone from head to foot, and watching aU the workings of his countenance, with the interest attaclung to a boy of mysterious and terrible experiences. At one o'clock there was a dinner, chiefly of the farinacedus and vege- table kind, when Miss Pankey (a mild httle blue-eyed morsel of a child, who was shampoo'd eveiy morning, and seemed in danger of being rubbed away, altogether) was led in from captivity by the ogress herself, and instructed that nobody who sniffed before visitors ever went to Heaven. When this gi-eat truth had been thoroughly impressed upon her, she was regaled with rice; and subsequently repeated the form of gi-ace established in the Castle, in which there was a special clause, thanking Mi's. Pipchin for a good dinner. Mrs. Pipchin's niece, Berinthia, took cold pork. Mrs. Pipchin, whose constitution required warm nomishment, made a special repast of mutton-chops, which were brought in hot and hot, between two plates, and smelt veiy nice. As it rained after dinner, and they coiddn't go out Avalking on the beach, and Mrs. Pipchin's constitution required rest after chops, they went away with Berry (otherwise Berinthia) to the Dungeon ; an empty room looking out upon a chalk wall and a water-butt, and made ghastly by a ragged fireplace mthout any stove in it. Enlivened by company, however, this was the best place after aU ; for Berry played with them there, and seemed to enjoy a game at romps as much as they did; untd !Mi-s. Pipclun knock- ing angrily at the wall, like the Cock Lane Ghost revived, they left off, and Berry told them stories in a wliisper until twilight. Por, tea there was plenty of milk and Avater, and bread and butter, with 74 DOMBEY AND SON. a little black tea-pot for Mrs. Pipcliin and Beny, and buttered toast unlimited for IVIi's. Pipchin, wliicli was brought in, hot and hot, Uke the chops. Though IVIrs. Pipchin got very greasy, outside, over this dish, it didn't seem to lubricate her, internally, at all ; for she was as fierce as ever, and the hard gi-ey eye knew no softening. After tea, Berry brought out a little workbox, with the Eoyal Pavilion on the hd, and fell to working busily ; whde Mi's. Pipchin, having put on her spectacles and opened a great volume bound in gi'een baize, began to nod. And whenever Mi's. Pipchin caught herself falling forward into the fire, and woke up, she filliped Master Bitherstone on the nose for nodding too. At last it was the chikben's bed time, and after prayers they went to bed. As bttle IMiss Pankey was afraid of sleeping alone in the dark, IVIi's. Pipcliin always made a point of driving her up stau's herself, like a sheep ; and it Avas cheerfid to hear Miss Pankey moaning long afterwards, in the least eligible chamber, and IVIi's. Pipchin now and then going in to shake her. At about half-past nine o'clock the odom' of a wann sweet-bread (Mi's. Pipchin's constitution wouldn't go to sleep mthout sweet-bread) diversified the prevailing fragi'ance of the house, which Mrs. Wickam said was "a smell of building ;" and slmnber fell upon the Castle shortly after. The breakfast next morning was like the tea over night, except that Mrs. Pipchin took her roll instead of toast, and seemed a bttle more u-ate when it Avas over. Master Bitherstone read aloud to the rest a pedigTce from Genesis (judiciously selected by Mi-s. Pipchin), getting over the names with the ease and clearness of a person tumbbng up the treadmill. That done, ]\Iiss Pankey was borne away to be shampoo' d; and Master Bither- stone to have something else done to him with salt water, fi.-om which he always retm-ned very blue and dejected. Paul and Florence went out in the meantime on the beach with Wickam — who was constantly in tears — and at about noon Mi's. Pipchin presided over some early readings. It being a part of IVIi-s. Pipcliin's system not to encom'age a cliild's mind to develop and ex:pand itself Uke a young flower, but to open it by force Uke an oyster, the moral of these lessons was usuaUy of a violent and stim- ning character : the hero — a naughty boy — seldom, iii the inildest catastrophe, being finished oft" by anything less than a Uon, or a bear. Such was life at IMi'::. Pipchin's. On Satm-day IMr. Dombey came down ; and Florence and Paul would go to his Hotel, and have tea. They passed the whole of Sunday with liim, and generally rode out before dinner; and on these occasions !^Ir. Dombey seemed to grow, Uke Palstafi"'s assailants, and instead of being one man in bucki'am, to become a dozen. Sunday evening was the most melancholy evening in the week ; for Mrs. Pipchin always made a point of being particularly cross on Sunday nights. Miss Pankey was generaUy brought back from an aunt's at Eottendean, in deep distress ; and Master Bitherstone, whose relatives were aU in India, and who was requii-ed to sit, between the services, in an erect position with his head against the parlor waU neither moving hand nor foot, suffered so acutely in his young spirits that he once asked Florence, on a Sunday night, if she could give him any idea of the way back to Bengal. But it was generaUy said that IMi's. Pipchin was a woman of system with children ; and no doubt she was. Certaiidy the wUd ones went home tame enough, after sojom-ning for a few months beneath her hospitable roof. It was generaUy said, too, that it was higlily creditable of Mi-s. Pipchin to Qyiiu^^ty a .^ ''.od^^/ij^. *> DOMBEY AND SON. 75 have devoted herseK to this way of life, and to have made such a sacrifice of her feelings, and snch a resolute stand against her troubles, when jMr. Pipchni broke liis heart in the Peruvian mines. At this exemplary old lady, Paul would sit staring in his little arm chair by the fire, for any length of time. He never seemed to know what weari- ness was, when he was looking fixedly at Mrs. Pipchin. He was not fond of her ; he was not afi'aid of her ; but in those old old moods of his, she seemed to have a grotesque attraction for him. There he would sit, looking at her, and wanning his hands, and looking at her, until he sometimes quite confounded Mrs. Pipcliin, Ogress as she was. Once she asked him, when they were alone, what he Avas thinking about. " You," said Paul, without the least reserve. " And what are you thinking about me ? " asked jNIi-s. Pipchin. " I am thinking how old you must be," said Paid. " You mustn't say such things as that, young gentleman," retimied the dame. " That 'U never do." "Why not?" asked Paul. " Because it 's not polite," said Mrs. Pipchin, snappishly. "Not polite?" said Paul. " No." " It 's not polite," said Paul innocently, " to eat all the mutton-chops and toast, Wickam says." "Wickam," retorted Mrs. Pipchin, coloring, "is a wicked, impudent, bold-faced hussy." " What 's that ? " inquii-ed Paul. "Never you mind. Sir," retorted Mi*s. Pipchin. "Eemember the story of the little boy that was gored to death by a mad buU for asking questions." " K the bull was mad," said Paul, " how did he know that the boy had asked questions ? Nobody can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I don't believe that story." " You don't believe it, Sir?" repeated Mrs. Pipchin, amazed. " No," said Paul. " Not if it should happen to have been a tame bull, you little Infidel?" said Mrs. Pipchin. As Paid had not considered the subject in that light, and had founded his conclusions on the alleged Imiacy of the bull, he allowed himself to be put down for the present. But he sat tunung it over in his mind, with such an obvious intention of fixing Mrs. Pipchin presently, that even that hardy old lady deemed it prudent to retreat until he should have forgotten the subject. Prom that time, Mrs. Pipchin appeared to have something of the same odd kind of attraction towards Paid, as Paul had towards her. She woidd make liim move Ids chau- to her side of the fii-e, instead of sitting opposite ; and there he would remain in a nook between Mi*s. Pipchin and the fender, with all the light of Ins little face absorbed into the black bombazeen di-apery, studying every line and wrinkle of her countenance, and peering at the hard grey eye, until Mi'S. Pipchin was sometimes fain to shut it, on pretence of dozing. Mrs. Pipcliin had an old black cat, who generally lay coiled upon the centre foot of the fender, piu'ring egotistically, and winking at the fire until the contracted pupils of his eyes were like two notes of admiration. The good old lady might have been — ^not to record it 76 DOMBEY AXD SON. disrespectfully— a witch, and Paul and the cat her two familiars, as they ail sat by the fire together. It would have been quite in keeping with the appearance of the party if they had all spnmg up the chimney in a high wind one night, and never been heard of any more. This, however, never came to pass. The cat, and Paul, and Mi-s. Pipchin, were constantly to be found in their usual places after dark ; and Paid, eschewing the companionship of INIaster Bitherstone, Avent on study- ing Mrs. Pipchin, and the cat, and the fire, night after night, as if they were a book of necromancy, in three volumes. ]\Irs. Wickam put her own construction on Paid's eccentricities ; and being confirmed in her low spirits by a perplexed view of cliimneys from the room where she was accustomed to sit, and by the noise of the wind, and by the general dulness (gashliness was Mrs. Wickam's strong expres- sion) of her present life, deduced the most dismal reflections from the fore- going premises. It was a part of Mi's. Pipchin's pohcy to prevent her own " young hussy " — that was Mrs. Pipchin's generic name for female servant — from communicating Avith Mrs. Wickam : to which end she devoted much of her time to conceahng herself behind doors, and springing out on that devoted maiden, whenever she made an approach tov.ards JMi-s. Wickam's apartment. But Berry was free to hold what converse she coidd in that quarter, consistently with the discharge of the midtifarious duties at Avhich she toiled incessantly from morning to night ; and to Berry, Mrs. Wickam mibm"dened her mind. " What a pretty fellow he is when he 's asleep !" said Berry, stopping to look at Paid in bed, one night when she took up Mrs. Wickam's supper. " x\h !" sighed Mrs. Wickam. " He need be." " \Miy, he 's not ugly Avhen he 's awake," observed Berry. " No, Ma'am. Oh, no. No more was my imcle's Betsey Jane," said Mrs. Wickam. Berry looked as if she would hke to trace the connection of ideas between Paid Dombey, and IVIi-s. Wickam's uncle's Betsey Jane. " ]\Iy micle's wife," Mrs. Wickam went on to say, " died just like his mama. ]\Iy uncle's child took on just as Master Paul do. My uncle's child made people's blood run cold, sometimes, she did !" " How ? " asked Berry. " I Avouldn't have sat up all night alone with Betsey Jane ! " said Mrs. "VNickam, "not if you'd have put Wickam into business next morning for himself. I couldn't have done it. Miss Beny." Miss Berry naturally asked why not ? But Mrs. Wickam, agi-eeably to the usage of some ladies in her condition, pursued her own branch of the subject, without any compunction. " Betsey Jane," said Mrs. Wickam, " was as sweet a child as I could wish to see. I coiddn't wish to see a sweeter. Everything that a child could have in the way of illnesses, Betsey Jane had come through. The cramps was as common to her," said Mrs. Wickam, " as biles is to yom-- self. Miss Berry." Miss Berry involuntarily wrinkled her nose. " But Betsey Jane," said Mrs. Wickam, lowering her voice, and look- ing round the room, and towards Paul in bed, " had been minded, in her cradle, by her departed mother. I coiddn't say how, nor I couldn't say when, nor I couldn't say Avhether the dear child knew it or not, but Betsey Jane had been watched by her mother, ]\Iiss Berry ! You may say DOMBEY AND SON. 77 nonsense ! I an't offended, Miss. I hope you may be able to think in your own conscience that it is nonsense ; you '11 find yovu- spirits aU the better for it in this— you 'U excuse my being so free — in this burying- ground of a place ; which is Avearing of me down. Master Paid 's a little restless in his sleep. Pat his lack, if you please." " Of com'se you think," said Berry, gently doing what she was asked, "that he has been nui'sed by his mother, too ? " "Betsey Jane," returned Mi's. Wickam in her most solemn tones, "was put upon as that clidd has been put upon, and changed as that child has changed. I have seen her sit, often and often, think, think, think- ing, Uke him. I have seen her look, often and often, old, old, old, Uke him. I have heard her, many a time, talk just like him. I consider that cliild and Betsey Jane on the same footing entirely. Miss Beny." " Is yom' uncle's child alive ? " asked Berry. " Yes, IVIiss, she is alive," retmnied IVIi's. Wickam with an an- of triumph, for it was evident Miss Ben-y expected the reverse; " and is married to a sUver-chaser. Oh yes. Miss, She is alive," said Mi's. Wickam, laying strong stress on her nominative case. It being clear that somebody was dead, Mrs. Pipclun's niece inquired who it was. " I wouldn't wish to make you uneasy," retmTied Mrs. Wickam, piir- suing her supper. " Don't ask me." This was the sm-est way of being asked again. Miss Beriy repeated her question, therefore ; and after some resistance, and reluctance, Mi's. Wickam laid down her knife, and again glancing round the room and at Paid in bed, replied : " She took fancies to people ; whimsical fancies, some of them ; others, affections that one might expect to see — only stronger than common. They aU died." This was so very unexpected and awful to Mrs. Pipchin's niece, that she sat upright on the hard edge of the bedstead, breathing short, and surveying her informant with looks of undisguised alarm. Mrs. Wickam shook her left forefinger stealthily towards the bed where Plorence lay ; then turned it upside down, and made several emphatic points at the floor; immediately below wldch was the parlor in which Mrs. Pipchin habitually consumed the toast. " Kemember my words, Miss Berry," said Mrs. Wickam, " and be thankful that Master Paul is not too fond of you. I am, that he 's not too fond of me, I assure you ; though there isn't much to live for — ^you '11 excuse my being so free — in this jad of a house !" Miss Berry's emotion might have led to her patting Paid too hard on the back, or might have produced a cessation of that soothing monotony, but he turned in his bed just now, and, presently awaking, sat up in it with his hair hot and wet from the effects of some childish di-eam, and asked for Florence. She was out of her own bed at the first sound of his voice ; and bend- ing over his pillow immediately, sang him to sleep agam. IVIi's. Wickam shaking her head, and letting fall several tears, pointed out the little gi'oup to Berry, and turned her eyes up to the ceihng. " Good night. Miss ! " said Wickam softly. " Good night ! Your aunt is a old lady, Mss Beriy, and it's what yo\i must have looked for, often." 78 DOMBEY AND SON. This consolatory farewell, Mrs. Wickam accompanied with a look of heartfelt anguish ; and being left alone with the two children again, and becoming conscious that the \vind was blowing mournfully, she indulged in melancholy — that cheapest and most accessible of luxuries — ^until she was overpowered by slumber. Although the niece of ]VIi-s. Pipchin did not expect to find that exem- plary dragon prostrate on the hearthrug when she went down stairs, she was reheved to find her unusually fractious and severe, and with every present appearance of intending to live a long time to be a comfort to all who knew her. Nor had she any symptoms of declining, in the course of the ensuing week, when the constitutional viands still continued to disap- pear in regular succession, notwithstanding that Paul studied her as attentively as ever, and occupied his usual seat between the black skii-ts and the fender, with unwavering constancy. But as Paul liimself was no stronger at the expiration of that time than he had been on his first arrival, though he looked much healthier in the face, a little carriage was got for him, in which he could lie at Ms ease, with an alphabet and other elementary works of reference, and be wheeled down to the sea-side. Consistent in his odd tastes, the child set aside a ruddy-faced lad who Avas proposed as the drawer of this carnage, and selected, instead, his grandfather — a weazen, old, crab-faced man, in a suit of battered oilskin, who had got tough and stringy from long pickhng in salt Avater, and who smelt like a weedy sea-beach when the tide is out. With tliis notable attendant to pull him along, and Florence always walking by his side, and the despondent Wickam bringing up the rear, he went down to the margin of the ocean every day ; and there he Avould sit or lie in his carriage for hom-s together: never so distressed as by the com- pany of childi-en — Florence alone excepted, always. " Go away, if you please," he Avoidd say, to any child who came to bear him company. " Thank you, but I don't Avant you." Some small voice, near Ms ear, Avould ask him Iioav he was, perhaps. " I am very Avell, I thank you," he would ansAver. " But you had better go and play, if you please." Then he Avould tm-n his head, and Avatch the child aAvay, and say to Florence, " We don't Avant any others, do we ? Kiss me, Floy." He had even a dishke, at such times, to the company of Wickam, and was weU pleased Avhen she strolled aAvay, as she generally did, to pick up shells and acquaintances. His favorite spot Avas quite a lonely one, far aAvay from most loungers ; and with Florence sitting by his side at Avork, or reading to Mm, or talking to Mm, and the Avind bloAving on his face, and the Avater coming up among the Avheels of Ms bed, he Avanted notlung more. " Floy," he said one day, " Avhere 's India, AA'here that boy's friends live ? " " Oil, it 's a long, long distance off," said Florence, raising her eyes from her Avork. "Weeks off?" asked Paul. " Yes, dear. Many Aveeks' journey, night and day." " If you were in India, Floy," said Pavd, after being silent for a mmute, " I shoidd — Avhat is that Mama did? I forget." " Loved me !" ansAvered Florence. " No, no. Don't I love you now, Floy ? What is it ?— Died. If you were in India, I should die, Floy." / En^raiTJ h H K. firc-K-ru- .(• R.Tr ILIT^', ... / Drai'.'n l?y Mailot lOujfkt Btowtij: . Engraysdby S.K.Brc)ime&RYaun^. FJLOIREHCE DOMBEY AND SON. 79 She huiiiedly put her work aside, and laid her head Aown on his pillow, caressing him. And so would she, she said, if he were there. He would be better soon. " Oh ! I am a great deal better now !" he answered. " I don't mean that. I mean that I should die of being so sorry and so lonely, Floy !" Another time, in the same place, he fell asleep, and slept quietly for a long time. Awaking suddenly, he listened, started up, and sat listening. Florence asked him what he thought he heard. " I want to know what it says," he ansAvered, looking steadily in her face. " The sea, Floy, what is it that it keeps on saying ? " She told him that it was only the noise of the rolling waves. "Yes, yes," he said. "But I know that they are always saying some- thing. Always the same thing. What place is over there ? " He rose up, looking eagerly at the horizon. She told him that there was another country opposite, but he said he didn't mean that ; he meant farther away — farther away ! Very often afterwards, in the midst of their talk, he would break off, to try to understand what it was that the waves were always sajdng ; and would rise up in his couch to look towards that invisible region, far away. CHAPTER IX. IN WHICH THE WOODEN MIDSHIPMAN GETS INTO TUOrBLE. That spice of romance and love of the marvellous, of which there was a pretty strong infusion in the nature of young Walter Gay, and which the guardianship of his uncle, old Solomon GlUs, had not very much weakened by the waters of stem practical experience, was the occasion of his attach- ing an uncommon and delightful interest to the adventm-e of Florence with good IVIrs. Brown. He pampered and cherished it in his memory, especially that part of it with which he had been associated: until it became the spoiled child of his fancy, and took its own way, and did what it hked ynth it. The recollection of those incidents, and liis own share in them, may have been made the more captivating, perhaps, by the weekly dreamings of old Sol and Captain Cuttle on Sundays. Hardly a Sunday passed, without mysterious references being made by one or other of those worthy chums to Kichard Whittington ; and the latter gentleman had even gone so far as to purchase a ballad of considerable antiquity, that had long fluttered among many others, chiefly expressive of maritime sentiments, on a dead wall in the Commercial Eoad : which poetical performance set forth the com-tship and nuptials of a promising young coal-whipper with a certain "lovely Peg," the accomphshed daughter of the master and part- owner of a Newcastle coUier. In this stirring legend. Captain Cuttle descried a profound metaphysical bearing on the case of Walter and Florence ; and it excited him so much, that on very festive occasions, as bii'thdays and a few other non-Dominical holidays, he would roar through the whole song in the little back parlor ; making an amazing shake on the word Pe — e — eg, with which every verse concluded, in compliment to the heroine of the piece. 80 do:mbey and son. But a frank, free-spirited, opcn-liearted boy, is not mucli given to analyzing tlie nature of his own feelings, hoAvever strong their hold upon him : and Walter would have found it diflicidt to decide this point. He had a great affection for the wharf where he had encoiintered Florence, and for the streets (albeit not enchanting in themselves) by wliich they had come home. The shoes that had so often tumbled off by the way, he preserved in his own room ; and, sitting in the Httle back parlor of an evening, he had di'awn a whole gallery of fancy portraits of good ]\Irs. Brown. It may be that he became a little smarter in his di-ess, after that memorable occa- sion; and he certainly hked in his leism^e time to walk towards that quarter of the town where Mr. Dombey's house was situated, on the vagTie chance of passing little Florence in the street. But the sentiment of all this was ■ as boyish and innocent as coidd be. Florence was very pretty, and it is pleasant to admire a pretty face. Florence was defenceless and weak, and it Avas a proird thought that he had been able to render her any protection and assistance. Florence was the most grateful httle creatm-e in the world, and it was delightful to see her bright gratitude beaming in her face. Florence was neglected and coldly looked upon, and his breast was full of youthful interest for the shghted child, in her didl, stately home. Thus it came about that, perhaps some half-a-dozen times in the course of the year, Walter pulled off his hat to Florence in the street, and Florence would stop to shake hands. Mi's. Wickam (who, with a charac- teristic alteration of his name, invariably spoke of him as 'Young Graves') was so well used to this, knowing the story of their acquaintance, that she took no heed of it at all. Miss Nipper, on the other hand, rather looked out for these occasions : her sensitive young heart being secretly pro- pitiated by Walter's good looks, and incUning to the behef that its sentiments were responded to. In this way, Walter, so far from forgetting or losing sight of liis acquaintance with Florence, only remembered it better and better. As to its adventiu-ous beginning, and all those httle circumstances wliich gave it a distinctive character and rehsh, he took them into account, more as a pleasant stoiy very agi'eeable to his imagination, and not to be dismissed from it, than as a part of any matter of fact with which he was concerned. They set off Florence very much, to his fancy; but not lumself. Some- times he thought (and then he walked very fast) what a gi-and thing it would have been for him to have been going to sea on the day after that first meeting, and to have gone, and to have done wonders there, and to have stopped away a long time, and to have come back an Admiral of all the colors of the dolphin, or at least a Post-Captain with epaulettes of insupportable brightness, and have married Florence (then a beautifid young w^oman) in spite of Mr. Dombey's teeth, cravat, and watch-chain, and borne her away to the blue shores of somewhere or other, trium- phantly. But these flights of fancy seldom burnished the brass plate of Dombey and Son's Offices into a tablet of golden hope, or shed a brilhant lustre on then- dirty skyhghts ; and when the Captain and Uncle Sol talked about Eichard Whittington and masters' daughters, Walter felt that he understood his tme position at Dombey and Son's, much better than they did. So it w^as that he went on doing what he had to do from day to day, in a cheerful, pains-taking, merry spirit; and saw through the sanguine com- plexion of Uncle Sol and Captain Cuttle ; and yet entertained a thousand DOMBEY AND SON. 81 indistinct and visionary fancies of his own, to which theii-s were work-a- day probabilities. Such was his condition at the Pipchin period, when he looked a httle older than of yore, but not much; and was the same light- footed, hght -hearted, light-headed lad, as when he charged into the parlor at the head of Uncle Sol and the imaginary boarders, and lighted liim to bring up the Madeira. "Uncle Sol," said Walter, " I don't think you 're well. You haven't eaten any breakfast. I shall bring a doctor to you, if you go on like this." " He can't give me what I want, my boy," said Uncle Sol, " At least he is in good practice if he can — and then he wouldn't." " WivxA. is it. Uncle ? Customers ? " "Aye," retm-ned Solomon, with a sigh. " Customers would do." " Confound it, Uncle ! " said Walter, putting down his breakfast-cup with a clatter, and striking his hand on the table : " when I see the people going up and down the street in shoals aU. day, and passing and repassing the shop eveiy minute, by scores, I feel half tempted to rush out, collar somebody, bring him in, and malce him buy fifty pounds' worth of instru- ments for ready money. What ai-e you lookuig in at the door for? — " con- tinued Walter, apostrophizing an old gentleman with a powdered head (inaudibly to him of com-se), Avho was staring at a ship's telescope with all his might and main. " That 's no use. I could do that. Come in and buy it ! " The old gentleman, however, having satiated his curiosity, walked calmly away. " There he goes !" said Walter. " That 's the way with 'em aU. But uncle — I say. Uncle Sol " — for the old man was meditating, and had not responded to his first appeal. " Don't be cast down. Don't be out of spkits. Uncle, When orders do come, they 'U come in such a crowd, you won't be able to execute 'em." " I shall be past executing 'em, whenever they come, my boy," returned Solomon GiUs. " They 'U never come to this shop again, tiU I am out of it." " I say. Uncle! You mustn't really, you know!" m'ged Walter. " Don't!" Old Sol endeavoured to assimie a cheery look, and smiled across the little table at him as pleasantly as he could, " There 's nothing more than usual the matter; is there. Uncle?" said Walter, leaning his elbows on the tea tray, and bending over, to speak the more confidentially and kindly, " Be open Avith me, Uncle, if there is, and tell me all about it." " No, no, no," retm-ned old Sol. " More than usual ? No, no. What should there be the matter more than usual?" Walter answered with an incredulous shake of his head. " That 's what I want to know," he said, "^^and you ask me ! I '11 teU you what, Uncle, when I see you like this, I am quite sorry that I Hve with you." Old Sol opened his eyes involuntarily. " Yes. Though nobody ever was happier than I am and always have been with you, I am quite sorry that I hve with you, when I see you with anything on your mind." " I am a httle duU at such times, I know," observed Solomon, meekly rubbing his hands. " What I mean. Uncle Sol," pursued Walter, bendiug over a httle more to pat him on the shoulder, " is, that then I feel you ou[>ht to have, sittmg here and pouring out the tea instead of me, a nice httle dumpling of a o 82 DOMBEY AND SON. wife, you know — a comfortable, capital, cosey old lady, Avho was just a matcli for you, and knew how to manage you, and keep you in good heart. Here am I, as loving a nephew as ever was (I am sui'e I ought to be !) but I am only a nephew, and I can't be such a companion to you when you 're low and out of sorts as she would have made herself, years ago, though I 'm sure I 'd give any money if I could cheer you up. And so I say, when I see you with anything on yom- mind, that I feel quite sorry you haven't got somebody better about you than a blundering young rough-and-tough boy like me, who has got the wiU to console you, "Uncle, but hasn't got the way — ^liasn't got the way," repeated Walter, reaching over fm'ther yet, to shake his uncle by the hand. " Wally, my dear boy," said Solomon, " if the cosey little old lady had taken her place in this parlom* five and forty years ago, I never could have been fonder of her than I am of you." " /know that. Uncle Sol," retm-ned Walter. " Lord bless you, I know that. But you wouldn't have had the whole weight of any uncomfortable secrets if she had been with you, because she would have known how to relieve you of 'em, and I don't." " Yes, yes, you dd," returned the instrument maker. "Well then, what's the matter. Uncle Sol?" said Walter, coaxingly. *' Come ! What 's the matter ?" Solomon GiUs persisted that there was nothing the matter ; and main- tained it so resolutely, that his nephew had no resomxe but to make a very indifferent imitation of believing him. " All I can say is. Uncle Sol, that if there is " " But there isn't," said Solomon. " Yeiy weU," said Walter, " Then I 've no more to say ; and that 's lucky, for my time 's up for going to business. I shall look in bye-and-bye when I 'm out, to see how you get on, Uncle. And mind. Uncle ! I 'U never believe you again, and never tell you anything more about IVIr. Cai'ker the Junior, if I find out that you have been deceiving me !" Solomon Gills laughingly defied him to find out anytliing of the kind ; and Walter, revolving in his thoughts aU sorts of impracticable ways of making fortunes and placing the wooden midshipman in a position of independence, betook himself to the offices of Dombey and Son with a heavier countenance than he usually carried there. There hved in those days, round the corner — in Bishopsgate Street Without — one Brogley, sworn broker and appraiser, who kept a shop where every description of second-hand furniture was exhibited in the most uncomfortable aspect, and imder circumstances and in combinations the most completely foreign to its purpose. Dozens of chairs hooked on to washing-stands, which Anth difficulty poised themselves on the shoidders of sideboards, which in their tmii stood upon the wrong side of dining-tables, gymnastic u-ith their legs upward ou the tops of other dining-tables, were among its most reasonable arrangements. A banquet aiTay of dish-covers, wine-glasses, and decanters was generally to be seen, spread forth upon the bosom of a four post bedstead, for the entertain- ment of such genial company as half-a-dozen pokers, and a hall lamp. A set of window cm-tains with no windows belonging to them, would be seen gTac^ fuEy draping a barricade of chests of drawers, loaded with httle jars from chemists' shops ; while a homeless heai-thrug severed DOMBEY AND SON. 8S from 'its natui-al companion the fireside, braved the shrewd east wind in its adversity, and trembled in melancholy accord with the shrill com- plainings of a cabinet piano, M^asting away, a string a day, and faintly resounding to the noises of the street in its janghng and distracted brain. Of motioiiless clocks that never stii-red a finger, and seemed as incapable of being successfully wound up, as the pecuniary affairs of their former owners, there was always great choice in Mr. Brogiey's shop ; and various lookhig- glasses accidentally placed at compound interest of reflection and refraction, presented to the eye an eternal perspective of bankiiiptcy and rain. Mr, Brogley himseK was a moist-eyed, pink-complexioned, crisp-haired man, of a bidky figure and an easy temper — for that class of Caius Marius who sits upon the ruins of other people's Carthages, can keep up his spuits AveU enough. He had looked in at Solomon's shop sometimes, to ask a question about articles in Solomon's way of business; and Walter knew him sufficiently to give him good day Avhen they met in the street. But as that was the extent of the broker's acquaintance with Solomon Gills also, Walter was not a little sm-prised when he came back in the course of the fore- noon, agreeably to his promise, to find Mr. Brogley sitting in the back parlor with his hands in his pockets, and his hat hanging up behind the door. " Well, Uncle Sol!" saidWalter. The old man was sitting ruefully on the opposite side of the table, with his spectacles over Ms eyes, for a wonder, instead of on his forehead. " How are you now ? " Solomon shook his head, and waved one hand towards the broker, as introducing him. " Is there anything the matter ? " asked Walter, with a catcliing in his breath. "No, no. There's nothing the matter," said Mr. Brogley, " Don't let it put you out of the way." Walter looked from the broker to his uncle in mute amazement, " The fact is," said Mr. Brogley, " there 's a little pajinent on a bond debt — three hundi-ed and seventy odd, over due : and I'm in possession." " In possession !" cried Walter, looking rormd at the shop. *' Ah !" said Mr. Brogley, in confidential assent, and nodding liis head as if he wovdd urge the advisabihty of their aU being comfortable together. "It's an execution. That 's what it is. Don't let it put you out of the way. I come myself, because of keeping it quiet and sociable. You knoAv me. It 's quite private." " Uncle Sol !" faltered Walter, " Wally, my boy," returned his uncle, • " It 's the first time. Such a calamity never happened to me before. I 'm an old man to begin." Push- ing up his spectacles again (for they were useless any longer to conceal his emotion), he covered his face with his hand, and sobbed aloud, and liis tears fell down upon his coffee-colored waistcoat. "Uncle Sol! Pray! oh don't!" exclaimed Walter, who really felt a thrill of terror in seeing the old man weep. " Por God's sake don't do that. Mr. Brogley, what shall I do ?" " / should recommend you looking up a friend or so," said Mr. Brogley, " and talking it over," " To be sm-e !" cried Walter, catching at anything. " Certainly ! Thankee. Captain Cuttle's the man, Uncle. Wait till I ran to Captain Cuttle. Keep your eye upon my uncle, wiU you Mr. Brogley, and make g2 84 DOMBEY AND SON. liim as comfortable as you can while I am gone? Don't despaii', •Uncle Sol. Try and keep a good heart, there's a dear fellow !" Saying tliis with great fervor, and disregarding the old man's broken remonstrances, Walter dashed out of the shop again as hard as he could go ; and having hurried round to the office to excuse himself on the plea of his uncle's sudden illness, set off, fuU speed, for Captain Cuttle's residence. Every tiling seemed altered as he ran along the streets. There was the usual entanglement and noise of carts, drays, omnibuses, waggons, and foot passengers, but the misfortune that had fallen on the wooden midshipman made it strange and new. Houses and shops were different from what they used to be, and bore Mr. Brogley's warrant on their fronts in large characters. The broker seemed to have got hold of the very churches ; for their spires rose into the sky with an unwonted air. Even the sky itself was changed, and had an execution in it plainly. Captain Cuttle lived on the brink of a little canal near the India Docks, where there was a swivel bridge which opened now and then to let some wandering monster of a ship come roaming up the street like a stranded leviathan. The gradual change from land to water, on the approach to Captain Cuttle's lodgings, was curious. It began with the erection of flag staffs, as appm'tenances to public-houses ; then came slopseUers' shops, with Guernsey shnts, sou'wester liats, and canvass pantaloons, at once the tightest and the loosest of their order, hanging up outside. These were succeeded by anchor and chain-cable forges, where sledge hammers were dinging upon ii'on aU day long. Then came rows of houses, with little vane-sm-mounted masts uprearing themselves from among the scarlet beans. Then, ditches. Then, pollard willows. Then, more ditches. Then, unac- coimtable patches of dirty water, hardly to be descried, for the ships that covered them. Then, the air was perfumed Avitli chips; and all other trades were swallowed up in mast, oar, and block making, and boat building. Then, the ground gi-ew marshy and unsettled. Then, there was notliing to be smelt but rum and sugar. Then, Captain Cuttle's lodgings — at once a first floor and a top story, in Brig Place — were close before you. The Captain was one of those timber-looking men, suits of oak as well as hearts, whom it is almost impossible for the liveliest imagination to separate from any part of then' di'ess, however insignificant. Accordingly, when Walter knocked at the door, and the Captain instantly poked his head out of one of his little front windows, and hailed him, with the hard glazed hat abeady on it, and the shirt-coUar hke a sail, and the mde suit of blue, aU standing as usual, Walter was as fully persuaded that he was always in that state, as if the Captain had been a bird and those had been his feathers. " Wal'r, my lad ! " said Captain Cuttle. " Stand by and knock again. Hard ! It 's washing day." Walter, in his impatience, gave a prodigious thump with the knocker. " Hard it is ! " said Captain Cuttle, and immediately di-ew in his head, as if he expected a squall. Nor was he mistaken ; for a \ndow lady with her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders, and her arms frothy with soap-suds and smoking with hot water, replied to the summons wilh startling rapidity. Before she looked at Walter she looked at the knocker, and then measuring him with her eyes from head to foot, said she wondered he had left any of it. DOMBEY AND SON. 85 "Captain Cuttle's at home,I know," saidWalter.witli a conciliatoiy sniile. " Is he ? " replied the widow lady. " In-deed ! " " He has just been speaking to me," said Walter, in breatliless ex- planation. " Has he ? " replied the widow lady. " Then p'raps you '11 give him Mrs. MacStinger's respects and say that the next time he lowers him- self and his lodgings by talking out of Avinder she'll thank him to come down and open the door too." IVIi's. MacStinger spoke loud, and listened for any observations that might be offered from the first floor. " I '11 mention it," said Walter, " if you '11 have the goodness to let me in. Ma'am." For he was repelled by a wooden fortification extending across the door- way, and put there to prevent the little MacStingers in their moments of recreation from tumbling down the steps. " A boy that can knock my door down," said Mrs. MacStinger, con- temptuously, " can get over that, I should hope !" But Walter, taking this as a permission to enter, and getting over it, !Mrs. MacStinger imme- diately demanded whether an Englishwoman's house was her castle or not: and whether she was to be broke in upon by ' raff.' On these subjects her thirst for infonnation was still very importunate, when Walter, having made his way up the little staircase through an artificial fog occasioned by the washing, which covered the bannisters with a clammy perspiration, entered Captain Cuttle's room, and found that gentleman in ambush behind the door. " Never owed her a penny, Wal'r," said Captain Cuttle in a low voice, and with visible marks of trepidation on his countenance. " Done her a world of good turns, and the children too. Vixen at times, though. "VMiew ! " " / should go away, Captain Cuttle," said Walter. " Durstn't do it, Wal'r," retm-ned the Captain. " She 'd find me out, wherever I went. Sit davra. How 's GiUs ? " The Captain was dining (in his hat) off cold loin of mutton, porter, and some smoking hot potatoes, which he had cooked himself, and took out of a httle saucepan before the fire as he wanted them. He unscrewed his hook at dinner-time, and screwed a knife into its wooden socket, instead, with which he had already begun to peel one of these potatoes for Walter. His rooms were very small, and strongly impregnated with tobacco-smoke, but snug enough: everything being stowed away, as if there were an earthquake regularly every half hoxrr. " How 's GlUs? " inquired the Captain. Walter, who had by this time recovered his breath, and lost his spirits — or such temporary spirits as his rapid journey had given him — looked at his questioner for a moment, said "Oh Captain Cuttle! " and burst into teai's. No words can describe the Captain's consternation at this sight. Mrs. MacStinger faded into notliing before it. He dropped the potato and the fork — and would have dropped the knife too if he could — and sat gazing at the boy, as if he expected to hear next moment that a gulf had opened in the city, which had swallowed up his old friend, coffee-colored suit, buttons, chi'onometer, spectacles, and all. But Avhen Walter told him what was really the matter. Captain Cuttle, after a moment's reflection, started up into full activity. He emptied out of a little tin canister on the top shelf of the cupboard, his whole stock 86 DOMBEY AND SON. of ready money (amounting to thirteen pounds and lialf-a-crown), wliicli he transfeiTed to one of the pockets of his square blue coat ; further enriched that repository Avith the contents of his plate chest, consisting of two withered atomies of teaspoons, and an obsolete pair of knock-knee'd sugar tongs ; pulled up his immense double-cased silver watch from the depths 'in which it reposed, to assm-e himself that that valuable was sound and whole ; re-attached the hook to his right wrist ; and seizing the stick covered over with knobs, bade Walter come along. Kemembering, however, in the midst of his virtuous excitement, that Mrs. MacStinger might be lying in wait below. Captain Cuttle hesitated at last, not without glancing at the window, as if he had some thought of escaping by that unusual means of egress, rather than encounter his terrible enemy. He decided, however, in favor of stratagem. " Wal'r," said the Captain, with a timid Avink, " go afore, my lad. Sing out, ' good bye. Captain Cuttle,' when you 're in the passage, and shut the door. Then wait at the corner of the street 'till you see me." These directions were not issued without a previous knowledge of the enemy's tactics, for when Walter got down stairs, Mrs. MacStinger glided out of the little back kitchen, like an avenging spirit. But not gliding out upon the Captain, as she had expected, she merely made a fm-ther allusion to the knocker, and glided in again. Some five minutes elapsed before Captain Cuttle could summon courage to attempt his escape ; for Walter waited so long at the street corner, looking back at the house, before there were any symptoms of the hard glazed hat. At length the Captain burst out of the door with the sudden- ness of an explosion, and coming towards him at a great pace, and never once looking over his shoulder, pretended, as soon as they were well out of the street, to whistle a tune. " Uncle much hove down, Wal'r ? " inquired the Captain, as they were walking along. " I am afraid so. If you had seen him this morning, you would never have forgotten it." " Walk fast, Wal'r, my lad," retm-ned the Captain, mending his pace ; " and walk the same aU the days of yoxu* life. Overhaul the catechism for that advice, and keep it ! " The Captain was too busy with his ovm thoughts of Solomon GiUs, mingled perhaps with some reflections on Ids late escape from Mrs. Mac- Stinger, to offer any further quotations on the way for Walter's moral improvement. They interchanged no other word until they arrived at old Sol's door, where the unfortunate wooden midshipman with his instru- ment at his eye, seemed to be surveying the whole horizon in search of some friend to help him out of his difficulty. "Gills!" said the Captain, hun-ying into the back parlor, and taking him by the hand quite tenderly. " Lay your head well to the wind, and we 'U fight through it. AU you 've got to do," said the Captain, with the solemnity of a man who was deUvering himself of one of the most precious practical tenets ever discovered by human wisdom, " is to lay yom- head well to the wind, and we '11 fight through it !" Old Sol retm-ned the pressm'c of his hand, and thanked him. Captain Cuttle, then, with a gravity suitable to the natm-e of the occa- sion, put down upon the table the two tea-spoons and the sugar-tongs, the (^a^/i(^:^^/zy C^i:^^:^^ c<:>i^.ihy€€^ .^^^c^> ^_^2<:^^?2< DOMBEY AND SON. 8T silver watch, and the ready money ; and asked Mr. Brogley, the broker, what the damage was. " Come ! What do you make of it?" said Captain Cuttle. " Why, Lord help you ! " returned the broker ; " you don't suppose that property 's of any use, do you?" "Why not?" inquired the Captain. "Why? The amount 's thi-ee hundred and seventy, odd,"replied the broker. "Nevermind," retm-nedthe Captain, though he was evidently dismayed by the fig-m-es : " all 's fish that comes to yom- net, I suppose ? " ' " Certainly," said Mr. Brogley. " But sprats an't whales, you know." The philosophy of tliis observation seemed to strike the Captain. He ruminated for a minute; eyeing the broker, meanwhile, as a deep genius; and then called the instrument-maker aside. " Gills," said Captain Cuttle, " what 's the bearings of this business ? Wlio's the creditor?" " Hush !" returned the old man. "Come away. 3>on't speak before WaUy. It 's a matter of security for Wally's father — an old bond. I 've paid a good deal of it, Ned, but the times are so bad with me that I can't do more just now. I 've foreseen it, but I coiddn't help it. Not a word before Wally, for all the world." "You 've got some money, haven't you?" whispered the Captain. " Yes, yes — oh yes — I 've got some," returned old Sol, first putting his hands into his empty pockets, and then squeezing his Welsh wig between them, as if he thought he might wring some gold out of it ; "but T — the little I have got, isn't convertible, Ned ; it can't be got at. I have been ti-jdng to do something with it for WaUy, and I'm old-fasliioned, and behind the time. It 's here and there, and — and, in short, it 's as good as nowhere," said the old man, looking in bewilderment about him. He had so much the air of a half-witted person who had been hiding his money in a variety of places, and had forgotten where, that the Captain followed his eyes, not Avithout a faint hope that he might remember some few hundred pounds concealed up the cliimney, or down in the cellar. But Solomon GOls knew better than that. " I 'm behind the time altogether, my dear Ned," said Sol, in resigned despair, " a long way. It 's no use my lagging on so far behind it. The stock had better be sold — it 's worth more than tliis debt — and I had better go and die somewhere, on the balance. I haven't any energy left. I don't understand things. Tliis had better be the end of it. Let 'em sell the stock and take him down," said the old man, pointing feebly to the Avooden midshipman, " and let us both be broken up together." "And what d'ye mean to do with Wal'r?" said the Captain. "There, there ! Sit ye doAvn, Gills, sit ye doAvn, and let me think o' this. If I warn't a man on a small annuity, that was large enough till to-day, I hadn't need to think of it. But you only lay your head well to the Avind," said the Captain, again administering that unanswerable piece of consola- tion, " and you 're aU right ! " Old Sol thanked him fi-om his heart, and went and laid it against the back parlor fire-place instead. Captain Cuttle walked up and doAvn the shop for some time, cogitating profoundly, and bringing his bushy black eyebroAvs to bear so heavily on his nose, like clouds settling on a mountain, that Walter was afraid to 88 DOMBEY AND SON. offer any interruption to the current of his reflections. Mr. Brogley, who was averse to being any constraint upon the party, and who had an inge- nious cast of mind, went, softly whistling ; among the stock; rattling w^eather glasses, shaking compasses as if they were physic, catcliing up keys with loadstones, looking through telescopes, endeavoiu-ing to make himself acquainted with the use of the globes, setting parallel rulers astride on to his nose, and amusing himself with other philosophical transactions. " Wal'r !" said the Captain at last. " I 've got it." " Have you, Captain Cuttle?" cried Walter, Avith gi'eat animation. *' Come this way, my lad," said the Captain. " The stock 's one secu- rity. I 'm another. Tom- governor 's the man to advance the money." " Mr. Dombey !" faltered Walter. The Captain nodded gi-avely, " Look at him," he said. " Look at Gills. If they was to seU off these things now, he'd die of it. You know he woidd. We mustn't leave a stone untm'ned — and there 's a stone for you." " A stone ! — Mr. Dombey !" — faltered Walter. •' You run round to the office, first of aU, and see if he 's there," said Captain Cuttle, clapping him on the back. " Quick !" Walter felt he must not dispute the command — a glance at his uncle would have determined him if he had felt otherwise — and disappeared to execute it. He soon retm-ned, out of breath, to say that Mr. Dombey was not there. It was Saturday, and he had gone to Brighton. * " I tell you what, Wal'r !" said the Captain, who seemed to have pre- pared himself for this contingency in his absence. " We 'U go to Brighton. I 'H back you, my boy. I 'U back you, Wal'r. We '11 go to Brighton by the afternoon's coach." If the application must be made to Mr. Dombey at all, which was awful to think of, Walter felt that he w^ould rather prefer it alone and unassisted, than backed by the personal influence of Captain Cuttle, to which he hardly thought Mr. Dombey woidd attach much weight. But as the Captain appeared to be of quite another opinion, and was bent upon it, and as his friendship was too zealous and serious to be trifled with by one so much younger than himself, he forbore to hint the least objection. Cuttle, therefore, taking a hurried leave of Solomon GiUs, and returning the ready money, the teaspoons, the sugar-tongs, and the silver watch, to Ids pocket — with a view, as Walter thought, with horror, to making a gorgeous impression on !Mi-. Dombey — bore him off to the coach-office, Avithout a minute's delay, and repeatedly assured him, on the road, that he would stick by him to the last. CHAPTER X. CONTAINING THE SEQUEL OF THE MIDSHIPMAN'S DISASTER. Ma.jou Baostock, after long and frequent observation of Paul, across Princess's Place, through his double barrelled opera glass ; and after re- ceiving many minute reports, daily, weekly, and monthly, on that subject, from the native who kept himself in constant communication AvithMissTox's maid for that purpose; came to the conclusion that Dombey, Sir, was a man to be knoAvn, and that J. B. was the boy to make his acquaintance. DOMBEY AND SON. 89 Miss Tox, however, maintaining her reserved behaviour, and frigidly declining to understand the 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 slyness, was fain to leave the accom- plishment of his desire in some measm'e to chance, "which," as he was used to observe with chuckles at his club, "has been fifty to one in favor of JoeyB., Sir, ever since his elder brother died of YeUow Jack in the West Indies." It was some time coming to his aid in the present instance, but it be- friended him at last. When the dark servant, with fuU particidars, reported Miss Tox absent on Brighton service, the Major was suddenly touched with aifectionate 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. Pipchin's, and the Major, referring to the letter favored 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 intel- ligence, 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 beUeve. At length the Major being released from his fit, went one Satm-day ' gi'owHng down to Brighton, with the native behind him : apostrophizing Miss Tox aU 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 vin- dictiveness, 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! Damme, not yet. Sir. Joe is awake. Ma'am. Bagstock is ahve. 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 de-vil-ish sly ! " And very tough indeed Master Bitherstone found him, when he took that young gentleman out for a walk. But the Major, with his com- plexion like a Stilton cheese, and his eyes like a prawn's, went roving about, perfectly indifterent to Master Bitherstone's amusement, and drag- ging Master Bitherstone along, while he looked about him high and low, for Mr, Dombey and his children. In good time the Major, previously instructed by Mrs. Pipchin, spied out Paid and Florence, and bore down upon them ; there being a stately gentleman (Mr. Dombey, 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 feUow-sufi'erers. Upon that the Major stopped to notice and admire them ; remembered with amaze- ment that he had seen and spoken to them at his friend Miss Tox's in Princess's Place ; opined that Paid was a devilish fine fellow, and his own little friend ; inquu-ed if he remembered Joey B. the IMajor ; and finally, with a sudden recollection of the conventionalities of life, tunied and apologised to Mr, Dombey, "But my httle 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, " Damme, Su-," DOMBEY AND SON. cried the Major with sudden wannth, " I envy you." Then he recol- lected himself, and added, " Excuse my freedom." Mr. Dombey begged he wouldn't mention it. "An old campaigner, Sir," said the Major, "a smoke-dried, sun- burnt, used-up, invalided old dog of a Major, Sir, was not afraid of being condemned for his whim by a man Like Mr. Dombey. I have the honour of addressing Mr. Dombey, I bebeve ? " " I am the present unworthy representative of that name, Major," returned Mr. Dombey. " By G — , Sir ! " said the Major, " it 's a great name. It 's a name. Sir," said the Major fomly, as if he deiied Mr. Dombey to contradict him, and would feel it his painful duty to bully him if he did, " that is kno'R'Ti and honom*ed in the British possessions abroad. It is a name, Sir, that a man is proud to recognise. There is nothing adulatory in Joseph Bagstock, Sir. His Eoyal Highness the Duke of York observed on more than one occasion, ' there is no adulation in Joey. He is a plain old soldier is Joe. He is tough to a fault is Joseph: ' but it's a great name, Su-. 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. Dombey. " No, Su-," said the Major. "My little friend here. Sir, wiU certify for Joseph Bagstock that he is a thorough-going, downright, plain-spoken, old Tmmp, Sir, and nothing more. That boy, Sir," said the Major in a lower tone, " will live in history. Tliat boy, Sir, is not a common pro- duction. Take care of liim, Mr. Dombey." Mr. Dombey seemed to intimate that he would endeavour to do so. " Here is a boy here. Sir," pursued the Major, confidentially, and giving him a thrust Avith his cane. " Son of Bitherstone of Bengal. Bill Bither- stone formerly of om-s. That boy's father and myself. Sir, were sworn friends. Wherever you went. Sir, you heard of nothing but BQl Bitherstone and Joe Bagstock. Am I blind to that bov's defects ? By no means. He's a fool. Sir." Mr. Dombey glanced at the libelled 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 minces matters. The son of my old friend Bill Bither- stone of Bengal, is a bojii fool, Sh-." Here the Major laughed tiU he was almost black. " My Uttle friend is destined for a public school, I pre- sume. Ml-. Dombey ? " said the Major when he had recovered. "I am not quite decided," retimied Mr. Dombey. "I think not. He is delicate." " If he 's dehcate, Sir," said the Major, " you are right. None but the tough fellows could Hve tlirough it. Sir, at Sandhurst. We put each other to the torture there. Sir. We roasted the new fellows at a slow fii'e, and hung 'em out of a three pair of stairs window, with their heads downwards. Joseph Bagstock, Sir, was held out of window by the heels of his boots, for thirteen minutes by the college clock." The Major might have appealed to his countenance in 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 liis shirt DOMBEY AND SON. 91 frill. " We were iron, Sir, and it forged us. Are you remaining here, Mr. Dombey?" " I generally come down once a- week, Major," returned that gentleman. " I stay at the Bedford." " I shall have the honor of calling at the Bedford, Sir, if you 'R permit me," said the Major. " Joey B., Sir, is not in general a calling man, but Mr. Dombey's is not a common name. I am much indebted to my little friend, Sir, for the honor of this introduction." Mr. Dombey made a very gi-acious reply ; and Major Bagstock, 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 liis head and coughing wdth great dignity, as he staggered away, with his legs very wide asunder. In fidfilment of his promise, the Major afterwards called on Mr. Dombey ; and Mr. Dombey, having referred to the army list, afterwards called on the Major. Then the Major called at Mr. Dombey's house in town; and came down again, in the same coach as Mr. Dombey. In short, Mr. Dombey and the Major got on imcommonly well together, and uncommonly fast : and Mr. Dombey observed of 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 uncon- nected mth his own profession. At length Mr. Dombey, 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 ^Ii£s Tox liigldy, beforehand, on her neighbour and acquaintance. Notwithstanding the palpitation of the heart which these allusions 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 unwiUing to display. The Major gave her abmidant opportu- nities of exliibiting this emotion : being profuse in his complaints, at dinner, of her desertion of hirn 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 in that respect as in regard of the various dainties on the table, among wliich he may be almost said to have wallowed : greatly to the aggravation of his inflammatory ten- dencies. Mr. Dombey's habitual silence and reserve yielding readily to this usm*pation, the Major felt that he was coming out and shining : and in the flow of spiiits 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 Avhen he took a late farcAveU, after a long rubber, Mr. Dombey again complimented the blushing Miss Tox on her neighbour, and acquaintance. But aU the way home to his own hotel, the Major incessantly said to himself, and of himself, " Sly, Sir — sly, Sir — de-vil-ish sly ! " And when he got there, sat down in a chaii", and fell into a silent fit of laughter. 5J 92 DOMBEY AND SON. with whicli he was sometimes seized, and which was always particularly awftd. It held hhn 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 liim 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 bm'st into a violent paroxysm of coughing, and when that was a httle better burst into such ejaculations as the following : " Woidd you, Ma'am, woidd you ? Mrs. Dombey, eh Ma'am? I think not. Ma'am. Not while Joe B. can put a spoke in your wheel, Ma'am. J. B.'s even with you now, Ma'am. He isn't altogether bowled out, yet. Sir, isn't Bagstock, She 's deep Sir, deep, but Josh is deeper. Wide awake is old Joe — broad awake, and staring, Sir!" There was no doubt of this last assertion being true, and to a veiy fearful extent ; as it con- tinued to be diu-ing the greater part of that night, which the Major chiefly passed in similar exclamations, diversified mth fits of coughing and choking that startled the whole house. It was on the day after this occasion (being Sunday) Avhen, as Mr. Dombey, IVIi-s. Chick, and Miss Tox were sitting at breakfast, still eulo- gizing the Major, Florence came running in : her face sufli'used Avith a bright color, and her eyes sparkling joyfully : and cried, " Papa ! Papa ! Here 's Walter ! and he won't come in. " Who?" cried Mr. Dombey. " What does she mean? What is this?" "Walter, Papa," said Florence timidly; sensible of having approached the presence Avith too much familiarity. " Who found me when I was lost." "Does she mean young Gay, Louisa?" inquired Mr. Dombey, knitting his brows. " Keally, this cluld's manners have become very boisterous. She cannot mean yoimg 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 woidd not take the liberty of coming in, hearing Mr. Dombey was at breakfast, but would wait until Mr. Dombey should signify that he might approach. " TeU the boy to come in now," said Mr. Dombey. " 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 have not been sent. I have been so bold as to come on my own account, which I hope you 'U pardon when I mention the cause." But Mr. Dombey, without attending to what he said, was looking impatiently on either side of him (as if he were a piUar in his way) at some object behind. ""^^Tiat's that?" said Mr. Dombey. "Who is that? I think you have made some mistake in the door. Sir." "Oh, I'm very soiTy to intrude with any one. Sir," cried Walter, hastily : " but this is — this is Captain Cuttle, Sh'." " Wal'r, my lad," observed the Captain in a deep voice : " stand by!" 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. Dombey, and waving his hook pohtely to the ladies, with the liard glazed hat in his one hand, and a red equator round Ids head which it had newly imprinted there. DOMBEY AND SON. 93 IVIr. Dombey regarded tliis plxenomenon with amazement and indigna- tion, and seemed by his looks to appeal to Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox against it. Little Paid, 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. Dombey. " What have you got to say to me ?" Again the Captain observed, as a general opening of the conversation that coidd not fad to propitiate aU parties, " Wal'r, stand by !" " I am afraid, Su-," began Walter, trembhng, and looking down at the gi'ound, " that I take a very gi-eat Uberty in coming — ^indeed, I am sure I do. I should hardly have had the com'age to ask to see you. Sir, even after coming down, I am afraid, if I had not overtaken Miss Dombey, and" — " WeU ! " said Mi'. Dombey, foUomng his eyes as he glanced at the attentive Florence, and fro^vning imconsciously as she encom'aged him with a smile. " Go on, if you please." " Aye, aye," observed the Captain, considering it incumbent on liim, as a point of good breeding, to support Mi-.Dombey. "Well said! Go on, Wal'r." Captain Cuttle ought to have been withered by the look which Mr. Dombey bestowed upon him in acknowledgment of his patronage. But quite innocent of this, he closed one eye in reply, and gave Mr. Dombey to understand, by certain significant motions of his hook, that Walter was a httle bashful at first, and might be expected to come out shortly. "It is entnely a private and personal matter, that has brought me here, Sir," continued W^alter, faltering, " and Captain Cuttle — ." " Here !" interposed the Captain, as an assurance that he was at hand, and might be reUed upon. " Who is a very old friend of my poor uncle's, and a most excellent man. Sir," pursued Walter, raising his eyes with a look of entreaty in the Captain's behalf, "was 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, Wal'r." "And therefore, Sir," said Walter, venturing to meet ]\Ir. Dombey'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, vfiili him, Su*, to say that my poor old uncle is in very great affliction and dis- tress. 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 exe- cution in his house, and is in danger of losing aU he has, and breaking his heart. And that if you would, in your kindness, and in yom- 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 ghstening, though he appeared to look at Walter only. " It is a very large sum, Sii-," said Walter. " More than three hundi-ed 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 rehef. 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 beheve I may say, confidently, there are no other demands ; and there is 94 DOMBEY AND SON. Captain Cuttle, wlio would wish to be secm-ity too. I — I hardly like to mention," said Walter, " such earnings as mine ; but if you would allow them — accumidate — payment — advance — uncle — frugal, honorable, old man." Walter trailed off, through these broken sentences, into silence ; and stood, with downcast head, before liis employer. Considering this a favom'able moment for the display of the valuables, Captain Cuttle advanced to the table ; and clearing a space among the break- fast-cups at Mr. Dombey's elbow, 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, dehvered himself of these words : " Half a loaf's better than no bread, and the same remark holds good with crambs. There 's a few. Annuity of one hundred pound prannum also ready to be made over. If there is a man chock fidl of science in the world, it 's old Sol GiUs. If there is a lad of promise — one flowing," added the Captain, in one of his happy quotations, " with mUk 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. Dombey's eyes were attracted to little Paul, Avho, 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 indif- ference, IVIr. Dombey again tm-ned his eyes upon his son, and sat steadily regarding the child, for some moments, in silence. " What was this debt contracted for ? " asked ]\Ir. Dombey, at lengih. " WTio is the creditor ? " " He don't know," replied the Captain, putting his hand on Walter's shoidder. " I do. It came of helping a man that's dead now, and that's cost my friend GUIs many a himdred poimd akeady. More particidars in private, if agreeable." "People Avho have enoiigh to do to hold their own way," said Mr. Dombey, unobservant of the Captain's mysterious signs behind Walter, and stiU looking at his son, " had better be content with then- own obligations and difficulties, and not increase them by engaging for other men. It is an act of dishonesty, and presumption too," said Mr. Dombey, sternly; " gTcat presiunption ; for the wealthy coidd do no more. Paul, come here ! " The child obeyed : and Mr. Dombey took him on his knee, " If you had money now — " said Mi'. Dombey. " Look at me ! " Paul, Avhose eyes had Avandered to his sister, and to W^alter, looked his father in the face. "If you had money now," said Mr. Dombey; "as much money as young Gay has talked about ; what Avould you do ? " " Give it to his old uncle," retmiied Paul. "Lend it to his old imcle, eh?" retorted Mr. Dombey. ''Well! \Mien you are old enough, you know, you AviU share mj^ money, and Ave shall use it together." " Dombey and Son," interrupted Paid, who had been tutored early in the phrase. DOMBEY AND SON. 95 " Dombey and Son," repeated his father. " Would you like to begin to be Dombey and Son, now, and lend this money to young Gay's unele?" " Oh ! if yon please, Papa ! " said Paul : " and so woidd Florence." " Grirls," said tii\ Dombey, " have nothing to do with Dombey and Son. Woidd ^ou like it ? " " Yes, Papa, yes ! " " Then you shall do it," retm-ned 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 gi-eat, having got it, are going to let him have it, as a great favor and obhgation." Paid 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 cliildish 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. Dombey then turned to a side-table, and wrote a note and sealed it. Dm'ing the interval, Paul and Florence whispered to Walter, and Captain Cuttle beamed on the thi'ee, with such aspii'ing and inelfably presumptuous thoughts as Mr. Dombey never could have believed in. The note being finished, Mr. Dombey tui-ned round to his former place, and held it out to Walter. " Give that," he said, " the first thing to-morrow morning, to Mr.* Carker. He wiU immediately take care that one of my people releases your uncle from his present position, by paying the amount at issue; and that such arrangements are made for its repayment as may be consistent with your uncle's cii'cumstances. You will consider that this is done for you by Master Paid." Walter, in the emotion of holding in his hand the means of releasing his good uncle from his trouble, would have endeavoured to express some- thing of his gi'atitude and joy. But Mr. Dombey stopped him short. " You -will 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 coidd only bow his head and retne. Miss Tox, seeing that the Captain appeared about to do the same, interposed. " My dear Sir," she said, addressing Mr. Dombey, at whose munificence both she and IVIrs. Chick were shedding tears copiously ; " I think you have overlooked something. Pardon me, Mr. Dombey, I think, in the nobility of your character, and its exalted scope, you have omitted a matter of detail." " Indeed, Miss Tox !" said Mr. Dombey. " The gentleman with the Instrument," pursued Miss Tox, glancing at Captain Cuttle, " has left upon the table, at yoiu- elbow " " Good Heaven !" said Mi-. Dombey, sweeping the Captain's property from him, as if it Avere so much crumb indeed. " Take these things away. I am obhged to you, Miss Tox ; it is hke 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. Dombey, 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 96 DOMBEY AND SON. lowered tlie great watch, down slowly into its proper vaidt, he could not refrain from seizing that gentleman's right hand in his own solitary left, and while he held it open Avith his powerful fingers, bringing the hook doAvn upon its palm in a transport of admiration. At tliis touch of warm feeling and cold ii-on, Mr. Dombey 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 Paid 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. Dombey called her back, and bade her stay where she was. " WUl you never be a Dombey, my dear chUd !" said Mi's. Chick, with pathetic reproachfulness. " Dear Aunt," said Florence. " Don't be angry with me. I am so thankful to Papa ! " She would have run and thrown her arms about Ms neck if she had dared ; but as she did not dare, she glanced with thankfid eyes towards him, as he sat musing ; sometimes bestowing an uneasy glance on her, but, for the most part, watching Paul, Avho walked about the room with the new-blown dignity of having let young Gay have the money. And young Gay — Walter — Avhat of him ? He was overjoyed to pm'ge the old man's hearth from bailiffs and brokers, and to hm-ry back to his uncle with the good tidings. He was bverjoyed 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 hopefid for the future, and feeling that the wooden midshipman was his own again. But "without the least impeachment of his gratitude to Mi*. Dombey, 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 om-selves what flowers they might have borne, if they had flourished; and now, when Walter felt himself cut off from that gi-eat Dombey height, by the depth of a new and terrible tumble, and felt that aU 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 Adsions 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 h.e had assisted Avas so very satisfactory and encom-aging, as to be only a step or two removed from a regular betrothal of Florence to Walter; and that the late transaction had immensely forwarded, if not thoroughly established, the Whitting- tonian hopes. Stimulated by this conviction, and by the improvement in the spii-its of his old friend, and by his OAvn consequent gaiety, he even attempted, in favouring them Avith the ballad of "Lovely Peg" for the thii'd time in one evening, to make an extemporaneous substitution of the name " Florence" ; but finding this diflicult, on accoimt of the Avord Peg invariably rhyming to leg (in which personal beauty the original Avas described as having excelled aU competitors), he liit iipon the happy thought of changing it to Fie — e — eg ; Avhich he accordingly did, AA'ith an archness almost supernatural, and a voice quite vociferous, notwithstanding that the time Avas close at hand Avhen he must seek the abode of the di-eadful Mrs. MacStinger, DOMBEY AND SON. 97 CHAPTEE XT. Paul's introduction to a new scene. Mrs. Pipchin's constitution was made of such hard metal, in spite of its liability to the fleslily 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 naught the predictions of Mrs. Wickani, and showed no symptoms of decline. Yet, as Paid's rapt interest in the; old lady continued unabated, ]VIrs. Wickam woidd not budge an inch from the position she had taken up. Fortifying and entrenching lierself on the strong ground of her imcle's Betsey Jane, she advised Miss Berry, as a friend, to prepare herself for the worst; and forewaiTied her that her aunt might, at any time, be expected to go off suddenly, like a powder-miU. Poor Berry took it all in good part, and di'udged and slaved away as usual ; perfectly convinced that IVIi's. Pipcliin was one of the most meri- torious persons in the world, and making every day innumerable sacrifices of herself upon the altar of that noble old-woman. But all these immola- tions of Berry were somehow carried to the credit of Mrs. Pipcliiii, by Mrs. Pipchin's friends and admirers ; and w^ere made to harmonise with, and carry out, that melancholy fact of the deceased Mr. Pipchin having broken his heart in the Peruvian mines. For example, there was an honest grocer and general dealer in the retail line of business, between whom and Mrs. Pipchin there w^as a small memorandum book, with a greasy red cover, perpetually in question, and concerning which divers secret councils and conferences Avere continutdly being held between the parties to thQi|pegister, 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 grocer being a bachelor and not a man who looked upon the sm-face for beauty, had once made honom-able offers for the hand of Beny, which ^Irs. Pipchin had, with contumely and scorn, rejected. Everybody said how laudable this Avas in Mrs. Pipchin, 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 Aveeks (being soundly rated by her good aunt all the time), and lapsed into a state of hopeless spinsterhood. "Ben-y's very fond of you, ain't she?" Paid once asked Mrs. Pipchin when they Avere sitting by the fire Avith the cat. " Yes,'"' said Mrs. Pipcliin. "Why?" asked Paul. _" Why ! " returned the disconcerted old lady. " How can you ask such tilings. Sir ! Avhy are you fond of yom- sister Florence ?" " Because she 's very good," said Paul. "There 's nobody like Florence." " Well !_" retorted Mi-s. Pipchin shortly, " and there 's nobody like mo, I suppose." H 98 DOMBEY AND SON. "Ain't there really thougli?" asked Paul, leaning forward in his chair, and looking at her veiy hard. " No," said the old lady. " I am glad of that," observed Paul, rubbing his hands thoughtfully. " That 's a very good thing." Mi's. Pipchin 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 Bitherstone to that extent until bed-time, that he began that very night to make arrangements for an overland re- tm-n 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 pro- vision to support him on the voyage. Mrs. Pipchin had kept watch and ward over little Paid 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. Dombey at the hotel. By little and little Paul had groAvn stronger, and had become able to dispense with his carriage; though he still looked thin, and delicate; and still remained the same old, quiet, di-eamy child, that he had been when first consigned to Mi's. Pipcliin's care. One Satmday afternoon, at dusk, gi'eat consternation was occasioned in the castle by the unlooked-for announce- ment of Mr. Dombey as a visitor to Mrs. Pipchin. The population of the parlour was immediately swept iip-stairs as on the wings of a whirlwind, and after much slamming of bedroom doors, and trampling overhead, and some knocking about of Master Bitherstone by Mrs. Pipchin, as a relief to the perturbation of her spirits, the black bombazeen garments of the worthy old lady darkened the audience-chamber where Mr. Dombey was contemplating the vacant arm-chair of his son and heir. " Mrs. Pipchin," said Mr. Dombey, " How do you do ?" " Thank you. Sir," said Mrs. Pipchin, " I am pretty well, considering." Mrs. Pipchin 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. Pipchin, taldrig a chair, and fetching her breath ; " but such health as I have, I am grateful for." Mr. Dombey 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. Pipchin, I have taken the liberty of calling, to considt you in reference to my son. I have had it in my mind to do so for some time past ; but have defended it from time to time, in order that his health might be thoroughly re-estabhshed. You have no misgivings on that sub- ject, Mrs. Pipchin?" " Brighton has proved very beneficial, Sii-," returned Mrs. Pipchin. " Very beneficial, indeed." " I piu-pose," said Mr. Dombey, "his remaining at Brighton." Mrs. Pipchin rubbed her hands, and bent her gi-ey eyes on the fire. " But," pursued Mr. Dombey, stretching out his forefinger, " but possibly that he should now make a change, and lead a difi^erent kind of life here. In short, Mrs. Pipchin, that is the object of my visit. My son is getting on, Mrs. Pipchin. Really, he is getting on." There was something melancholy in the triumphant air with which Mr. Dombey said this. It shewed how long Paul's childish life hr.d been to DOMBEY AND SON. 99 him, and how his hopes were set upon a later stage of his existence. Pity may appear a strange word to connect with any one so haughty and so cold, and yet he seemed a worthy subject for it at that moment. " Six years old !" said Mr. Dombey, settling his neckcloth — ^perhaps to hide an iiTcpressible smile that rather seemed to strike upon the surface of his face and glance away, as finding no resting place, than to play there for an instant. " Dear me, six wiU be changed to sixteen, before we have time to look about us." " Ten years," croaked the unsympathetic Pipchin, with a frosty glisten- ing of her hard gi-ey eye, and a dreary shaking of her bent head, " is a long time." " It depends on circximstances," returned Mr. Dombey ; " at aU events, Mrs. Pipchin, 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 Ml-. Dombey, quickly answering what he mistnisted was a shrewd twinkle of the frosty eye, " his youth is a more appropriate expression. Now, Mrs. Pipchin, 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, Mi-s. Pipchin." " Well, Sir," said Mrs. Pipchin, " I can say nothing to the contrary." " I was quite sm-e, Mi-s. Pipchin," returned Mr. Dombey, approvingly, "that a person of your good sense could not, and would not." " There is a gi'eat 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. Pipchin, impatiently rubbing her hooked nose. " It never was thought of in my time, and it lias no business to be thought of now. My opinion is ' keep 'em at it.' " " My good madam," returned Mr. Dombey, " you have not acquired your reputation undeservedly ; and I beg you to beheve, j\Ii-s. Pipchin, that I am more than satisfied with your excellent system of management, and shall have the gi-eatest pleasure in commending it whenever my poor com- mendation " — Mr. Dombey's loftiness when he affected to disparage his own importance, passed all bounds — "can be of any service. I have been thinking of Dr. Blimber's, ]\Irs. Pipchin." " My neighbour, Sir?" said Mrs. Pipchin. " I believe the Doctor's is an excellent establishment. I 've heai'd that it 's very strictly conducted, and that there 's nothing but learning going on from morning to night." "And it 's very expensive," added Mr. Dombey. "And it 's very expensive. Sir," returned Mrs. Pipchin, 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. Pipchin," said Mr. Dombey, hitching his chair anxiously a little nearer to the fire, " and he does not consider Paul at all too young for his purpose. He men- tioned several instances of boys in Greek at about the same age. If I have any little uneasiness in my own mind, ^Mrs. Pipchin, 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 II 2 100 DOMBEY AND SON. affection on Hs sister. Wlietlier their separation — " ]\Ir. Donibey said no more, but sat silent. " Hoity-toity ! " exclaimed Mrs. Pipcliin, shaking out lier black boni- bazeen skirts, and plucking up all tlie ogress within her. "If she don't like it, Mr. Dombey, slie 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 slie reasoned with 'em. Mr. Dombey waited until Mrs. Pipchin had done bridling and shaking her head, and frowning down a legion of Bitherstones and Pankeys ; and then said qmetly, but correctively, " He, my good madam ; he." Mrs. Pipchin's system wovdd have applied very much the same mode of cure to any uneasiness on the part of Paid, too ; but as the hard grey eye was sharp enough to see that the recipe, however Mr. Dombey might admit its efficacy in the case of the daughter, Avas not a sovereign remedy for the son, she argiied the point ; and contended that change, and new society, and the different form of life he would lead at Doctor Blimber's, and the studies he would have to master, would very soon prove siifficient alienations. As this chimed in with Mr. Dombey's own hope and belief, it gave that gentleman a stiU higher opinion of JNIrs. Pipchin's under- standing ; and as Mrs. Pipchin, 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. Pipchin's disinterestedness. It was plain that he had given the subject anxious consideration, for he had formed a plan, which he announced to the ogress, of sending Paul to the Doctor's as a weekly boarder for the first half year, during which time Florence would remain at the castle, that she might receive her brother ther^,^ on Saturdays. This woidd wean him by degi-ees, Mr. Dombey said : (/'^»eWbly Avith a recollection of his not having been weaned bv degrees on a former occasion. Mr. Dombey finished the interview by expressing his hope that Mrs. Pipchin 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 Miss Pankey cry by patting her on the head (in which region she was imcommonly tender, on accomit of a habit Mi's. Pipchin had of sounding it with her knuckles, like a cask), he withdrew to his hotel and dinner : resolved that Paid, now that he was getting so old and Avell, should begin a vigorous course of education forthwith, to qualiiy him for the position in which he was to shine ; and that Doctor Bbmber should take him in hand immediately. Whenever a young gentleman was taken in hand by Doctor Blimber, he might consider himself siue 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 hundi-ed, 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, Doctor Blimber's establishment was a great hot-house, in wliich there was a forcing apparatus incessantly at work. All the boys blcAv before their time. Mental green-peas were produced at Christmas, and intellectual asparagus all the year round. IMathcniatical goose- DOMBEY AND SON. 101 berries (very sour ones too) were common at untimely seasons, and from mere sprouts of bushes, under Doctor Blimber's cultivation. Every description of Greek and Latin vegetable was got off the driest twigs of boys, under the frostiest circumstances. Natm-e was of no consequence at all. No matter what a young gentleman was intended to bear. Doctor 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 dav, 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. There 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 Avaistcoat pocket to put on his little finger by stealth, when the pupils went out walking ; constantly falling in love by sight with nurserymaids, 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 bed-time, like a greatly overgrown cherub who had sat up aloft much loo 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, higlily 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. Insomuch, that when the Doctor put his right hand into the breast of his coat, and with his other liand behind him, and a scarcely percej^tible wag of his head, made the commonest observation to a nervous stranger, it was like a sentiment from the sphynx, 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-coloured 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 weUs, 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 aU the house but the ticking of a great clock in the ImlL Avhich made itself audible in the. very gairets; and sometimes a duU e^i^^ of young gentlemen at Cf^'y^ their lessons, like the murmurings of an assemblage of melancholy pigeons. JN'Iiss Blimber, too, although a slim and graceful maid, did no soft violence to the gi'avity 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 for ]\Iiss Bhmber. They must be dead — stone dead — and then Jliss Blimber dug them up like a Ghoide. 102 DOMBEY AND SON. Mi's. Blimber, her mama, was not learned herself, but she pretended to be, and that did quite as weU, 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 aU other young gentlemen, in the largest possible shirt coUars, and the stiffest possible cravats. It was so classical, she said. As to Mr. Feeder, B. A., Doctor 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 Doctor Blimber's young gentlemen. The young gentlemen were prematm'ely fuU of carking anxieties. They knew no rest from the pm*- suit of stoney-hearted verbs, savage noun-substantives, inflexible syntactic passages, and ghosts of exercises that appeared to them in their di'eams. Under the forcing system, a young gentleman usually took leave of Ms spirits in tlu-ee 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 foiu" ; he was an old misanthrope, in five ; envied ^biti^ftitMi Cm'tius that blessed refuge in tlie earth, in six ; and at the end of the first twelvemonth had an'ived 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 hothouse, 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 door-steps one day, Paul stood with a fluttering heart, and Avith 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 ! IMi's. Pipchin hovered behind the victim, with her sable plumage and her hooked beak, like a bird of iU-omen. She Avas out of breath— for IMr. Dombey, full of great thoughts, had walked fast — and she croaked hoarsely as she waited for the opening of the door. " Now, Paul," said Mr. Dombey exultingly. " This is the way indeed to be Dombey and Son, and have money. You are abnost a man aheady." " Almost," returned the child. Even his childish agitation could not master the sly and quaint yet touching look, with which he accompanied the reply. It brought a vague expression of dissatisfaction into Mr. Dombey's face ; but the door being opened, it was quickly gone. " Doctor Blimber is at home, I believe ?" said Mr. Dombey. 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 coimtenance. It was mere imbecility ; but Mrs. Pipchin took it into her head that it was impudence, and made a snap at him directly. " How dare you laugh behind the gentleman's back ? " said IMrs. Pip- chin. " And what do you take me for ? " DOMBEY AND SON. 103 " I ain't a laughing at nobody, and I'm sure I don't take you for nothing, Ma'am," returned the young man, in consternation. "A pack of idle dogs ! " said Mrs. Pipchin, " only fit to be turnspits. Oo and tell your master that JSIr. Dombey 's here, or it '11 be worse 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," saidMi-s. Pipchin, when it came to her tm-n, bringing up the rear, to pass him in the hall. " I amt" returned the young man, grievously oppressed. " I never see such a thing as this ! " "What is the matter, Mrs. Pipcliin? " said Sir. Dombey, 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 feUow " — 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 coidd wonder at it, after the Peruvian mines ! 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. Sir," he said to Mr. Dombey, "and how is my little friend? " 'Grave as an organ was the Doctor's speech ; and when he ceased, the great clock in the haU seemed (to Paul at least) to take him up, and to go on saying ' how, is, my, Ut, tie, friend, how, is, my, lit, tie, 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 vicAv of him round the legs ; which Mr. Dombey per- ceiving, reheved 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 httle friend?" The clock in the hall wouldn't subscribe to this alteration in the form of words, but continued to repeat ' how, is, my, lit, tie, liiend, how, is, my, lit, tie, 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 man of him ? " " Do you hear, Paul ? " added Mr. Dombey ; Paul being silent. " ShaU we make a man of him ? " repeated the Doctor. " I had rather be a chUd," 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 il' 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. ' Tliis is why,' it seemed to say, and then the steady look was broken up and gone; the working lip was loosened j and the tears came streaming forth. 104 DOMBEY AND SON. "Mrs. Pipehin," said liis father, in a querulous manner, "I am reall/ very sorry to see this." " Come away from him, do, Miss Dombey," quoth the matron. "Never mind," said the Doctor, blandly nodding his head, to keep Mrs. Pipehin back. " Ne-ver mind ; we shall substitute new cares and new impressions, Mr. Dombey, very shortly. You Avoidd still wish mj little friend to acquire " Everything, if you please, Doctor," returned Mr. Dombey, 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 dare say. I dare say. Quite a virgin soil, I believe you said, Mr. Dombey ? " " Except some ordinary preparation at home, and from this lady," replied Mr. Dombey, introducing Mrs. Pipehin, 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 aU." Dr. Blimber inclined his head, in gentle tolerance of such insignificant poaching as IMrs. Pipchin's, and said he Avas glad to hear it. It was much more satisfactory, he observed, rubbing his hands, to begin at the founda- tion. And again he leered at Paul, as if he would have liked to tackle him with the Greek alphabet, on the spot. " That circumstance, indeed. Doctor Blimber," pursued Mr. Dombey, glancing at his little son, " and the interview I have akeady had the plea- sure of holding with you, renders any further explanation, and conse- quently, any further intrusion on your valuable time, so unnecessary, that — " "Now, Miss Dombey !" said the acid Pipehin. " Permit me," said the Doctor, " one moment. AUow me to present Mrs. Blimber and my daughter, who wiU be associated with the domestic life of our young PHgrim to Parnassus. Mrs. Blimber," for the lady, who had perhaps been in waiting, opportunely entered, followed by her daugh- ter, that fair Sexton in spectacles, " Mr. Dombey. My daughter Cornelia, Mr. Dombey. Mr. Dombey, my love," pursued the Doctor, turning to his wife, " is so confiding as to — do you see our little friend ? " Mrs. Blimber, in an access of politeness, of which Mr. Dombey 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. Dombey, said, with a sigh, that she envied his dear son. " Like a bee. Sir," said Mrs. Blimber, with uplifted eyes, " about to plunge into a garden of the choicest flowers, and sip the sweets for the first time". Yirgil, Horace, Ovid, Terence, Plautus, Cicero. What a world of honey have we here. It may appear remarkable, Mr. Dombey, in one who is a wife — the wife of such a husband — " " Hush, hush," said Doctor Blimber. " Pie for shame." " Mr. Dombey wiU forgive the partiality of a Avife," said ISIrs. Blimber, v.ith an engaging smile. Mr. Dombey answered " Not at all :" applying those Avords, it is to be presumed, to the partiality, and not to the foj-givencss. DOMBEY AND SON. 105 " — And it may seem remarkable in one wlio is a mother also," resumed Mrs. Blimber. " And such a mother," observed Mr. Dombey, bowing with some con- fused idea of being complimentary to Cornelia. " But really," pursued Mrs. Blimber, " I think if I could have known Cicero, and been his friend, and talked with him in liis retirement at Tus- culum (beau-ti-ful Tusculum !), I could have died contented." A learned enthusiasm is so very contagious, that Mr. Dombey half believed tliis was exactly his case ; and even ]\Irs. Pipchin, 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 w^ould have said that nobody but Cicero could have proved a lasting consolation under that failure of the Peruvian Mines, but that he indeed would have been a very Davy-lamp of refuge. Cornelia looked at Mr. Dombey tlirough her spectacles, as if she would liave liked to crack a few quotations with him from the authority in ques- tion. 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, To.ots ; come in. Mr. Dombey, Su-." Toots bowed. " Quite a coincidence ! " said Doctor Blimber. " Here w^e have the beginning and the end. Alpha and Omega. Our head boy, Mr. Dombey." The Doctor might have called him their head and shoulders 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. "An addition to oiu- little Portico, Toots," said the Doctor; "Mr. Dombey's son." Young Toots blushed again ; and finding, trom a solemn silence which prevailed, that he was expected to say sometliing, said to Paul, " How are you? " in a voice so deep, and a manner so sheepish, that if a lamb had roared it couldn't have been more surprising. " Ask Mr. Feeder, if you please. Toots," said the Doctor, " to prepare a few introductory volumes for Mr. Dombey's son, and to allot him a con- venient seat for study. My dear, I believe Mr. Dombey has not seen the dormitories." " If Mr. Dombey wiU walk up stairs," said Mrs. Blimber, " I shall be more than proud to show him the dominions of the droAvsy God." With that, Mrs. Blimber, who was a lady of great suavity, and a wiry figure, and who wore a cap composed of sky-blue materials, proceeded up stairs with Mr. Dombey and Cornelia ; Mrs. Pipchin following, aud looking out sharp for her enemy the footman. While they were gone, Paul sat upon the table, holding Florence by tlie hand, and glancing timidly from the Doctor rovmd 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 some- thing very awful in this manner of reading. It was such a determined, unimpassioned, inflexible, cold-blooded way of going to work. It left . , the Doctor's countenance exposed to view ; and when the Doctor smiled iWj^j^jrbi»i*siy at his author, or knit his brows, or shook his head and made ' >vFy' faces at him, as much as to say, ' Don't teU me, Sir. I know better,* it was terrific. 106 DOMBEY AND SON. 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. Dombey and his conductress were soon heard coming down stairs again, talking all the way; and presently they re-entered the Doctor's study. " I hope, Mr. Dombey," said the Doctor, laying down his book, " that the arrangements meet your approval. " They are excellent, Sir," said Mr. Dombey. " Very fair, indeed," said Mrs. Pipchin, in a low voice ; never disposed to give too much encouragement. " Mrs. Pipchin," said Mr, Dombey, wheeling round, "will, with your permission. Doctor and Mrs. Blimber, visit Paul now and then." " Whenever Mrs. Pipchin pleases," observed the Doctor. " Always happy to see her," said Mrs. Blimber. " I tlnnk," said IVIr. Dombey, " I have now given all the trouble 1 need, and may take my leave. Paul, my cluld," he went close to him, as he sat upon the table. " Good bye." " Good bye. Papa." The limp and careless little hand that Mr. Dombey took in his, was sin- gularly out of keeping with the Avistful 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. Dombey in his insolence of wealth, had ever made an enemy, hard to appease and cruelly vindictive in liis hate, even such an enemy might have received the pang that wrung his proud heart then, as com- pensation for his injury. He bent down over his boy, and kissed him. If his sight were dimmed as he did so, by sometliing that for a moment blurred the httle face, and made it indistinct to him, liis mental vision may have been, for that short time, the clearer perhaps. " I shaU see you soon, Paul. You are free on Saturdays and Sundays, you know." " Yes Papa," returned Paul : looking at lus sister. " On Saturdays and Sundays," " And you 'U try and learn a great deal here, and be a clever man," said Mr. Dombey ; " won't you ? " " I '11 try," retm-ned the child, wearily. " And you '11 soon be grown up now ! " said Mr. Dombey. " Oh ! very soon ! " replied the child. Once more the old, old look, passed rapidly across his features bke a strange hght. It fell on Mrs. Pipcliin, and extmguished itself in her black dress. That excellent ogi-ess stepped fom-ard to take leave and to bear off Florence, which she had long been thirsting to do. The inove on her part roused Mr. Dombey, whose eyes were fixed on Paul. After patting him on the head, and pressing his small hand again, he took leave of Doctor Blimber, Mrs, Blimber, and Miss Bhmber, Avith his usual polite frigidity, and walked out of the study. Despite liis entreaty that they would not think of stirring. Doctor Blimber, INIrs. Bhmber, and IVIiss Bhmber aU pressed forward to attend DOMBEY AND SON. 107 him to the hall ; and thus Mrs. Pipchin got into a state of entanglement with IVIiss Blimber and the Doctor, and was crowded out of the study- before she could clutch Florence. To wliich 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 encom-agement, 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, bhnd Homer and Minerva, swimming round the room. But they stopped, aU of a sudden ; and then he heard the loud clock in the hall still gravely inqmring ' how, is, my, lit, tie, friend, how, is, my, ht, tie, 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. CHAPTER XII. Paul's education. After the lapse of some minutes, which appeared an immense time to little Paul Dombey on the table. Doctor BUmber came back. The Doctor's walk was stately, and calculated to impress the juvenile mind with solemn feehngs. It was a sort of march ; but when ihe Doctor put out his right foot, he gravely turned upon his axis, with a semicircular sweep towards the left ; and when he put out his left foot, he turned in the same manner towards the right. So that he seemed, at every stride he took, to look about him as though he were saying, " Can anybody have the goodness to indicate any subject, in any direction, on which I am uninformed? I rather think not." Mrs, BUmber and Miss Blimber came back in the Doctor's company ; and the Doctor, lifting his new pupil off the table, delivered him over to Miss Blimber. " Comeha," said the Doctor, " Dombey wiU be your charge at first. Bring him on, Comeha, bring him on." Miss BUmber received her young ward from the Doctor's hands ; and Paul, feeUng that the spectacles were surveying him, cast down his eyes. " How old are you, Dombey ? " said Miss Blimber. " Six," answered Paul, wondering, as he stole a glance at the young lady, why her hair didn't grow long like Florence's, and why she was Uke a boy. " How much do you know of yoiu* Latin Grammar, Dombey ? " said Miss BUmber. " None of it," answered Paul. Feeling that the answer was a shock to Miss BUmber's sensibility, he looked up at the three faces that were looking down at him, and said : " I havn't been weU. I have been a weak child. I couldn't learn a 108 DOMBEY AND SON. Latiii Grammar when I was out, eveiy day, with old Glubb. I wish you 'd tell old Glubb to come and see me, if you please." " What a dreadfully low name ! " said Mrs. Bhmber. "Unclassioal to a degree ! Who is the monster, child ? " " What monster ? " inquired Paul. " Glubb," said Mrs. Blimber, with a great disrelish. " He 's no more a monster than you are," returned Paid. " What ! " cried the Doctor, in a terrible voice. " Aye, aye, ave ? Aha! What's that? Paul was dreadfully frightened ; but still he made a stand for the absent Glubb, though he did it trembling. " He 's a very nice old man. Ma'am," he said. " He used to draw my couch. He knows all about the deep sea, and the fish that are in it, and the great monsters that come and lie on rocks in the sun, and dive into the water again when they 're startled, blowing and splashing so, that they can be heard for miles. There are some creatures," said Paul, warming with his subject, " I don't know how many yards long, and I forget their names, but Plorence knows, that pretend to be in distress ; and when a man goes near them, out of compassion, tliey open their gi'eat jaws, and attack him. But aU he has got to do," said Paid, boldly tender- ing this information to the very Doctor himself, "is to keep on turniug as lie runs away, and then, as they turn slowly, because they are so long, and can't bend, he 's sine to beat them. And though old Glubb don't know why the sea should make me think of my JMamma that's dead, or what it is that it is always saying — always saying ! — he knows a great deal about it. And I wish," the child concluded, with a sudden faUiug of his coun- tenance, and failing in his animation, as he looked like one forlorn, upon the tlnee strange faces, " that you 'd let old Glubb come here to see me, for I know him very well, and he knows me." ■ " Ha ! " said the Doctor, shaking liis head ; " this is bad, but study wiU do much." Mrs. Blimber opined, with something like a shiver, that he Avas an un- accountable child ; and, allowing for the difference of visage, looked at him pretty much as Mrs. Pipchin had been used to do, " Take him round the house, Cornelia," said the Doctor, " and familiarise liim with his new sphere. Go with that young lady, Donibey." Dombey obeyed; giving his hand to the abstruse Corneha, and looking at her sideways, Avith timid curiosity, as they went away together. Por her spectacles, by reason of the glistening of the glasses, made her so mysterious, that he didn't know where she was looking, and was not indeed quite sure that she had any eyes at aU behind them. Cornelia took him tu'st to the schoolroom, which was situated at the back of the hall, and was approached through two baize doors, which deadened and muffled the young gentlemen's voices. Here, there Avere eight young gentlemen in various stages of mental prostration, all very hard at Avork, and very grave indeed. Toots, as an old hand, had a desk to himself in one corner : and a magnificent man, of immense age, he looked, in Paul's young eyes, behind it. Mr. Feeder, B.A., avIio sat at another little desk, had his Virgil stop on, and was sloAvly grinding that tune to four young gentlemen. Of the remaining four, tAAO, Avho grasped their foreheads convidsively, Avere DOMBEY AND SON. 109 engaged in solving mathematical problems ; one with his face like a dirtj window, from much crying, was endeavouring to flounder through a hope- less number of lines before dinner ; and one sat looking at his task in stoney stupefaction and despair — wMch it seemed had been his condition ever since breakfast time. The appearance of a new boy did not create the sensation that might have been expected. IMr. Feeder, B.A. (who was in the habit of shaving his head for coolness, and had nothing but little bristles on it), gave him a boney hand, and told him he was glad to sec him — which Paid would have been very glad to have told him, if he could have done so with the least sincerity. Then Paid, instructed by Cornelia, shook hands with the foiu- young gentlemen at Mr. Feeder's desk ; then with the two young gentlemen at work on the problems, Avho were very feverish ; then with the young gentleman at work against time, who was very inky ; and lastly with the young gentleman in a state of stupefaction, who was flabby and quite cold. Paid having been akeady introduced to Toots, that pupil merely chuckled and breathed hard, as his custom was, and piu'sued the occupa- tion in which he was engaged. It was not a severe one ; for on account of his having " gone through " so much (in more senses than one), and also of his having, as before hinted, left ofi" blowing in his prime, Toots now had license to pursue his own course of study : which was chiefly to write long letters to himself from persons of distinction, addressed ' P. Toots, Esquire, Brighton, Sussex,' and to preserve them in his desk with great care. These ceremonies passed, Cornelia led Paul up stairs to the top of the lioiise ; which was rather a slow journey, on account of Paul being obliged to land both feet on every stair, before he mounted another. Put they reached their jomney's end at last ; and there, in a front room, looking over the wild sea, Cornelia shoAved him a nice little bed with white hangings, close to the window, on which there was akeady beautifully written on a card in round text — down strokes very thick, and up strokes very fine — Dombey; Avhile two other little bedsteads in the same room were announced, through like means, as respectively appertaining unto BiiiGGS and TozER. Just as they got down stairs again into the hall, Paul saw the weak- eyed young man who had given that mortal oflcnce to Mrs. Pipchin, suddenly seize a very large drumstick, and fly at a gong that was hanging up, as if he had gone mad, or wanted vengeance. Instead of receiving warning, however, or being instantly taken into custody, the young man left oft" unchecked, after having made a dreadfid noise. Then Cornelia Blimber said to Dombey that dinner woidd be ready in a quarter of an hour, and perhaps he had better go into the schooh-oom among his "friends." So Dombey, deferentially passing the great clock which was still as anxious as ever to know how he found himself, opened the schoolroom door a very little way, and strayed in like a lost boy : shutting it after him with some difficidty. His friends were aU dispersed about the room except the stoney friend, who remained immoveable. Mr. Feeder was stretching himself in his gi'ey gown, as if, regai'dless of expence, he were resolved to pull the sleeves oil". 110 DOMBEY AND SON. " Heigh ho hum !" cried Mr. Peeder, shaking himself Hke a cart-horse, " Oh dear me, dear me ! Ya-a-a-ah !" Paid was quite alarmed by Mr. Feeder's yawning ; it was done on such a gi-eat scale, and he was so terribly in earnest. All the boys too (Toots excepted) seemed knocked up, and were getting ready for dinner — some newly tying their neckcloths, which were vei-y stiff indeed ; and others washing their hands or brushing their hair, in an adjoining ante-chamber — as if they didn't think they shoidd enjoy it at all. Young Toots who was ready beforehand, and had therefore nothing to do, and had leisure to bestow upon Paid, said, Avith heavy good natui'e : " Sit down, Dombey." *' Thank you. Sir," said Paul. His endeavouring to hoist himself on to a very high window-seat, and his shpping down again, appeared to prepare Toots' s mind for the recep- tion of a discovery. " You're a very small chap," said Mr. Toots. " Yes, Sir, I 'm small," returned Paul. " Thank you. Sir." For Toots had lifted him into the seat, and done it kindly too. "Who's your tailor?" inquired Toots, after looking at Mm for some moments. " It 's a woman that has made my clothes as yet," said Paul. "My sister's di-ess-maker." " My tador 's Burgess and Co.," said Toots. " Pash'nable. But very dear." Paul had wit enough to shake his head, as if he woidd have said it was easy to see that ; and indeed he thought so. " Your father 's regularly rich, ain't he ?" inquired Mr. Toots. " Y'es, Sir," said Paul. " He 's Dombey and Son." " And which ?" demanded Toots. " And Son, Su-," replied Paul. Mr. Toots made one or two attempts, in a low voice, to fix the fii-m in his mind ; but not quite succeeding, said he would get Paid to mention the name again to moiTOw morning, as it was rather important. And indeed he pm-posed nothing less than WTiting himself a private and confidential letter from Dombey and Son immediately. By this time the other pupils (ahvays excepting the stoney boy) gathered round. They were polite, but pale ; and spoke low ; and they were so depressed in their spirits, that in comparison Avith the general tone of that company. Master Bitherstone was a perfect Miller, or complete Jest Book. And yet he had a sense of injury upon him too, had Bitherstone. " You sleep in my room, don't you? " asked a solemn young gentle- man, whose shirt-coUar curled up tlie lobes of his ears. " Master Briggs ? " inquired Paul. " Tozer," said the young gentleman. \ Paul answered yes ; and Tozer pointing out the stoney pupil, said that was Briggs. Paul had already felt certain that it must be either Briggs or Tozer, though he didn't know why. " Is your's a strong constitution ? " inquired Tozer. Paid said he thought not. Tozer replied that he thought not also, judging from Paul's looks, and that it was a pity, for it need be. He DOMBEY AND SON. Ill then asked Paul if he were going to begin with Cornelia ; and on Paul saying " yes," all the young gentlemen (Briggs excepted) gave a low groan. It was drowned in the tintinnabulation of the gong, which sounding again with great fiuy, there was a general move towards the dining-room ; stdl excepting Briggs the stoney boy, who remained where he was, and as he was ; and on its way to whom Paul presently encountered a round of bread, genteelly served on a plate and napkin, and with a silver fork lying crosswise on the top of it. Doctor BUmber was aheady in his place in the dining-room, at the top of the table, with Miss BUmber and Mrs. Blimber on either side of him. Mr. Peeder in a black coat was at the bottom. Paul's chair was next to Miss Blimber ; but it being found, when he sat in it, that his eyebrows were not much above the level of the table-cloth, some books were brought in from the Doctor's study, on which he was elevated, and on which he always sat from that time — carrying them in and out himself on after occa- sions, like a little elephant and castle. Grace having been said by the Doctor, dinner began. There was some nice soup; also roast meat, boiled meat, vegetables, pie, and cheese. Every young gentleman had a massive silver fork, and a napkin ; and aU the arrangements were stately and handsome. In particidar, there was a butler in a blue coat and bright buttons, who gave quite a winey flavor to the table beer ; he poured it out so superbly. Nobody spoke, unless spoken to, except Doctor BKmber, Mrs. Blimber, and Miss Blimber, who conversed occasionally. Whenever a young gentle- man was not actually engaged Avith his knife and fork or spoon, his eye,' with an iiTesistible attraction, sought the eye of Dr. Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, or Miss Blimber, and modestly rested there. Toots appeared to be the only exception to this rule. He sat next IVIi'. Peeder on Paul's side of the table, and frequently looked behind and before the intervening boys to catch a gUmpse of Paul. Only once during dinner was there any conversation that included the young gentlemen. It happened at the epoch of the cheese, when the Doctor, having taken a glass of port wine, and hemmed twice or thrice, said : " It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder, that the Eomans — " At the mention of this terrible people, their implacable enemies, every young gentleman fastened his gaze upon the Doctor, with an assumption of the deepest interest. One of the number who happened to be drink- ing, and who caught the Doctor's eye glaring at him tlu'ough the side of his tumbler, left off so hastily that he was convulsed for some moments, and in the sequel ruined Dr. Blimber's point. "It is remarkable, Mr. Peeder," said the Doctor, beginning again sloAvly, "that the Romans, in those gorgeous and profuse entertainments of which we read in the days of the Emperors, when luxiuy had attained a height unknown before or since, and when whole provinces were ravaged to supply the splendid means of one Imperial Banquet " Here the offender, who had been swelling and straining, and waiting in vain for a fiill stop, broke out violently. "Johnson," said Mr. Peeder, in a low reproachfid voice, "take some water." The Doctor, looking very stem, made a pause until the water was brought, and then resumed : 112 DOMBEY AND SON. " And wlien, Mr. Feeder — " But Mr. Feeder, wlio saw that Jolmson must break out again, and wlio knew that the Doctor would never come to a period before the young gen- tlemen until he had finished all he meant to say, coiddn't keep his eye off Johnson ; and thus was ca\ight in the fact of not looking at the Doctor, who consequently stopped. " I beg your pardon. Sir," said Mr. Feeder, reddening. " I beg your pardon. Doctor Blim1)er." "And when," said the Doctor, raising his voice, "when. Sir, as we read, and have no reason to doubt — incredible as it may appear to the vulgar of our time — the brother of Vitellius prepared for him a feast, in which were served, of fish, two thousand dishes — " "Take some water, Johnson — dishes. Sir," said Mr. Feeder. " Of various sorts of fowl, five thousand dishes." " Or try a crust of bread," said Mr. Feeder. " And one dish," pursued Doctor Blimber, raising his voice still higher as he looked all round the table, " called, from its enormous dimensions, the Shield of ]\Iinerva, and made, among other costly ingredients, of the brains of pheasants — " " Ow, ow, ow ! " (from Johnson.) " Woodcocks," "Ow, ow, ow!" " The sounds of the fish called scari," " You '11 burst some vessel in your head," said Mr. Feeder. " You had better let it come." " And the spawn of the lamprey, brought from the Carpathian Sea," pursued the Doctor, in his severest voice ; " when we read of costly enter- tainments such as these, and still remember, that we have a Titus," " What would be yom- mother's feelings if you died of apoplexy ! " said Mr. Feeder. " A Domitian," " And you 're blue, you know," said Mr. Feeder. " A Nero, a Tiberius, a Caligada, a Hehogabalus, and many more," pursued the Doctor ; " it is, Mr. Feeder — if you are doing me the honour to attend — remarkable ; very remarkable. Sir — " But Johnson, unable to suppress it any longer, burst at that moment into such an overwhelming fit of coughing, that, although both his iminediate neighbours thumped him on the back, and Mr. Feeder himself held a glass of water to his lips, and the butler Avalkcd him up and down several times between his own chair and the sideboard, like a sentry, it was full five minutes before he was moderately composed. Then there was a profound silence, "Gentlemen," said Doctor Blimber, "rise for Grace! Cornelia, lift Dombey down" — nothing of whom but his scalp was accordingly seen above the table-cloth. " Johnson will repeat to me to-morrow morning i before breakfiist, without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first ^K4J\ epistle of Saint Paul to the Ephesians. We will resume our studies, IVIi-. I Feeder, in half-an-hour." The Young gentlemen bowed and withdrew. Mr. Feeder did likewise. ^*' 'I'll Dm-ing the half hour, the youno; e-entlemen, broken into pan-s, loitered arm- in-arm, up and down a small piece of ground belund the house, or endea- voured to kindle a spark of animation in ilie breast of Briggs. But -iWl-^: t ■u^ -^ • DOMBEY AND SON. 113 notliing happened so vulgar as play. Punctually at the appointed time, the gong was sounded, and the studies, under the joint auspices of Doctor Blimber and Mr. Feeder, were resumed. As the Olympic game of lounging up and down had been cut shorter than usual that day, on Johnson's account, they all went out for a walk before tea. Even Briggs (though he hadn't begun yet) partook of this dissipation ; in the enjoyment of which he looked over the cliff two or three times darkly. Doctor BliMber accompanied them ; and Paul had the honor of being taken in tow by the Doctor himself : a distinguished state of things, in which he looked very little arid feeble. Tea was served in a style no less polite than the dinner ; and after tea, the young gentlemen rising and bowing as before, withdrew to fetch up the unfinished tasks of that day, or to get up the akeady looming tasks of to-morrow. In the meantime Mr. Peeder withdi'ew to his own room; and Paul sat in a comer wondering whether Plorence was thinking of liim, and what they were all about at Mrs. Pipchin's. Mr. Toots, who had been detained by an important letter from the Duke of Wellington, found Paid out after a time ; and ha\dng looked at liim for a long while, as before, inquired if he was fond of waistcoats. Paid, said " Yes, Sir." " So am I," said Toots. No word more spoke Toots that night ; but he stood looking at Paul as if he liked him ; and as there was company in that, and Paul was not in- clined to talk, it answered liis purpose better than conversation. At eight o'clock or so, the gong sounded again for prayers in the dining-room, where the butler afterwards presided over a side table, on which bread and cheese and beer were spread for such young gentlemen as desired to partake of those refreshments. The ceremonies concluded by the Doctor's saying, " Gentlemen^, we will resume om' studies at seven to-morrow ;" and then, for the first time, Paul saw Cornelia BUmber's eye, and saw that it was upon him. When the Doctor had said these words, " Gentlemen, we will resume our studies at seven to-moiTow," the pupils bowed again, and went to bed. In the confidence of their own room up-stairs, Briggs said his head ached ready to spht, and that he should wish himself dead if it wasn't for his mother, and a blackbii'd he had at home. Tozer didn't say much, but he sighed a good deal, and told Paul to look out, for his turn woidd come to-moiTow. After uttering those prophetic words, he undressed himself moodily, and got into bed. Briggs was in his bed too, and Paul in his bed too, before the weak-eyed young man appeared to take away the candle, when he wished them good night and pleasant dreams. But his benevolent wishes were in vain, as far as Briggs and Tozer were concerned j for Paul, who lay awake for a long wliile, and often woke afterwards, found that Briggs was ridden by Ids lesson as a nightmare : and that Tozer, whose mind was aff'ected in his sleep by similar causes, in a minor degree, talked unknown tongues, or scraps of Greek and Latin — it was all one to Paul — which, in the silence of night, had an inexpressibly wicked and gudty effect. Paul had sunk into a sweet sleep, and dreamed that he was walking hand in hand wdth Florence through beautiful gardens, when they came to a brge sunflower which suddenly expanded itself into a gong, and began I 114 DOMBEY AND SON. to sound. Opening liis eyes, he found that it was a dark, windy morning, with a di'izzling rain : and that the real gong Avas giving dreadful note of preparation, down in the hall. So he got up directly, and found Briggs with hardly any eyes, for niglit- mare and grief had made his face puft'y, putting his boots on; whde Tozer stood shivering and rubbing his shoulders, in a very bad humour. Poor Paul couldn't dress himself easily, not being used to it, and asked them if they would have the goodness to tie some strings for him ; but as Briggs merely said "Bother !" and Tozer, " Oh yes !" he went down when he was otherwise ready, to the next story, where he saw a pretty young woman in leather gloves, cleaning a stove. The yoiing woman seemed surprised at his appearance, and asked him where his mother was. When Paul told her she was dead, she took her gloves off, and did what he wanted ; and furthermore rubbed his hands to warm them ; and gave him a kiss ; and told him whenever he wanted anything of that sort — meaning in the dressing way — to ask for 'Melia ; which Paul, thanking her very much, said he certaiiJy would. He then proceeded softly on his journey down-stau's, towards the room in Avhich the young gentlemen resumed their studies, when, passing by a door that' stood ajar, a voice from within cried " Is that Dombey ?" On Paul replying, " Yes, Ma'am : " for he knew the voice to be Miss Blimber's : Miss Blimber said " Come in, Dombey." And in he went. Miss Blimber presented exactly the appearance she had presented yester- day, except that she wore a shawl. Her little light curls were as crisp as ever, and she had ah-eady her spectacles on, wliicli made Paul wonder whether she went to bed in them. She had a cool little sitting-room of her own up there, with some books in it, and no fue. But Miss Bhmber w^as never cold, and never sleepy. "Now, Dombey," said Miss Blimber. "I'm going out for a constitutional." Paul wondered what that was, and why she didn't send the footman out to get it in such imfavourable weather. But he made no observation on the subject : his attention being devoted to a little pile of new books, on which Miss Blimber appeared to have been recently engaged. " These are yours, Dombey," said Miss Bhmber. " All of 'em. Ma'am ?" said Paid. " Yes," returned Miss Blimber ; " and Mr. Feeder will look you out some more very soon, if you are as studious as I expect you will be, Dombey." " Thank you. Ma'am, " said Paul. " I am going out for a constitutional," resumed Miss Blimber ; " and whUe I am gone, that is to say in the interval between this and breakfast, Dombey, I wish you to read over what I have marked in these l)ooks, and to tell me if you quite understand what you have got to learn. Don't lose time, Dombey, for you have none to spare, but take them down-stairs, and begin directly." " Yes, Ma'am," answered Paul. There were so many of them, that although Paul put one hand under the bottom book and his other hand and his chin on the top book, and hugged them all closely, the middle book shpped out before he reached the door, and then they all tumbled down on the floor. Miss Blimber said, " Oh, Dombey, Dombey, this is really very careless !" and piled them DOMBEY AND SON. 115 up afresh for him ; and this time, by dint of balancing them with gi-eat nicety, Paul got out of the room, and down a few stairs before two of them escaped again. But he held the rest so tight, that he only left one more on the first floor, and one in the passage ; and when he had got the main body down into the school-room, he set oft" up-stairs again to collect the stragglers. Having at last amassed the whole library, and climbed into his place, he fell to work, encouraged by a remark from Tozer to the effect that he "was in for it now ;" which was the only intermption he received till breakfast time. At that meal, for which he had no appetite, everything was quite as solemn and genteel as at the others ; and when it was finished, he followed Miss Blimber up-stairs. " Now, Dombey," said Mss Blimber. " How have you got on with those books?" They comprised a httle English, and a deal of Latin — ^names of things, declensions of articles and substantives, exercises thereon, and prelimi- nary rules — a trifle of orthography, a glance at ancient history, a wink or two at modem ditto, a few tables, two or three weights and measures, and a little general information. When poor Paid had spelt out number two, he found he had no idea of number one ; fragments whereof afterwards obtruded themselves into number three, which slided into number foiu-, which grafted itself on to number two. So that \yhether twenty Romiduses made a llemus, or hie hsec hoc was troy weight, or a verb always agreed with an ancient Briton, or thi-ee times four was Taurus a bull, were oi>en questions with him. " Oh, Dombey, Dombey! " said Miss Blimber, "this is very shocking." " K you please," said Paul, " I think if I might sometimes talk a little to old Grlubb, I should be able to do better." " Nonsense, Dombey," said Miss Blimber. " I couldn't hear of it. This is not the place for Glubbs of any kind. You must take the books doAvn, I suppose, Dombey, one by one, and perfect yourself in the day's instalment of subject A, before you turn at all to subject B. And now take away the top book, if you please, Dombey, and return when you are master of the theme." IVIiss Blimber expressed her opinions on the subject of Paul's unin- structed state with a gloomy delight, as if she had expected this result, and were glad to find that they must be in constant communication. Paul withdrew with the top task, as he was told, and laboured away at it, down below : sometimes remembering every word of it, and sometimes forgetting it all, and everything else besides : until at last he ventured up stairs again to repeat the lesson, when it was nearly all driven out of his head before he began, by Miss Blimber's shutting up the book, and saying, " Go on, Dombey ! " a proceeding so suggestive of the knowledge inside of her, that Paul looked upon the young lady with consternation, as a kind of learned Guy Paux, or artificial Bogle, stuffed ftdl of scholastic straw. He acquitted himself very well, nevertheless ; and Miss BKmber, com- mending him as giving promise of getting on fast, immediately provided him with subject B; from which he passed to C, and even D before dinner. It was hard work, resuming his studies, soon after dinner; and he felt giddy and confused and drowsy and duU. But all the other young gentle- men had similar sensations, and were obKged to resume their studies too, i2 116 DOMBEY AND SON. if there were any comfort in that. It was a wonder that the great clock in the hall, instead of being constant to its first enquiry, never said, " Gentlemen, we will now resume our studies," for that phrase was often enough repeated in its neighbourhood. The studies went round like a mighty wheel, and the young gentlemen were always stretched upon it. After tea there were exercises again, and preparations for next day by candle-light. And in due course there was bed; where, but for that resump- tion of the studies which took place in dreams, were rest and sweet forget- fulness. Oh Saturdays ! Oh happy Saturdays, when Florence always came at noon, and never would, in any weather, stay away, though Mrs. Pipchin snarled and gTowled, and worried her bitterly. Those Saturdays were Sabbaths for at least two little Christians among all the Jews, and did the holy Sabbath work of strengthening and knitting up a brother's and a sister's love. Not even Sunday nights — the heavy Sunday nights, whose shadow darkened the first waking burst of light on Sunday mornings — coidd mar those precious Saturdays. Whether it was the great sea shore, where they sat, and stroUed together; or whether it was only Mrs. Pipchin's duU back room, in which she sang to him so softly, with his drowsy head upon her arm; Paul never cared. It was Florence. That was all he thought of. So, on Sunday nights, when the Doctor's dark door stood agape to swaUow him up for another week, the time was come for taking leave of Florence ; no one else. Mrs. Wickam had been drafted home to the house in town, and IVIiss Nipper, now a smart yoimg woman, had come down. To many a single com- bat with Mrs. Pipchin, did Miss Nipper gallantly devote herself; and if ever Mi's. Pipchin in all her life had found her match, she had found it now. Miss Nipper tlu'ew away the scabbard the fiirst morning she arose in Mrs, Pipchin's house. She asked and gave no quarter. She said it must be war, and war it was ; and Mrs. Pipchin lived from that time in the midst of surprises, harassings, and defiances ; and skirmishing attacks that came bouncing in upon her from the passage, even in unguarded moments of chops, and caiTied desolation to her very toast. Miss Nipper had retm-ned one Sunday night with Florence, from walking back with Paul to the Doctor's, when Florence took from her bosom a little piece of paper, on which she had pencilled down some words. " See here, Susan," she said. " These are the names of the little books that Paid brings home to do those long exercises with, when he is so tired. I copied them last night while he was writing." " Don't shew 'em to me, IVIiss Floy, if you please," returned Nipper, " I'd as soon see IVIi's. Pipchin." " I want you to buy them for me, Susan, if you will, to-morrow morning. I have money enough," said Florence. "Why, goodness gracious me. Miss Floy," returned Mss Nipper, "how can you talk like that, when you have books upon books already, and masterses and mississes a teaching of you everytliing continual, though my belief 4s that your Pa, Miss Dombey, never would have learnt you nothing, never would have thought of it, unless you 'd asked liiin — when he couldn't well refuse ; but giving consent when asked, and offering when unasked, Miss, is quite two things ; I may not have my objections to a oJa^^/J 6a>i-tc6J/y. DOMBEY AND SON. 117 young man's keeping company with me, and when he puts the question, may say ' yes,' but that 's not saying ' would you be so kind as like me.' " ^ " But you can buy me the books, Susan j and you will, when you know i/i/iLct I want them." " Well, Mss, and why do you want 'em ?" replied Nipper ; adding, in a lower voice, " If it was to fling at Mrs. Pipchin's head, I 'd buy a cart- load." " I think I could perhaps give Paul some help, Susan, if I had these books," said Florence, "and make the coming week a little easier to him. At least I want to try. So buy them for me, dear, and I will never forget how kind it was of you to do it ! " It must have been a harder heart than Susan Nipper's that could have rejected the little purse Florence held out with these words, or the gentle look of entreaty with which she seconded her petition. Susan put the piu-se in her pocket Avithout reply, and trotted out at once upon her errand. The books were not easy to procure; and the answer at several shops was, either that they were just out of them, or that they never kept them, or that they had had a great many last month, or that they expected a great many next week. But Susan was not easily baffled in such an enterprise ; and having entrapped a white-haired youth, in a black calico apron, from a library where she was known, to accompany her in her quest, she led him such a life in going up and down, that he exerted himself to the utmost, if it were only to get rid of her ; and finally enabled her to return home in triumph. With these treasm-es then, after her own daily lessons were over, Florence sat down at night to track Paid's footsteps through the thorny ways of learning ; and being possessed of a naturally quick and sound capacity, and taught by that most wonderful of masters, love, it was not long before she gained upon Paul's heels, and caught and passed him. Not a word of this was breathed to Mrs. Pipchin : but many a night when they were aU in bed, and when Miss Nipper, with her hair in papers and herself asleep in some uncomfortable attitude, reposed unconscious by her side ; and when the chinking ashes in the grate were cold and grey ; and when the candles were biu-nt down and guttering out ; — Florence tried so hard to be a substitute for one small Dombey, that her fortitude and perseverance might have almost won her a free right to bear the name herself. And high was her reward, when one Saturday evening, as little Paul was sitting down as usual to " resume his studies," she sat down by his side, and showed liim all that was so rough, made smooth, and all that was so dark, made clear and plain, before him. It was nothing but a startled look in Paul's wan face — a flush — a smile — and then a close embrace — but God knows how her heart leaped up at this rich payment for her trouble. " Oh, Floy ! " cried her brother. " How I love you ! How I love you, Floy!" " And I you, dear ! " " Oh ! I am sure of that, Floy." He said no more about it, but aU that evening sat close by her, very quiet ; and in the night he called out from his little room within hers, three or foiu* times, that he loved her. 118 DOMBEY AND SON. EegTilarly, after that, Florence was prepared to sit down vnth. Paul on ^ * Saturday night, and patiently assist him through so much as they coidd anticipate together, of his next week's work. The cheering thought that he was labouring on where Florence had just toiled before him, woidd, of itself, have been a stimidant to Paid in the perpetual resumption of his studies ; but coupled with the actual lightening of his load, consequent on this assistance, it saved him, possibly, from sinking underneath the burden which the fair Corneha Blimber pded upon his back. It was not that Miss Bhmber meant to be too hard upon him, or that Doctor Blimber meant to bear too heavily on the young gentlemen in general. Corneha merely held the faith in which she had been bred ; and the Doctor, in some partial confusion of his ideas, regarded the yoimg gentlemen as if they were all Doctors, and were born gTOwn up. Com- forted by the applause of the young gentlemen's nearest relations, and m'ged on by their bhnd vanity and ill-considered haste, it woidd have been strange if Doctor Blimber had discovered his mistake, or trimmed his swelKng sails to any other tack. Thus in the case of Paul. When Doctor Blimber said he made great progress, and was naturally clever, Mr. Dombey was more bent than ever on his being forced and crammed. In the case of Briggs, when Doctor Blimber reported that he did not make great progress yet, and was not naturally clever, Briggs senior was inexorable in the same purpose. In short, however high and false the temperature at which the Doctor kept his hothouse, the owners of the plants were always ready to lend a helping hand at the beUows, and to stir the fire. Such spirits as he had in the outset, Paul soon lost of coxu'se. But he retained all that was strange, and old, and thoughtful, in his character : and under circumstances so favourable to the development of those tendencies, became even more strange, and old, and thoughtful, than before. The only difference was, that he kept his character to himself. He grew more thoughtfid and reserved, every day ; and had no such curiosity in any living member of the Doctor's household, as he had had in Mrs, Pipchin. He loved to be alone; and in those short intervals when he was not occupied with his books, liked nothing so weU as wandering about the house by himself, or sitting on the stairs, listening to the great clock in the hall. He was intimate with all the paper-hanging in the house ; saw things that no one else saw in the patterns ; found out miniature tigers and lions running up the bedroom walls, and squinting faces leering in the squares and diamonds of the floorcloth. The sohtary chUd lived on, surrounded by this arabesque work of his musing fancy, and no one understood him. Mi's. Blimber thought him " odd," and sometimes the servants said among themselves that little Dombey "moped; " but that was all. Unless young Toots had some idea on the subject, to the expression of which he was wholly unequal. Ideas, like ghosts (according to the com- mon notion of ghosts), must be spoken to a little before they will explain themselves ; and Toots had long left off asking any questions of his own mind. Some mist there may have been, issuing from that leaden casket, his cranium, which, if it could have taken shape and form, woidd have become a genie ; but it could not; and it oidy so far followed the example of the smoke in the Arabian story, as to roll out in a thick cloud, and DOMBEY AND SON. 119 there hang and hover. But it left a little figure visible upon a lonely shore, and Toots was always staring at it. " How are you ? " he would say to Paul, fifty times a-day. " Quite well, Sir, thank you," Paid would answer. " Shake hands," woidd be Toots's next advance. Which Paul, of coui'se, would immediately do. Mr. Toots generally said again, after a long interval of staring and hard breathing, " How are you ? " To which Paul again replied, " Quite well. Sir, thank you." One evening Mr. Toots was sitting at his desk, oppressed by correspon- dence, when a great purpose seemed to flash upon him. He Ifiid down his pen, and went oft' to seek Paid, whom he found at last, after a long search, looking through the A\andow of his little bedi-oom. " I say ! " cried Toots, speaking the moment he entered the room, lest he should forget it ; " what do you think about ? " " Oh ! I think about a great many tilings," replied Paul. " Do you, though ? " said Toots, appearing to consider that fact in itself surprising. " If you had to die," said Paul, looking up into his face — Mr. Toots started, and seemed much distm'bed. " — Don't you tliink you would rather die on a moonlight night, when, the sky was quite clear, and the mnd blowing, as it did last night ? " Mr. Toots said, looking doubtfully at Paul, and shaking his head, that he didn't know about that. "Not blowing, at least," said Paul, "but sounding in the air like the sea sounds in the shells. It was a beautiful night. When I had listened to the water for a long time, I got up and looked out. There was a boat over there, in the full light of the moon : a boat with a sail." The child looked at him so steadfastly, and spoke so earnestly, that Mr. Toots, feeling himself called upon to say something about this boat, said " Smugglers." But with an impartial remembrance of there being two sides to every question, he added " or Preventive." " A boat with a sail," repeated Paul, " in the fuU light of the moon» The sail hke an arm, all silver. It went away into the distance, and what do you think it seemed to do as it moved with the waves?" " Pitch," said Mr. Toots. "It seemed to beckon," said the child, "to beckon me to come! — There she is ! — There she is !" Toots was almost beside himself with dismay at tliis sudden exclamation, after what had gone before, and cried " Who !" " My sister Florence!" cried Paul, "looking up here, and waving her hand. She sees me — she sees me ! Good night, dear, good night, good night!" His quick transition to a state of unbounded pleasure, as he stood at his window, kissing and clapping his hands : and the way in which the light retreated from his featiu-es as she passed out of his view, and left a patient melancholy on the little face : were too remarkable wholly to escape even Toots's notice. Their interview being interrupted at this moment by a visit from Mrs. Pipchin, who usually brought her black skirts to bear upon Paul just before dusk, once or twice a week, Toots had no opportunity of improving the occasion ; but it left so marked an im- pression on his mind that he twice returned, after having exchanged the 120 DOMBEY AND SON. usual salutations, to ask Mi's. Pipcliin how she did. This the irascible old lady conceived to be a deeply-devised and long-meditated insult, originat- ing in the diabolical invention of the weak-eyed young man down stall's, against whom she accordingly lodged a formal complaint with Doctor Blimber that very night ; who mentioned to the young man that if he ever did it again, he should be obUged to part with liim. The evenings being longer now, Paul stole up to his window every evening to look out for Florence. She always passed and repassed at a certain time, until she saw him ; and their nuitual recognition was a gleam of sunshine in Paul's daily life. Often after dark, one other figure walked alone before the Doctor's house. He rarely joined them on the Saturday5now. He could not bear it. He would rather come imrecog- nised, and look up at the windows where his son Avas qualifying for a man ; and Avait, and watch, and plan, and hope. Oh ! could he but have seen, or seen as others did, the slight spare boy above, watching the waves and clouds at twilight, Avith his earnest eyes, and breasting the AvindoAV of his solitary cage Avhen bii'ds flew by, as if he would have emulated them, and soared away ! CHAPTER XIII. SHIPPING INTELLIGENCE AND OFFICE BUSINESS. Mr. Dombey's offices were in a court where there Avas an old-established stall of choice fruit at the corner : Avhere perambulating merchants, of both sexes, oifered for sale at any time betAveen the hours of ten and five, shppers, pocket-books, sponges, dogs' collars, and Windsor soap ; and sometimes a pointer or an oil painting. The pointer abvays came that Avay, with a \dew to the Stock Exchange, where a sporting taste (originating generally in bets of new hats) is much in vogue. The other commodities Avere addressed to the general public ; but they Avere never ofi^ered by the vendors to Mr. Dombey. When he appeared, the dealers in those Avares fell oif respectfidly. The principal slipper and dogs' collar man — ^avIio considered himself a pubUc character, ■ and Avhose portrait Avas scrcAved on to an artist's door in Cheapside — threw up his forefinger to the brim of his hat as Mr. Dombey Avent by. The ticket-porter, if he Avere not absent on a job, ahvays ran officiously before, to open Mr. Dombey's office door as Avide as possible, and hold it open, Avith his hat off", Avhile he entered. The clerks Avithin Avere not a Avhit behind-hand in their demonstrations of respect. A solemn hush prevailed, as Mr. Dombey passed tlirough the outer office. The wit of the Counting-House became in a moment as mute, as the row of leathern fire-buckets, hanging up behind him. Such vapid and flat daylight as filtered through the ground-glass AvindoAvs and skylights, leaving a black sediment upon the panes, shoAved the books and papers, and the figm-es bending over them, enveloped in a studious gloom, and as much abstracted in appearance, from the Avorld Avithout, as if they Avere assembled at the bottom of tlie sea ; Avhile a mouldy little strong room in the obscure perspective, Avhere a shaded lamp Avas ahvays DOMBEY AND SON. 121 burning, might have represented the cavern of some ocean-monster, look- ing on with a red eye at these mysteries of the deep. Wlien Perch the messenger, whose place was on a little bracket, like a timepiece, saw Mr. Dombey come in — or rather when he felt that he was coming, for he had usually an instinctive sense of his approach — ^lie hurried into Mr. Dombey's room, stirred the fire, quarried fresh coals from the boAvels of the coal box, himg the newspaper to air upon the fender, put the chair ready, and the screen in its place, and was round upon his heel on the instant of Mr. Dombey's entrance, to take his great coat and hat, and hang them up. Then Perch took the newspaper, and gave it a turn or twQ in his hands before the fire, and laid it, deferentially, at Mr. Dom- bey's elbow. And so little objection had Perch to^jing deferential in the last degree, that if he might have laid himself at Mr. Dombey's feet, or might have called him by some such title as used to be bestowed upon the Caliph Haroun Ah-aschid, he would have been all the better pleased. As this honoiu: would have been an innovation and an experiment. Perch was fain to content himself by expressing as well as he coidd, in his manner, Tou are the light of my Eyes. You are the Breath of my Soul, You are the commander of the Paithful Perch ! With this imperfect hap- piness to cheer him, he would shut the door softly, walk away on tiptoe, and leave his great chief to be stared at, through a dome-shaped window in the leads, by ugly chimney pots and backs of houses, and especially by the bold window of a hair-cutting saloon on a first floor, where a waxen effigy, bald as a Mussidman in the morning, and covered, after eleven o'clock in the day, with luxuriant hair and whiskers in the latest Christian fashion, showed hitn the wrong side of its head for ever. Between Mr. Dombey and the common world, as it was accessible through the medium of the outer office — to which Mr. Dombey's presence in his own room may be said to have struck like damp, or cold air — there were two degrees of descent. Mr. Carker in his own office was the first step ; Mr. Morfin, in his own office, was the second. Each of these gen- tlemen occupied a little chamber like a bath room, opening from the pas- sage outside Mr. Dombey's door. Mr. Carker, as Grand Vizier, inhabited the room that was nearest to the Sultan. Mr. Morfin, as an officer of inferior state, inhabited the room that was nearest to the clerks. The gentleman last mentioned was a cheerfid-looking, hazel-eyed elderly bachelor : gravely attired, as to his upper man, in black ; and as to liis legs, in pepper and salt colour. His dark hair was just touched here and there with specks of grey, as though the tread of Time had splashed it ; and his whiskers were already white. He had a mighty respect for Mr. Dombey, and rendered him due homage ; but as he was of a genial temper himself, and never whoUy at liis ease in that stately presence, he was disqideted by no jealousy of the many conferences enjoyed by Mr. Carker, and felt a secret satisfaction in having duties to discharge, wliich rarely exposed him to be singled out for such distinction. He was a great musical amateur in his way — after business ; and had a paternal affection for his violoncello, which was once in every week transported from Islington, his place of abode, to a certain club-room hard by the Bank, where quartettes of the most tormenting and excruciating nature were executed every Wednesday evening by a private party. Mr. Carker was a gentleman thirty-eight or forty years old, of a florid 123 DOMBEY AND SON. complexion, and with two unbroken rows of glistening teeth, whose regu- larity and whiteness were quite distressing. It was impossible to escape the observation of them, for he showed them whenever he spoke ; and bor e so wide a smile upon his countenance (a smile, however, very rarely, indeed, extending beyond his mouth), that there was something in it like the snarl of a cat. He affected a stiff white cravat, after the example of his principal, and was always closely buttoned up and tightly dressed. His manner towards Mr. Dombey was deeply conceived and perfectly ex- pressed. He was familiar with him, in the very extremity of his sense of the distance between them. "Mr. Dombey, to a man in your position from a man in mine, there is no show of subservience compatible with the transaction of business between us, that I shoidd think sufficient. I frankly tell you. Sir, I give it up altogether. I feel that I coidd not satisfy my own mind ; and Heaven knows, Mr. Dombey, you can afford to dispense with the endeavour." If he had carried these words about with him printed on a placard, and had constantly offered it to Mr. Dombey's perusal on the breast of his coat, he could not have been more explicit than he was. This was Carker the Manager. Mr. Carker the Junior, Walter's friend, was his brother ; two or three years older than he, but widely removed in station. The younger brother's post was on the top of the official ladder ; the elder brother's at the bottom. The elder brother never gained a stave, or raised his foot to mount one. Young men passed above his head, and rose and rose ; but he was always at the bottom. He was quite resigned to occupy that low condition : never complained of it : and certainly never hoped to escape from it. " How do you do this morning?" said Mr, Carker the Manager, enter- ing Mr. Dombey's room soon after his arrival one day : with a bundle of papers in his hand. "How do you do, Carker?" said IVIr. Dombey, rising from his chair, and standing with his back to the fire. " Have you anything there for me ? " " I don't know that I need trouble you," returned Carker, turning over the papers in his hand. " You have a committee to-day at three, you know." " And one at tliree, three quarters," added Mr. Dombey, " Catch you forgetting anything ! " exclaimed Carker, still turning over his papers. " If Mr. Paul inherits your memory, he 'U be a trouble- some customer in the house. One of you is enough." " You have an accurate memory of your own," said Mr. Dombey. " Oh ! /.■' " returned the manager. " It 's the only capital of a man like me." Mr. Dombey did not look less pompous or at all displeased, as he stood leaning against the chimney-piece, surveying his (of course unconscious) clerk, from head to foot. The stiffness and nicety of IMr. Carker's dress, and a certain arrogance of manner, either natural to him, or imitated from a pattern not far off, gave great additional effect to his humility. He seemed a man who would contend against the power that vanquished him, if he could, but who was utterly borne down by the greatness and superiority of Mr. Dombey. " Is Morfin here ? " asked Mr. Dombey after a short pause, during DOMBEY AND SON. 12S whicli Mr. Carker had been fluttering liis papers, and muttering little abstracts of their contents to himself. " Morfin's here," he answered, looking up with his widest and most sudden smile; "humming musical recollections — of his last night's quartette party, I suppose — through the walls between us, and driving me half mad. I wish he 'd make a bonfire of his violoncello, and bui'u his music books in it." " You respect nobody, Carker, I tliink," said Mr. Dombey. " No ? " inquired Carker, with another wide and most feline show of his teeth, " Well ! Not many people I believe. I wouldn't answer perhaps," he murmured, as if he were only thinking it, " for more than one." A dangerous quality, if real ; and a not less dangerous one, if feigned. But Mr. Dombey hardly seemed to think so, as he stiU stood with his back to the fu'e, drawn up to his full height, and looking at his head-clerk with a dignified composure, in which there seemed to lurk a stronger latent sense of power than usual. " Talking of Morfin," resumed Mr. Carker, taking out one paper from the rest, " he reports a junior dead in the agency at Barbados, and pro- poses to reserve a passage in the Son and Heir — she '11 sail in a month or so — for the successor. You don't care who goes, I suppose ? We have ■ nobody of that sort here." Mr. Dombey shook his head with supreme indifference. " It 's no very precious appointment," observed Mr. Carker, taking up a pen, with which to endorse a memorandum on the back of the paper. " I hope he may bestow it on some orphan nephew of a musical friend. It may perhaps stop Ms fiddle-playing, if he has a gift that way. Who 's that ? Come in ! " " I beg your pardon, ]\Ir. Carker. I didn't know you were here, Sir,'^ answered Walter, appearing with some letters in his hand, unopened, and newly arrived, " Mr. Carker the Junior, Sir — " At the mention of this name, Mr. Carker the Manager was, or affected to be, touched to the quick with shame and humiliation. He cast his eyes full on Mr. Dombey Avith an altered and apologetic look, abased them on the ground, and remained for a moment without speaking. " I thought, Sir," he said suddenly and angrily, turning on Walter, " that you had been before requested not to drag Mr, Carker the Junioi* into your conversation." " I beg your pardon," returned Walter. " I was only going to say that Mr. Carker the Junior had told me he believed you were gone out, or I should not have knocked at the door when you were engaged with Mr. Dombey. These are letters for Mr. Dombey, Sir." " Very well, Su-," returned Mr. Carker the Manager, plucking them sharply from his hand. " Go about your business." But in taking them with so httlc ceremony, Mr. Carker dropped one on the floor, and did not see what he had done ; neither did Mr, Dombey observe the letter lying near his feet. Walter hesitated for a moment, thinking that one or other of them would notice it ; but finding that neither did, he stopped, came back, picked it up, and laid it himself on Mr. Dombey's desk. The letters were post-letters ; and it happened that the one in question was Mrs, Pipchin's regular report, directed as usual — for Mrs. Pipchin was but an indiflerent pen-woman — ^by Florence, Mr. Dombey, 124 DOMBEY AND SON. liaving his attention silently called to this letter by Walter, started and looked fiercely at liim, as if he believed that he had purposely selected it from aU the rest. " You can leave the room, Sir ! " said Mr. Dombey, haughtUy. He crushed the letter in his hand ; and having watched Walter out at the door, put it in his pocket without breaking the seal. " You want somebody to send to the West Indies, you were saying," observed Mr. Dombey, hurriedly. " Yes," replied Carker. " Send young Gay." " Good, very good indeed. Nothing easier," said Mr. Carker, without any show of sm-prise, and taking up the pen to re-indorse the letter, as coolly as he had done before. " ' Send young Gay.' " " Call him back," said IVIi-. Dombey. Mr. Carker was quick to do so, and Walter was quick to retiun. " Gay," said Mr. Dombey, turning a little to look at him over his shoulder. Here is a — " " An opening," said Mr. Carker, with his mouth stretched to the utmost. " In the West Indies. At Barbados. I am going to send you," said • Mr. Dombey, scorning to embellish the bare truth, " to fill a junior situ- ation in the counting-house at Barbados. Let your micle know from me, that I have chosen you to go to the West Indies." Walter's breath Avas so completely taken away by his astonishment, that he coidd hardly find enough for the repetition of the words " West Indies." " Somebody must go," said Mr. Dombey, " and you are young and healthy, and your uncle's circumstances are not good. Tell your uncle that you are appointed. You will not go, yet. There wiU be an interval of a month — or two perhaps." " Shall I remain there. Sir ? " inquired Walter. " WiU you remain there, Sir ! " repeated ]\Ir. Dombey, turning a little more round towards him. " What do you mean ? What does he mean, Carker ? " " Live there. Sir," faltered Walter. " Certainly," returned Mr. Dombey. Walter bowed. "That's all," said Mr. Dombey, resuming his letters. "You wiU explain to him in good time about the usual outfit and so forth, Carker, of course. He needn't wait, Carker." " You needn't Avait, Gay," observed Mr. Carker : bare to the gums. " Unless," said Mr. Dombey, stopping in his reading without looking off the letter, and seeming to listen. " Unless he has anything to say." "No, Sir," returned Walter, agitated and confused, and almost stunned, as an infinite variety of pictures presented themselves to his mind ; among which Captain Cuttle, in his glazed hat, transfixed Avith astonislunent at Mrs. Mac Stinger's, and his uncle bemoaning his loss in the little back parlour, held prominent places. "I hardly know — I — I am much obliged. Sir." " He needn't wait, Carker," said Mr. Dombey. And as Mr. Carker again eclioed the Avords, and also collected his papers as if he were going aAvay too, Walter felt that his lingering any DOMBEY AND SON. 125 longer would be an unpardonable intrusion— respecially as he had nothing to say — and therefore walked out qiiite confounded. Going along the passage, with the mingled consciousness and helpless- ness of a dream, he heard Mr. Dombey's door sluit again, as Mr. Carker came out : and immediately afterwards that gentleman called to him. "Bring your friend Mr. Carker the Junior to my room. Sir, if you please." Walter went to the outer office and apprised Mr. Carker the Junior of his en'and, who accordingly came out from behind a partition where he sat alone in one corner, and returned with him to the room of ^Ii-. Carker the Manager. T^at gentleman was standing with his back to the fire, and his hands under his coat-tails, looking over his white cravat, as unpromisingly as Mr. Dombey himself could have looked. He received them without any change in his attitude or softening of his harsh and black expression : merely signing to Walter to close the door. " John Carker," said the Manager, when this was done, turning suddenly upon his brother, with his two rows of teeth bristling as if he would have bitten him, " what is the league between you and this young man, in virtue of which I am haunted and hunted by the mention of your name ? Is it not enough for you, John Carker, that I am your near relation and can't detach myself from that — " " Say disgrace, James," interposed the other in a low voice, finding that he stammered for a word, " You mean it, and have reasoi\; say disgrace." " From that disgrace," assented his brother with keen emphasis, " but is the fact to be blurted out and trumpeted, and proclaimed continually in the presence of the very House ! In moments of confidence too ? Do you think your name is calculated to harmonise in this place with trust and confidence, John Carker ? " " No," returned the other. " No, James. God knows I have no such thought." "What is j'our thought, then?" said his brother, "and why do you thrust yourself in my way ? Haven't you injured me enough already ?" " I have never injm-ed you, James, wilfully." " You are my brother," said the Manager. " That 's injury enough." " I wish I coidd undo it, James." " I wish you could and would." During this conversation, Walter had looked from one brother to the other, with pain and amazement. He who was the Senior in years, and Junior in the house, stood, with his eyes cast upon the ground, and his head bowed, humbly listening to the reproaches of the other. Though these were rendered very bitter by the tone and look with which they were accompanied, and by the presence of Walter whom they so much surprised and shocked, he entered no other protest against them than by shghtly raising his right hand in a deprecatory manner, as if he woidd have said " Spare me ! " So, had they been blows, and he a brave man, under strong constyatat, and weakened by bodily sufi'ering, he might have stood before the executioner. Generous and quick in all his emotions, and regarding himself as the innocent occasion of these taunts, Walter now struck in, with all the earnestness he felt. " Mr. Carker," he said, addressing himself to the Manager. " Indeed, 126 DOMBEY AND SON. indeed, tliis is my faidt solely. In a kind of heedlessness, for wliicli I cannot blame my self enough, I have, I have no doubt, mentioned Mr. Carker the Junior much oftener than was necessaiy ; and have allowed his name sometimes to slip through my lips, when it was against your expressed wish. But it has been my own mistake. Sir. We have never exchanged one word iipon the subject — ^very few, indeed, on any subject. And it has not been," added Walter, after a moment's pause, " all heedlessness on my part. Sir ; for I have felt an interest in Mr. Carker ever since I have been here, and have hardly been able to help speaking of him sometimes, when I have thought of him so much !" Walter said this from his soul, and with the very breath of honour. For he looked upon the bowed head, and the downcast eyes, and upraised hand, and thought, ' I have felt it : and why should I not avow it in behalf of this unfriended, broken man ! ' " In truth, you have avoided me, Mr. Carker," said Walter, with the tears rising to his eyes ; so true was his compassion. " I know it, to my disappointment and regi*et. ^Mien I first came here, and ever since, I am sm-e I have tried to be as much yom* friend, as one of my age could presume to be ; but it has been of no use." " And observe," said the Manager, taking him up quickly, " it wiU be of stiU less use, Gay, if you persist in forcing Mr. John Carker's name on people's attention. That is not the way to befriend JVIr. John Carker. Ask him if he thinks it is." "It is no service to me," said the brother. " It only leads to such a conversation as the present, which I need not say I could have well spared. No one can be a better friend to me : " he spoke here very distinctly, as if he would impress it upon Walter : " than in forgetting me, and leaving me to go my way, unquestioned and unnoticed." " Your memory not being retentive. Gay, of what you are told by others," said Mr. Carker the Manager, warming himself with great and increased satisfaction, "I thoixghtit well that you should be told this from the best authority," nodding towards his brother, "You are not likely to forget it now, I hope. That 's all. Gay. You can go." Walter passed out at the door, and was about to close it after him, when, hearing the voice5 of the brothers again, and also tlie mention of his own name, he stood irresolutely, ■with his hand vipon the lock, and the door ajar, uncertain whether to return or go away. In this position he could not help overhearing Avhat followed. " Think of me more leniently, if you can, James," said John Carker, " when I ted you I have had — ^how could I help having, with my histoiy, Avritten here " — striking himself upon the breast, " my whole heart awakened by my observation of that boy, Walter Gay. I saw in him when he first came here, almost my other self." "Your other self!" repeated the Manager, disdainfidly, " Not as I am, but as I was Avhen I first came here too ; as sanguine, giddy, youthful, inexperienced ; flushed with the same restless and adven- turous fancies ; and full of the same qualities, fraught with the same capa- city of leading on to good or evd," " I hope not," said his brother, with some hidden and sarcastic mean- ing in his tone. " You strike me sharply ; and your hand is steady, and your tlu-ust is DOMBEY AND SON. 127 very deep," retm-ned the other, speaking (or so Walter thought) as if some ci-uel weapon actually stabbed him as he spoke. "I imagined all this when he was a boy. I believed it. It was a truth to me. I saw him lightly walking on the edge of an unseen g\df where so many others walk with equal gaiety, and from which — " " The old excuse," interrupted his brotlier as he stirred the fire. " So many. Go on. Say, so many fall." " From which ONE traveller fell," returned the other, "who set forward, on his way, a boy like him, and missed his footing more and more, and slipped a httle and a little lower, and went on stimibling still, until he fell headlong and found himself below, a shattered man. Think what I suffered, when I watched that boy." " You have only yom-self to thank for it," retm-ned the brother. " Only myseK," he assented with a sigh. " I don't seek to divide the blame or shame." " You have divided the shame," James Carker muttered through his teeth. And, through so many and such close teeth, he could mutter well. " Ah James," returned his brother, speaking for the fii-st time in an accent of reproach, and seeming, by the sound of his voice, to have covered his face with his hands, " I have been, since then, a useful foil to you. You have trodden on me freely, in your climbing up. Don't spurn me with your heel!" A silence ensued. After a time, Mr. Carker the Manager was heard rustling among his papers, as if he had resolved to bring the interview to a conclusion. At the same time his brother withdrew nearer to the door. " That 's all," he said. " I watched him with such trembling and such fear, as was some httle punishment to me, until he passed the place where I first fell ; and then, though I had been his father, I believe I never coiild have thanked God more devoutly. I didn't dare to warn him, and advise him ; but if I had seen direct cause, I would have shown him my example, I was afraid to be seen speaking with Ixim, lest it should be thought I did him harm, and tempted him to evil, and corrupted him : or lest I reaUy should. There may be such contagion in me ; I don't know. Piece out my history, in connexion with young Walter Gay, and what he has made me feel ; and tliink of me more leniently, James, if you can." With these words he came out to where Walter was standing. He tm-ned a little paler when he saw him there, and paler yet when Walter caught him by the hand, and said in a whisper : " Mr. Carker, pray let me thank you ! Let me say how much I feel for you ! How sorry I am, to have been the unhappy cause of all this ! How I almost look upon you now as my protector and guardian I How very, very much, I feel obhged to you and pity you !" said Walter squeezing both his hands, and hardly knowing, in his agitation, what he did or said. Mr. Morfin's room being close at hand and empty, and the door wide open, they moved thither by one accord : the passage being seldom free from some one passing to or fro. When they were there, and Walter saw in Mr. Carker' s face some traces of the emotion within, he almost felt as if he had never seen the face before ; it was so greatly changed. " Walter," he said, laying his hand on his shoulder. " I am far removed from you, and may I ever be. Do you know what I am ?" 128 DOMBEY AND SON. " Wliat you are ! " appeared to liang on Walter's lips, as he regarded him attentively. " It was begini," said Carker, " before my twenty-first birthday — led up to, long before, but not begun tiU near that time. I had robbed them Avhen I came of age. I robbed them afterwards. Before my twenty-second birthday, it was all found out ; and then, Walter, from all men's society, I died.'' Again his last few words hung trembling upon Walter's lips, but he could neither utter them, nor any of his own. " The House was very good to me. May Heaven reward the old man for liis forbearance ! This one, too, his son, who was then newly in the firm, where I had held great trust ! I was called into that room which is now his — I have never entered it since — and came out, what you know me. For many years I sat in my present seat, alone as now, but then a known and recognized example to the rest. They were all merciful to me, and I lived. Time has altered that part of my poor expiation; and I think, except the three heads of the House, there is no one here who knows my story rightly. Before the little boy grows up, and has it told to him, my corner may be vacant. I would rather that it might be so ! This is the only change to me since that day, when I left all youth, and hope, and good men's company, behind me in that room. God bless you, Walter ! Keep you, and all dear to you, in honesty, or strike them dead !" Some recollection of his trembling from head to foot, as if with excessive cold, and of his bursting into tears, was all that Walter could add to this, when he tried to recall exactly what had passed between them. When Walter saw him next, he was bending over his desk in his old silent, drooping, humbled way. Then, observing him at his work, and feeling how resolved he evidently was that no further intercourse shoidd arise between them, and thinking again and again on all he had seen and heard that morning in so short a time, in connection with the history of both the Carkers, Walter could hardly believe that he Avas under orders for the West Indies, and would soon be lost to Uncle Sol, and Captain Cuttle, and to glimpses few and far between of Florence Dombey — no, he meant Paul — and to aU he loved, and liked, and looked for, in his daily life. But it was true, and the news had already penetrated to the outer office; for while he sat with a heavy heart, pondering on these things, and resting his head upon his arm. Perch the messenger, descending from his mahogany bracket, and jogging his elbow, begged his pardon, but wished to say in his ear, Did he think he coidd arrange to send home to England a jar of preserved Ginger, cheap, for Mrs. Perch's own eating, in the course of her recovery from her next confinement ? DOMBEY AND SON. 129 CHAPTER XIV. PAUL GROWS MOKE AND MORE OLD-FASHIONED, AND GOES HOME FOE THE HOLIDAYS. When the Midsummer vacation approached, no indecent manifestations of joy were exhibited by the leaden-eyed young gentlemen assembled at Dr. JBlimber's. Any such violent expression as "breaking up," would have been quite inapplicable to that pohte establishment. The young gentlemen oozed aAvay, semi-annually, to their own homes j but they never broke up. They would have scorned the action. Tozer, who was constantly galled and tormented by a starched white cambric neck-kerchief, which he wore at the express desire of Mrs. Tozer, his parent, who, designing him for the Church, was of opinion that he couldn't be in that forward state of preparation too soon — Tozer said, indeed, that, choosing between two evils, he thought he would rather stay where he was, than go home. However inconsistent this declaration might appear with that passage in Tozer's Essay on the subject, wherein he had observed " that the thoughts of home and all its recollections, awakened in his mind the most pleasing emotions of anticipation and delight," and had also likened himself to a Koman General, flushed with a recent victory over the Iceni, or laden with Carthaginian spoil, advancing within a few hours' march of the Capitol, presupposed, for the purposes of the simile, to be the dwelling-place of Mrs. Tozer, still it was very sincerely made. For it seemed that Tozer had a di'eadfid uncle, who not only volunteered examinations of him, in the holidays, on abstruse points, but twisted inno- cent events and things, and wrenched them to the same fell purpose. So that if tliis uncle took him to the Play, or, on a similar pretence of kindness, carried him to see a Giant, or a Dwarf, or a Conjuror, or anything, Tozer knew^ he had read up some classical allusion to the subject beforehand, and was thrown into a state of mortal apprehension : not foreseeing where he might break out, or what authority he might not quote against him. As to Briggs, Jiis father made no show of artifice about it. He never would leave him alone. So numerous and severe were the mental trials of that unfortunate youth in vacation time, that the friends of the family (then resident near Bayswater, London) seldom approached the ornamental piece of water in Kensington Gardens, without a vague expectation of seeing Master Briggs's hat floating on the smface, and an unfinished exercise lying on the bank. Briggs, therefore, was not at all sanguine on the subject of holidays ; and these two sharers of little Paul's bedroom were so fair a sample of the young gentlemen in general, that the most elastic among them contemplated the arrival of those festive periods with genteel resignation. It was far otherwise with little Paul. The end of these first holi- days w^as to witness his separation from Florence, but who ever looked forward to the end of holidays whose beginning was not yet come ! Not Paul, assiu'edly. As the happy time drew^ near, the lions and tigers K 130 DOMBEY AND SON. climbing up tlie bedroom walls, became quite tame and frolicsome. The grim sly faces in tlie squares and diamonds of tlie iloor-clotli, relaxed and peeped out at Mm witli less wicked eyes. The gi-ave old clock had more of personal interest in the tone of its formal inquiry ; and the restless sea went rolling on all night, to the sounding of a melancholy strain — ^j^et it was pleasant too — that rose and fell with the waves, and rocked him, as it were, to sleep. Mr. Feeder, B.A., seemed to think that he, too, would enjoy the holidays very much. Mr. Toots projected a life of holidays from that time forth ; for, as he regularly informed Paul every day, it was his "last half" at Doctor Blimber's, and he was going to begin to come into his property directly. It was perfectly understood between Paul and Mr. Toots, that they were intimate friends, notwithstanding their distance in point of years and station. As the vacation approached, and IVIi-. Toots breathed harder and stared oftener in Paid's society, than he had done before, Paul knew that he meant he was son-y they were going to lose sight of each other, and felt very much obliged to liim for his patronage and good opinion. It was even understood by Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and Miss Blimber, as weU as by the young gentlemen in general, that Toots had somehow constituted himself protector and guardian of Dombey; and the circumstance became so notorious, even to ]\Irs. Pipchin, that the good old creature cherished feehngs of bitterness and jealousy against Toots ; and, in the sanctuary of her own home, repeatedly denounced him as " a chuckleheaded noodle." Whereas the innocent Toots had no more idea of awakening Mrs. Pipchin's wrath, than he had of any other definite pos- sibility or proposition. On the contrary, he was disposed to consider her rather a remarkable character, with many points of interest about her. For this reason he smiled on her with so much urbanity, and asked her how she did, so often, in the coiu'se of her visits to little Paul, that at last she one night told him plainly, she wasn't used to it, whatever he might think ; and she could not, and she would not bear it, either from liimself or any other puppy then existing : at which unexpected acknowledgment of his civilities, Mr. Toots was so alarmed that he secreted himself in a retired spot, until she had gone. Nor did he ever again face the doughty Mi-s. Pipchin, under Doctor Blimber's roof. They were within two or thi'ce weeks of the holidays, when, one day, Cornelia Blimber called Paul into her room, and said, "Dombey, I am going to send home your analysis." " Thank you. Ma'am," returned Paul. " You know what I mean, do you, Dombey? " inquired Miss Blimber, looking hard at him, through the spectacles. " No, Ma'am," said Paid. " Dombey, Dombey," said Miss Blimber, " I begin to be afraid you axe a sad boy. When you don't know the meaning of an expression, why don't you seek for information ? " " Mrs. Pipchin told me I Avasn't to ask qiiestions," retiu-ned Paul. " I must beg you not to mention Mrs. Pipchin to me, on any account, Dombey," returned Miss Blimber. "I couldn't think of allomng it. The course of study here, is very far removed from anything of that sort. DOMBEY AND SON. 131 A repetition of such allusions would make it necessary for me to request to liear, without a mistake, before breakfast-time to-morrow morning, from Verhum personale down to simiUma cr/gno." " I didn't mean, Ma'am," began little Paul. "I must trouble you not to tell me that you didn't mean, if you please, Dombey," said Miss Blimber, who preserved an awful politeness in her admonitions. " That is a line of argument, I couldn't dream of permitting." Paul felt it safest to say nothing at all, so he only looked at Miss Blimber's spectacles. Miss Blimber having shaken her head at him gravely, referred to a paper lying before her. " ' Analysis of the character of P. Dombey.' If my recollection serves me," said Miss Blimber breaking off, "the word analysis as opposed to synthesis, is thus defined by Walker. ' The resolution of an object, whether of the senses or of the intellect, into its first elements.' As opposed to synthesis, you observe. Now you know what analysis is, Dombey." Dombey didn't seem to be absolutely blinded by the light let in upon his intellect, but he made Miss Blimber a little bow. " ' Analysis,' resumed Miss Blimber, casting her eye over the paper, • of the character of P. Dombey.' I find that the natural capacity of Dombey is extremely good ; and that his general disposition to study may be stated in an equal ratio. Thus, taking eight as our standard' and highest number, I find these qualities in Dombey stated each at six three-fourths ! " Miss Blimber paused to see how Paul received this news. Being undecided whether six three-fourths, meant six pounds fifteen, or sixpence three farthings, or six foot three, or three quarters past six, or six some- tliings that he hadn't learnt yet, with three unknown something elses over, Paul rubbed his hands and looked straight at Miss Blimber. It happened to answer as well as anything else he could have done ; and Cornelia proceeded. " * Violence two. Selfishness two. Inclination to low company, as evinced in the case of a person named Glubb, originally seven, but since reduced. Gentlemanly demeanour four, and improving with advancing years.' Now what I particularly wish to call your attention to, Dombey, is the general observation at the close of this analysis." Paul set himself to follow it with great care. " ' It may be generally observed of Dombey,' " said Miss Bhmber, read- ing in a loud voice, and at every second word directing her spectacles towards the little figure before her : " 'that his abilities and inclinations are good, and that he has made as much progi'css as under the circum- stances could have been expected. But it is to be lamented of this young gentleman that he is singular (what is usually termed old-fashioned) in his character and conduct, and that, without presenting anything in either which distinctly calls for reprobation, he is often very unlike other young gentlemen of his age and social position.' Now Dombey," said Miss Blim- ber, laying down the paper, " do you understand that ? " " I think I do, Ma'am," said Paul. " This analysis, you see, Dombey," Miss Blimber continued, " is going to be sent home to youi* respected parent. It will naturally be very K 2 132 DOMBEY AND SON. painful to him to find that you are singular in your character and conduct. It is naturally -painfid to us ; for we can't like you, you know, Donibey, as well as we could wish." She touched the child upon a tender point. He had secretly become more and more solicitous from day to day, as the time of his departure di'ew more near, that all the house should like him. For some hidden reason, very imperfectly understood by himself — if understood at all — • he felt a gi'aduaUy increasing impulse of afl'ection, towards almost every- thing and everybody in the place. He could not bear to think that they would be quite indifterent to him when he was gone. He wanted them to remember him kindly ; and he had made it his business even to con- ciliate a great hoarse shaggy dog, chained up at the back of the house, who had previously been the terror of his life : that even he might miss him when he was no longer there. Little thinking that in this, he only showed again the diiference between himself and his compeers, poor tiny Paul set it forth to Miss Blimber as well as he coidd, and begged her, in despite of the official analysis, to have the goodness to try and like him. To IVIi's. Blimber, who had joined them, he prefeiTcd the same petition : and when that lady could not forbear, even in his presence, from giving utterance to her often- repeated opinion, that he was an odd child, Paul told her that he was sure she was quite right ; that he thought it must be his bones, but he didn't know; and that he hoped she would overlook it, for he was fond of them all. " Not so fond," said Paul, with a mixture of timidity and perfect frankness, which was one of the most peculiar and most engaging qualities of the child, "not so fond as I am of Florence, of course; that could never be. You couldn't expect that, coiddyou. Ma'am?" " Oh ! the old-fashioned little soul !" cried Mrs. Blimber, in a whisper. "But I like everybody here very much," pursued Paul, " and I should grieve to go away, and think that any one was glad that I was gone, or didn't care." Mrs. Blimber was now quite sure that Paul was the oddest child in the world ; and when she told the Doctor what had passed, the Doctor did not controvert his wife's opinion. But he said, as he had said before, when Paul first came, that study woidd do much ; and he also said, as he had said on that occasion, "Bring him on, Cornelia! Bring him on!" Cornelia had always brought liim on as vigorously as she could ; and Paid had had a hard life of it. But over and above the getting through his tasks, he had long had another purpose always present to him, and to Avhich he stiU held fast. It was, to be a gentle, useful, quiet little feUow, always striving to secm-e the love and attachment of the rest; and though he was yet often to be seen at his old post on the staii's, or watching the waves and clouds from his solitary window, he was oftener found, too, among the other boys, modestly rendering them some little voluntary service. Thus it came to pass, that even among those rigid and absorbed young anchorites, who mortified themselves beneath the roof of Dr. Blimber, Paul was an object of general interest ; a fragile little plaything that they all liked, and that no one would have thought of treating roughly. But he coidd not change his nature, or re-^n-ite the analysis ; and so tliey aU agreed that Dombey was old-fashioned. \ DOMBEY AND SON. 138 There were some immunities, however, attaching to the character enjoyed by no one else. They could have better spared a newer-fashioned child, and that alone w^as much. Wlien the others only bowed to Doctor Blimber and family on retiring for the night, Paul would stretch out his morsel of a hand, and boldly shake the Doctor's ; also Mrs. Blimber's; also Cornelia's. If anybody was to be begged off from im- pending punishment, Paid was always the delegate. The weak-eyed young man himself had once consulted him, in reference to a little breakage of glass and china. And it was darkly rumoured that the butler, regarding him with favour such as that stem man had never sho^\ai before to mortal boy, had sometimes mingled porter with his table-beer to make him strong. Over and above these extensive privileges, Paul had free right of entry to Mr. Peeder's room, from which apartment he had twice led Mr. Toots into the open air in a state of faintness, consequent on an unsuccessful attempt to smoke a very blunt cigar : one of a bundle which that young gentleman had covertly purchased on the shingle from a most desperate smuggler, who had acknowledged, in confidence, that two hundred pounds was the price set upon his head, dead or aUve, by the Custom House. It was a snug room, Mr. Feeder's, with his bed in another little room inside of it ; and a flute, which Mr. Peeder couldn't play yet, but was going to make a point of learning, he said, hanging up over the fire- place. There were some books in it, too, and a fishing-rod; for Mr. Feeder said he shoidd certainly make a point of learning to fish, when he coidd find time. Mr. Feeder had amassed, with similar intentions, a beautiful little curly second-hand key-bugle, a chess-board and men, a Spanish Grammar, a set of sketching materials, and a pair of boxing- gloves. The art of self-defence Mr. Feeder said he should undoubtedly make a point of learaing, as he considered it the duty of every man to do : for it might lead to the protection of a female in distress. But Mr. Feeder's great possession was a large gi'cen jar of snuff, which Mr. Toots had brought down as a present, at the close of the last vaca- tion ; and for which he had paid a high price, as having been the genuine property of the Prince Regent. Neither Mr. Toots nor Mr. Feeder coidd partake of this or any other snuff, even in the most stinted and moderate degree, without being seized Avith convulsions of sneezing. Nevertheless it Avas their great delight to moisten a box-fuU with cold tea, stir it up on a piece of parchment with a paper-knife, and devote themselves to its consumption then and there. In the course of which cramming of their noses, they endured surprising torments, with the constancy of martyrs : and, drinking table-beer at intervals, felt all the glories of dissipation. To little Paul sitting silent in their company, and by the side of his chief patron, Mr. Toots, there Avas a dread charm in these reckless occa- sions; and Avhen IVIi-. Feeder spoke of the dark mysteries of London, and told Mr. Toots that he Avas going to observe it himself closely in aU its ramifi- cations in the approaching holidays, and for that purpose had made arrangements to board Avith two old maiden ladies at Pcckham, Paul regarded him as if he Avere the hero of some book of travels or wild adven- ture, and Avas almost afraid of such a slasliing person. Going into this room one evening, when the holidays were very near 134 DOMBEY AND SON. Paul found 'Mr. Teeder filliug up the blanks in some printed letters, while some others, already fiUed up and strewn before him, were being folded and sealed by Mr. Toots. Mr. Feeder said, " Aha, Dombey, there you are, ai'e you ? " — for they were always kind to him, and glad to see him — and then said, tossing one of the letters towards him, " And t/ie?'e you are, too, Dombey. That 's yours." " Mine, Sii- ? " said Paul. " Your invitation," returned ^Ii-. Feeder. Paul, looking at it, found, in copper -plate print, with the exception of liis own name and the date, which were in ]\Ii'. Peeder's penmanship, that Doctor and Mrs. Blimber requested the pleasm-e of Mv. P. Dombey's company at an early party on Wednesday Evening the Seventeenth Instant ; and that the houi' was half-past seven o'clock ; and that the object was Quadrilles. Mv. Toots also showed him, by holding up a com- panion sheet of paper, that Doctor and IVIrs. Blimber requested the pleasure of Mr. Toots's company at an early party on Wednesday Evening the Seventeenth Instant, when the hour was half-past seven o'clock, and when the object was Quadrilles. He also found, on glancing at the table where Mr. Feeder sat, that the pleasure of Mr. Briggs's company, and of Mr. Tozer's com]5any, and of every young gentleman's company, was requested by Doctor and IVIi's. Blimber on the same genteel occasion. Mr. Feeder then told him, to liis great joy, that his sister was invited, and that it was a half-yearly event, and that, as the holidays began that day, he coidd go away wath his sister, after the party, if he hked, which Paul interrupted him to say he tvoulcl like, very much. Mr. Feeder then gave him to understand that he would be expected to inform Doctor and ]\Irs. Blimber, in superfine small-hand, that M\ P. Dombey would be happy to have the honom* of waiting on them, in accordance with their poHte invitation. Lastly, Mr. Feeder said, he had better not refer to the festive occasion, in the hearing of Doctor and Mrs. Blimber ; as these prehminaries, and the whole of the arrangements, were conducted on principles of classicality and high breeding ; and that Doctor and Mrs. Blimber on the one hand, and the young gentlemen on the other, were supposed, in theii' scholastic capacities, not to have the least idea of what was in the wind. Paid thanked IMr. Feeder for these hints, and pocketing liis invitation, sat down on a stool by the side of Mr. Toots, as usual. 13ut Paul's head, which had long been ailing more or less, and was sometimes very heavy and painful, felt so vineasy that night, that he was obliged to support it on his hand. And yet it drooped so, that by little and little it sunk on Mr. Toots's knee, and rested there, as if it had no care to be ever lifted up agaui. That was no reason why he shoidd be deaf ; but he must have been, he thought, for, by and by, he heard Mv. Feeder calling in his ear, and gently shaking him to rouse his attention. And when he raised his head, quite seared, and looked about him, he found that Doctor Blimber had come into the room ; and that the window was open, and that his forehead was wet with sprinkled water ; though how aU this had been done without his knowledge, was veiy curious indeed. "Ah! Come, come! That's well! How is my little friend now ?" said Doctor Blimber, encouragingly. DOMBEY AND SON. 135 " Oh, quite well, thank you Sir," said Paul. But there seemed to be something the matter with the floor, for he couldn't stand upon it steadily ; and with the walls too, for they were inclined to turn round and round, and could only be stopped by being looked at very hard indeed. ]\Ir. Toots's head had the appearance of being at once bigger and farther oft" than Avas quite natural ; and when he took Paul in his arms, to carry him up-staii's, Paul observed with astonishment that the door was in quite a dift"erent place from that in which he had expected to find it, and almost thought, at first, that ]\Ii-, Toots was going to walk straight up the chimney. It was very kind of Mr. Toots to carry him to the top of the house so tenderly ; and Paul told him that it was. But Mr. Toots said he would do a great deal more than that, if he could ; and indeed he did more as it was : for he helped Paul to undress, and helped him to bed, in the kindest manner possible, and then sat down by the bedside and chuckled veiy much; while Mr. Feeder, B.A., leaning over the bottom of the bedstead, set all the little bristles on his head bolt upright with his boney hands, and then made believe to spar at Paul with great science, on account of his being all right again, wliich was so uncommonly facetious, and kind too in Mr, Feeder, that Paul, not being able to make up his mind whether it was best to laugh or cry at him, did both at once. How Mr. Toots melted away, and Mr. Peeder changed into Mrs. Pipchin, Paul never thought of asking ; neither was he at all curious to know ; but Avhen he saw Mrs. Pipchin standing at the bottom of the bed, instead of Mr. Feeder, he cried out, "Mrs. Pipchin, don't tell Florence !" "Don't tell Florence what, my little Paul?" said Mrs. Pipchin, coming round to the bedside, and sitting down in the chair. " About me," said Paul. " No, no," said Mrs. Pipchin. " What do you think I mean to do when I gi'ow up, IVIi-s. Pipchin?" inquired Paul, turning his face towards her on his pillow, and resting his •chin wistfidly on his folded hands. Mrs. Pipchin couldn't guess. " I mean," said Paul, " to put my money all together in one Bank, never try to get any more, go away into the country with my darbng Florence, have a beautiful garden, fields, and woods, and live there with her all my life !" "Indeed?" cried Mrs. Pipchin. " Yes," said Paul. " That 's what I mean to do, when I — " He stopped, and pondered for a moment. Mrs. Pipchin's grey eye scanned his thoughtful face. " If I grow up," said Paul. Then he went on immediately to tell Mrs. Pipchin aU about the party, about Florence's invitation, about the pride he would have in the admiration that would be felt for her by all the boys, about their being so kind to him and fond of him, about his being so fond of them, and about his being so glad of it. Then he told Mi's. Pipchin : .**>.vv-''»/. "But what is the matter, Floy ?" asked Paul, almost sure that he saw a tear there. " Nothing, darling ; notliing," returned Florence. Paul touched her cheek gently with his finger — and it teas a tear! "Why, Floy!" said he. " We '11 go home together, and I '11 nurse you, love," said Florence, " Nui-se me ! " echoed Paid. Paul couldn't understand what that had to do with it, nor why the two DOMBEY AND SON. 141 young women looked on so seriously, nor why Florence turned away her face for a moment, and then turned it back, lighted up again with smiles. " Floy," said Paul, holding a ringlet of her dark hair in his hand. " Tell me, dear. Do you think I have grown old-fashioned?" His sister laughed, and fondled him, and told him " No." "Because I know they say so," returned Paul, "and I want to know what they mean, Ploy." But a loud double knock coming at the door, and Florence hurrying to the table, there was no more said between them. Paul wondered again when he saw his friend whisper to Florence, as if she were comforting her; but a new arrival put that out of his head speedily. It was Sir Barnet Skettles, Lady Skettles, and Master Skettles. Master Skettles was to be a new boy after the vacation, and Fame had been busy, in Mr. Feeder's room, with his father, who was in the House of Commons, and of whom Mr. Feeder had said that when he did catch the Speaker's eye (which he had been expected to do for three or four years), it was anticipated that he woidd rather touch up the Eadicals. "And what room is this now, for instance?" said Lady Skettles to Paul's friend, 'Melia. " Doctor Blimber's study. Ma'am," was the reply. Lady Skettles took a panoramic survey of it through her glass, and said to Sir Barnet Skettles, with a nod of approval, " Very good." Sir Barnet assented, but Master Skettles looked suspicious and doubtful. " And this little creature, now," said Lady Skettles, turning to Paul. " Is he one of the " — " Young gentlemen. Ma'am ; yes. Ma'am," said Paid's friend. " And what is your name, my pale child ?" said Lady Skettles. "Dombey," answered Paul. Sir Barnet Skettles immediately interposed, and said that he had had the honour of meeting Paid's father at a public dinner, and that he hoped he was very well. Then Paul heard him say to Lady Skettles, " City — very rich — most respectable — Doctor mentioned it." And then he said to Paul, " Will you teU your good Papa that Sir Barnet Skettles rejoiced to hear that he was very weU, and sent him his best compliments ?" " Yes, sir," answered Paul. "That is my brave boy," said Sir Barnet Skettles. "Barnet," to Master Skettles, who was revenging himself for the studies to come, on the plum-cake, "this is a young gentleman you ought to know. This is a young gentleman you may know, Barnet," said Sir Barnet Skettles, with an emphasis on the permission. "What eyes! What hair! What a lovely face!" exclaimed Lady Skettles softly, as she looked at Florence through her glass. " My sister," said Paul, presenting her. The satisfaction of the Skettleses was noAV complete. And as Lady Skettles had conceived, at first sight, a liking for Paid, they aU went up- stairs together : Sir Barnet Skettles taking care of Florence, and young Barnet foUomng. Young Barnet did not remain long in the back-ground after they had reached the drawing-room, for Dr. Bhmber had him out in no time, dancing with Florence. He did not appear to Paul to be particularly happy, or particularly anything but sulky, or to care much what he was about ; but 142 DOMBEY AND SON. as Paul lieard Lady Skettles say to Mrs. Blimber, Tvhile she beat time with her fan, that her dear boy was evidently smitten to death by that angel of a child, Miss Dombey, it would seem that Skettles Junior was in a state of bhss, without showing it. Little Paul thought it a singidar coincidence that nobody had occupied his place among the piUows ; and that when he came into the room again, they should all make way for him to go back to it, remembering it was his. Nobody stood before him either, wlien they observed that he liked to see Florence dancing, but they left the space in front quite clear, so that he might follow her with his eyes. They were so kind, too, even the strangers, of whom there were soon a great many, that they came and spoke to him every now and then, and asked him how he was, and if his head ached, and whether he was tired. He was very much obHged to them for all theii- kindness and attention, and reclining propped up in Ids corner, with Mrs. BHm])er and Lady Skettles on the same sofa, and Florence coming and sitting by his side as soon as every dance w^as ended, he looked on very happily indeed. Florence would have sat by him all night, and would not have danced at aU of her own accord, but Paid made her, by telling her how much it pleased him. And he told her the truth, too ; for his small heart swelled, and his face glowed, when he saw how much they all admired her, and how she was the beautiful little rosebud of the room. From his nest among the pillows, Paul could see and hear almost every- thing that passed, as if the whole were being done for his amusement. Among other little incidents that he observed, he observed Mr. Baps the dancing-master get into conversation with Sir Barnet Skettles, and very soon ask him, as he had asked IVIr. Toots, what you were to do with your raw materials, when they came into your ports in return for your drain of gold — which was such a mystery to Paul that he was quite desirous to know what ought to be done with them. Sir Barnet Skettles had much to say upon the question, and said it; but it did not appear to solve the question, for Mr. Baps retorted. Yes, but supposing Eussia stepped in with her tal- lows ; which struck Sir Barnet almost dumb, for he could only shake his head after that, and say, why then you must fall back upon yoiir cottons, he supposed. Sir Barnet Skettles looked after Mi-. Baps when he went to cheer up Mrs. Baps (avIio, being quite deserted, was pretending to look over the music-book of the gentleman who played the hai-p), as if he thought him a remarkable kind of man ; and shortly after\vards he said so m those words to Doctor Blimber, and inquired if he might take the liberty of asking who he was, and whether he had ever been in the Board of Trade. Doctor Blimber answered no, he believed not; and that in fact he was a Professor of — • "Of something connected with statistics, I 'U swear?" observed Sir Barnet Skettles. " Why no, Sii- Barnet," replied Dr. Blimber, rubbing his chin. "No, not exactly." "Figures of some sort, I would venture a bet," said Sir Barnet Skettles. " Why yes," said Dr. Blimber, " yes, but not of that sort. Mr. Baps is a very worthy sort of man. Sir Barnet, and — in fact he 's our professor of dancing." Paul was amazed to see that this piece of information quite altered Sir DOMBEY AND SON. 143 Bamet Skettles' opinion of Mr. Baps, and that Sir Barnet flew into a per- fect rage, and glowered at Mi-. Baps over on the other side of the room. He even went so far as to D Mr. Baps to Lady Skettles, in telling her what had happened, and to say that it was like his most con-sum-mate and con-foun-ded impudence. There was another thing that Paid observed. Mr. Peeder, after imbibing several custard-cups of negiis, began to enjoy himself. The dancing in general was ceremonious, and the music rather solemn — a little like church music in fact — but after the custard-cups, Mr. Peeder told Mr. Toots that he was going to throw a little spirit into the thing. After that, Mr. Peeder not only began to dance as if he meant dancing and nothing else, but secretly to stimidate the music to perform wild tunes. Purther, he became particidar in his attentions to the ladies ; and dancing with Miss Blimber, whispered to her — whispered to her ! — though not so softly but that Paul heard him say this remarkable poetry, " Had I a heart for falsehood framed, I ne'er could injure You !" This, Paul heard him repeat to four young ladies, in succession. Well he might say to Mr. Toots, that he was afraid he should be the worse for it, to-morrow ! Mrs. Blimber was a little alarmed by this — comparatively speaking — profligate behaviour ; and especially by the alteration in the character of the music, which, beginning to comprehend low melodies that were popular in the streets, might not unnaturally be supposed to give off"ence to Lady Skettles. But Lady Skettles was so very kind as to beg Mrs. Blimber not to mention it ; and to receive her explanation that Mr. Peeder's spirits sometimes betrayed him into excesses on these occa- sions, with the gi'eatest com-tesy and politeness; observing, that he seemed a very nice sort of person for his situation, and that she particvdarly liked the unassuming style of his hair — which (as abeady hinted) was about a quarter of an inch long. Once, when there was a pause in the dancing, Lady Skettles told Paul that he seemed very fond of music. Paul replied, that he was ; and if she was too, she ought to hear his sister, Plorence, sing. Lady Skettles pre- sently discovered that she was dying with anxiety to have that gratifica- tion; and though Plorence was at first very much frightened at being asked to sing before so many people, and begged earnestly to be excused, yet, on Paul calling her to him, and saying, " Do, Ploy! Please ! Por me, my dear ! " she Avent straight to the piano, and began. When they all drew a little away, that Paul might see her : and when he saw her sitting there alone, so young, and good, and beautifid, and kind to him; and heard her thrilling voice, so natural and sweet, and such a golden link between him and all his Life's love and happiness, rising out of the silence; he turned his face away, and hid his tears. Not, as he told them when they spoke to him, not that the music was too plaintive or too soiTowful, but it was so dear to him. They all loved Plorence. How could they help it ! Paul had known beforehand that they must and would; and sitting in his cushioned corner, with calmly folded hands, and one leg loosely doubled imdcr him, few would have thought what triiunph and delight expanded his childish 144 DOMBEY AND SON. bosom while he watched her, or what a sweet tranqviillity he felt. Lavish encomiums on " Dombey's sister," reached his ears from all the boys : admiration of the self-possessed and modest little beauty, was on every lip : reports of her intelligence and accomplishments floated past him, constantly ; and, as if borne in upon the air of the summer night, there was a half-intelligible sentiment ditfused around, referring to Plorence and himself, and breathing sympathy for both, that soothed and touched him. He did not know wdiy. For all that the child observed, and felt, and thought, that night — the present and the absent ; what was then and what had been — were blended like the colours in the rainbow, or in the plumage of rich birds when the sun is shining on them, or in the softening sky when the same sim is setting. The many things he had had to think of lately, passed before him in the music ; not as claiming his attention over again, or as likely ever more to occupy it, but as peacefully disposed of and gone. A solitary window, gazed through years ago, looked out upon an ocean, miles and miles away ; upon its waters, fancies, busy with him only yesterday, were hushed and lulled to rest like broken waives. The same mysterious mm'uiur he had wondered at, when lying on his couch upon the beach, he thought he still heard sounding through his sister's song, and through the hum of voices, and the tread of feet, and having some part in the faces flitting by, and even in the heavy gentleness of Mr. Toots, who frequently came up to shake him by the hand. Through the imiversal kindness he still thought he heard it, speaking to him; and even his old-fashioned reputation seemed to be allied to it, he knew not how. Thus little Paul sat musing, listening, looking on, and di'caming ; and was very happy. Until the time arrived for taking leave : and then, indeed, there was a sensation in the party. Sir Barnet Skettles brought up Skettles Junior to shake hands with him, and asked him if he would remember to tell his good Papa, Avith his best compliments, that he, Sir Barnet Skettles, had said he hoped the two young gentlemen would become intimately acquainted. Lady Skettles kissed him, and parted his hair upon his brow, and held him in her arms ; and even Mrs. Baps — poor Mi's. Baps ! Paid was glad of that — came over from beside the music-book of the gentleman who played the harp, and took leave of him quite as heartily as anybody in the room. " Good bye. Doctor Blimber," said Paul, stretching out his hand. " Good bye, my little friend," returned the Doctor. " I'm very much obUged to you. Sir," said Paul, looking innocently up into his awful face. " Ask them to take care of Diogenes if you please." Diogenes was the dog : who had never in his life received a friend into his confidence, before Paul. The Doctor promised that every attention should be paid to Diogenes in Paul's absence, and Paul having again thanked him, and shaken hands with him, bade adieu to Mrs. Blimber and Cornelia with such heartfelt earnestness that Mrs. Blimber forgot from that moment to mention Cicero to Lady Skettles, though she had fully intended it, all the evening. Cornelia taking both Paul's hands in hers, said, " Dombey, Dombey, you have always been my favom-ite pupil. God bless you ! " And it shewed, Paul thought, how easily one might do injustice to a person ; for Miss Blimber meant it — though she wa^ a Forcer — and felt it. Q^^^6/■f.■<^€^ d^^m^/^-mti' A Captain Cuttle, I'm afraid, before such fortune as liis ever turns up again. Not that I complain," he added, in his lively, animated, energetic way. " I have nothing to complain of. I am provided for. I can live. When I leave my uncle, I leave him to you ; and I can leave him to no one better, Captain Cuttle. I haven't told you all this because I despair, not I ; it's to convince you that I can't pick and choose in Dombey's House, and that where I am sent, there I must go, and what I am offered, that I must take. It's better for my uncle that I should be sent away; for Mr. Dombey is a valuable friend to him, as he proved himself, you know when. Captain Cuttle ; and I am persuaded he won't be less valuable when he hasn't mc there, every day, to awaken his dislike So hurrah for the West Indies, Captain Cuttle ! How docs that tune go that the sailors sing ? " For the Port of Barbados, boys ! Cheerily ! Leaving old England behind us, boys ! Cheerily!" Here the Captain roared in chorus " Oh cheerily, cheerily ! « Oh cheer— i—ly ! " The last line reaching the quick ears of an ardent skipper not quite sober, who lodged opposite, and who instantly spnmg out of bed, threw up his window, and joined in, across the street, at the top of his voice, produced a fine effect. When it was impossible to sustain the concluding note any longer, the skipper bellowed forth a terrific "ahoy!" intended in part as a h-iendly greeting, and in part to show that he was not at aU breathed. That done, he shut down his window, and went to bed again. "And now, Captain Cuttle," said Walter, handing him the blue coat and waistcoat, and bustling very much, " if you'll come and break the news to Uncle Sol (which he ought to have known, days upon days ago, by rights) I'll leave you at the door, you know, and walk about untU the afternoon." The Captain, however, scarcely appeared to relish the commission, or to be by any means confident of his powers of executing it. He had arranged the futm'c life and adventures of Walter so very differently, and so entirely to liis own satisfaction ; he had felicitated himself so often on the sagacity and foresight displayed in that arrangement, and had found it so complete and perfect in all its parts ; that to suffer it to go to pieces all at once, and even to assist in breaking it up, required a great effort of his resolution. The Captain, too, found it difficult to unload his old ideas upon the subject, and to take a perfectly new cargo on board, with that rapidity which the circumstances required, or without jumbling and confounding the two. Consequently, instead of putting on his coat and waistcoat with anytliing like the impetuosity that could alone have kept pace with Walter's mood, he declined to invest himself Anth those gar- ments at aU at present ; and informed Walter that on such a serious matter, he must be allowed to "bite his nails a bit." m Q-y-^'fVjx^^ ^^^.^Sii^;^' ^' QaA-^^^i r<^. 7iP(x/?^^. DOMBEY AND SON. 151 " It 's an old habit of mine, Wal'r," said the Captain, " any time these fifty year. When you see Ned Cuttle bite Ms nails, Wal'r, then you may know that Ned Cuttle's aground." Thereupon the Captain put his iron hook between liis teeth, as if it were a hand ; and with an air of msdom and profundity that was the very concentration and sublimation of all philosophical reflection and grave inquiry, applied himself to the consideration of the subject in its various branches. "There's a friend of mine," murmui-ed the Captain, in an absent manner, "but he's at present coasting round to "VMiitby, that would deliver such an opinion on tliis subject, or any other that could be named, as would give Parliament six and beat 'em. Been knocked overboard, that man," said the Captain "twice, and none the worse for it. Was beat in his apprenticeship, for tliree weeks (off and on), about the head with a ringbolt. And yet a clearer-minded man don't walk." In spite of his respect for Captain Cuttle, Walter could not help inwardly rejoicing at the absence of this sage, and devoutly hoping that his limpid intellect might not be brought to bear on his difliculties until they were quite settled. " If you was to take and show that man the buoy at the Nore," said Captain Cuttle in the same tone, " and ask liim his opinion of it, Wal'r, he 'd give you an opinion that was no more like that buoy than your uncle's buttons are. There an't a man that walks — certainly not on two legs — that can come near him. Not near him ! " "Wliat's his name, Captain Cuttle?" inquired Walter, determined to be interested in the Captain's friend. "His name's Bunsby," said the Captain. "But Lord, it might be any tiling for the matter of that, with such a mind as his ! " The exact idea which the Captain attached to this concluding piece of praise, he did not further elucidate ; neither did Walter seek to draw it forth. For on his beginning to review, with the vivacity natural to him- self and to his situation, the leading points in his own affairs, he soon discovered that the Captain had relapsed into his former profound state of mind ; and that wlule he eyed him stedfastly from beneath liis bushy eye- brows, he evidently neither saw nor heard him, but remained immersed in cogitation. In fact. Captain Cuttle was labouring with such great designs, that far from being aground, he soon got off;" into the deepest of water, and could find no bottom to his penetration. By degrees it became perfectly plain to the Captain that there was some mistake here; that it was imdoubtedly much more likely to be Walter's mistake than his ; that if there were reaUy any West India scheme afoot, it was a very difl^erent one from what Walter, who was young and rash, supposed ; and could only be some new device for making his fortune with unusual celerity. " Or if there should be any little liitch between 'em," thought the Captain, meaning between Walter and Mr. Dombey, "it only wants a word in season from a friend of both parties, to set it right and smooth, and make all taut again." Captain Cuttle's deduction from these consider- ations was, that as he already enjoyed the pleasure of knowing Mr. Dom- bey, from having spent a very agreeable half hour in his company at Brighton (on the morning when they borrowed the money) ; and that, as 15£ DOMBEY AND SON. a couple of men of tlie world, wlio understood each other, and were mutually disposed to make things comfortable, could easily arrange any little difficulty of this sort, and come at the real facts ; the friendly thing for him to do would be, without saying anything about it to Walter at present, just to step up to Mr. Dombey's house — say to the servant " Would ye be so good, my lad, as report Cap'en Cuttle here ? " — meet Mr. Dombey in a confidential spirit — hook him by the button-hole — talk it over — make it all right — and come away triiunphant ! As these reflections presented themselves to the Captain's mind, and by slow degrees assumed this shape and form, his visage cleared like a doubtful morning when it gives place to a bright noon. His eyebrows, which had been in the highest degree portentous, smoothed their rugged bristling aspect, and became serene ; his eyes, which had been nearly closed in the severity of his mental exercise, opened freely; a smile which had been at first but three specks — one at the right-hand corner of his mouth, and one at the corner of each eye — gradually overspread his whole face, and, rip- pling up into his forehead, lifted the glazed hat : as if that too had been agroimd with Captain Cuttle, and were now, like him, happily afloat again. Finally, the Captain left oft" biting his nails, and said, " Now Wal'r, my boy, you may help me on with them slops." By which the Captain meant his coat and waistcoat. Walter little imagined why the Captain was so particular in the arrange- ment of his cravat, as to twist the pendant ends into a sort of pigtail, and pass them through a massive gold ring with a picture of a tomb upon it, and a neat iron railing, and a tree, in memory of some deceased friend. Nor why the Captain pulled up his shirt collar to the utmost limits allowed by the Irish linen below, and by so doing decorated himself with a com- plete pair of bhnkers ; nor why he changed his shoes, and put on an un- paralleled pair of ankle-jacks, which he only wore on extraordinary occa- sions. The Captain being at length attired to his own complete satisfac- tion, and having glanced at himself from head to foot in a shaving-glass which he removed from a nail for that purpose, took up his knotted stick, and said he was ready. The Captain's walk was more complacent than usual when they got out into the street ; but this Walter supposed to be the effect of the ankle- jacks, and took little heed of. Before they had gone very far, they encoun- tered a woman selHng flowers ; when the Captain stopping short, as if struck by a happy idea, made a purchase of the largest bundle in her basket : a most glorious nosegay, fan-shaped, some two feet and a half round, and composed of all the joUiest-looking flowers that blow. Armed with this little token, which he designed for Mr. Dombey, Captain Cuttle walked on with Walter until they reached the Instrument- maker's door, before which they both paused. "You're going in ?" said Walter. "Yes;" returned the Captain, who felt that Walter must be got rid of before he proceeded any further, and that he had better time his projected visit somewhat later in the day. " And you won't forget anything? " said Walter. " No," returned the Captain. " I '11 go upon my walk at once," said Walter, " and then I shall be out of the way. Captain Cuttle," DOMBEY AND SON. 153 "Take a good long 'un, my lad! " replied the Captain, calling after him. Walter waved his hand in assent, and went his way. His way was nowhere in particular; but he thought he would go out into the fields, where he could reflect upon the unknown life before him, and resting under some tree, ponder quietly. He knew no better fields than those near Hampstead, and no better means of getting at them than by passing Mi*. Dombey's house. It was as stately and as dark as ever, when he went by and glanced up at its frowning front. The blinds were all pulled down, but the upper windows stood wide open, and the pleasant air stirring those curtains and waving them to and fro, was the only sign of animation in the whole exterior. Walter walked softly as he passed, and was glad when he had left the house a door or two behind. He looked back then ; with the interest he had always felt for the place since the adventure of the lost cluld, years ago ; and looked especially at those upper windows. While he was thus engaged, a chariot drove to the door, and a portly gentleman in black, with a heavy watch-chain, alighted, and went in. When he afterwards remembered this gentleman and his equipage together, Walter had no doubt he was a physician ; and then he wondered who was iU ; but the discovery did not occm" to him until he had walked some distance, thinking hstlessly of other tilings. Though stiU, of what the house had suggested to him; for Walter pleased himself with thinking that perhaps the time might come, when the beauti- ful chUd who was liis old friend and had always been so grateful to him and so glad to see him since, might interest her brother in his behalf and influence his fortunes for the better. He Uked to imagine this — more, at that moment, for the pleasure of imagining her continued remembrance of him, than for any worldly profit he might gain : but another and more sober fancy whispered to him that if he were aUve then, he would be beyond the sea and forgotten ; she married, rich, proud, happy. Tliere was no more reason why she should remember him with any interest in such an altered state of things, than any plaything she ever had. No, not so much. Yet Walter so idealised the pretty child whom he had found wander- ing in the rough streets, and so identified her with her innocent gratitude of that night and the simphcity and truth of its expression, that he blushed for himself as a libeller when he argued that she could ever grow proud. On the other hand, his meditations were of that fantastic order that it seemed hardly less libellous in him to imagine her grown a woman ; to think of her as anything but the same artless, gentle, winning little crea- ture, that she had been in the days of good Mrs. Brown. In a word, Walter found out that to reason with himself about Florence at all, was to become very unreasonable indeed; and that he could do no better than pre ^ serve her image in his mind as something precious, unattainable, unchange- able, and indefinite — indefinite in aU but its power of giving him pleasure, and restraining him like an Angel's hand from anything unworthy. It was a long stroll in the fields that Walter took that day, listening to the birds, and the Sunday bells, and the softened miu-mur of the town — breathing sweet scents ; glancing sometimes at the dim horizon beyond which his voyage and his place of destination lay ; then looking round on the green English grass and the home-landscape. But he hardly once thought, even of going away, distinctly ; and seemed to put off reflection 154) DOMBEY AND SON. idly, from hour to hour, and from minute to minute, while he yet went on reflecting aU the time. Walter had left the fields behind him, and was plodding homeward in the same abstracted mood, when he heard a shout from a man, and then a woman's voice calling to him loudly by name. Turning quickly in his surprise, he saw that a hackney-coach, going in the contraiy direction, had stopped at no great distance ; that the coachman was looking back from his box, and making signals to him with his whip ; and that a young woman inside was leaning out of the window, and beckoning with immense energy. Eunning up to this coach, he found that the young woman was Miss Mpper, and that Miss Nipper was in such a flutter as to be almost beside herself. "Staggs's Gardens, Mr. Walter!" said Miss Nipper; "if you please, oh do!" " Eh?" cried Walter; " what is the matter ? " "Oh, Mr. Walter, Staggs's Grardens, if you please!" said Susan. " There ! " cried the coachman, appealing to Walter, with a sort of exulting despair ; " that 's the way the young lady 's been a goin' on for up'ards of a mortal hour, and me continivaUy backing out of no-thorough- fares, where she woidd drive up. I've had a many fares in this coach first and last, but never such a fare as her." "Do you want to go to Staggs's Gardens, Susan ?" inquired Walter. " Ah ! She wants to go there ! Wheue is it ?" growled the coachman. "I don't know where it is !" exclaimed Susan, wildly. "Mr. Walter, I was there once myself, along with Miss Floy and our own poor darling Master Paul, on the very day when you found Miss Ploy in the city, for we lost her coming home, Mrs. Eichards and me, and a mad ]pull, and Mrs. Eichards's eldest, and though I went there afterwards, I can't remember where it is, I think it's sunk into the ground. Oh, Mr. Walter, don't desert me, Staggs's Gardens, if you please ! Miss Ploy's darling — all our darbngs — ^little, meek, meek Master Paul! Oh IVIr. Walter ! " . " Good God !" cried Walter. " Is he very ill ?" " The pretty flower !" cried Susan, wringing her hands, " has took the fancy that he'd like to see his old nurse, and I've come to bring her to his bedside, Mrs. Staggs, of Polly Poodle's Gardens, some one pray!" Greatly moved by what he heai'd, and catching Susan's earnestness immediately, Walter, now that he understood the nature of her errand, dashed into it vai\\ such ardour that the coachman had enough to do to follow closely as he ran before, inquiring here and there and everywhere, the way to Staggs's Gardens. There was no such place as Staggs's Gardens. It had vanished from the earth. Where the old rotten summer-houses once had stood, palaces now reared their heads, and granite columns of gigantic girth opened a vista to the railway world beyond. The miserable waste ground, where the refuse-matter had been heaped of yore, was swallowed up and gone ; and in its frowsy stead were tiers of warehouses, crammed with rich goods and costly merchandise. The old by-streets now swarmed with passengers and vehicles of every kind ; the new streets that had stopped disheartened in the mud and waggon-ruts, formed towns within themselves, originating wholesome comforts and conveniences belonging to themselves, and never tried nor thought of imtil they sprung into existence. Bridges that had led to DOMBEY AND SON. 155 nothing, led to villas/gardens, churclies, healthy public walks. The carcasses of houses, and beginnings of new thoroughfares, had started off upon the line at steam's own speed, and shot away into the country in a monster train. As to the neighbourhood which had hesitated to acknowledge the rail- road in its struggling days, that had grown wise and penitent, as any Clu-istian might in such a case, and now boasted of its powerful and pros- perous relation. There were railway patterns in its drapers' shops, and railway journals in the windows of its newsmen. There were railway hotels, coffee-houses, lodging-houses, boarding-houses ; railway plans, maps, views, wrappers, bottles, sandAvich-boxes, and time tables ; railway hackney-coach and cab-stands ; railway omnibuses, railway streets and buildings, railway hangers-on and parasites, and flatterers out of all cal- culation. There was even railway time observed in clocks,, as if the sun itself had given in. Among the vanquished, was the master chimney- sweeper, wliilolm incredulous at Staggs's Gardens, who now lived in a stuccoed house three stories high, and gave himself out, with golden flourishes upon a varnished board, as contractor for the cleansing of the railway chimneys by machinery. To and from the heart of this great change, all day and night, throbbing currents rushed and returned incessantly like its life's blood. Crowds of people and mountains of goods, departing and arriving scores upon scores of times in every four-and-twenty hours, produced a fermentation in the place that was always in action. The veiy houses seemed disposed to pack up and take trips. Wonderful Members of Parliament, who, little more than twenty years before, had made themselves meny with the wild raili'oad theories of engineers, and given them the hvehest rubs in cross- examination, went down into the north with their watches in their hands, and sent on messages before by the electric telegraph, to say that they were coming. Night and day the conquering engines rumbled at their distant work, or, advancing smoothly to their joiuney's end, and ghding like tame dragons into the allotted comers grooved out to the inch for their reception, stood bubbling and trembling there, making the walls quake, as if they were dilating with the secret knowledge of great powers yet unsuspected in them, and strong purposes not yet achieved. But Staggs's Gardens had been cut up root and branch. Oh woe the day ! when " not a rood of Enghsh ground" — laid out in Staggs's Gardens — is secure ! At last, after much fruitless inquiry, Walter, followed by the coach and Susan, found a man who had once resided in that vanished land, and who was no other than the master sweep before referred to, grown stout, and knocking a double knock at his own door. He knowed Toodle, he said, weU. Belonged to the Eaili-oad, didn't he ? " Yes, sir, yes !" cried Susan Nipper from the coach window. Where did he live now ? hastily inquired Walter. He lived in the Company's own Buildings, second tm'ning to the right, down the yard, cross over, and take the second on the right again. It was immber eleven ; they couldn't mistake it ; but if they did, they had only to ask for Toodle, Engine Rreman, and any one would show them which was his house. At this unexpected stroke of success, Susan Nipper dismounted from the coach with aU speed, took Walter's arm, and set off at a breathless pace on foot j leaving the coach there to await their retrnm. 156 DOMBEY AND SON. " Has tlie little boy been long- ill, Susan?" inquired Walter, as tliey hiuTied on. " Ailing for a deal of time, but no one knew how much," said Susan; adding, with excessive sharpness, " Oh them Blimbers !" "Blimbers?" echoed Walter. " I couldn't forgive myself at such a time as this, !Mi-. Walter," said Susan, "and when there's so much serious distress to think about, if I rested hard on any one, especially on them that httle darling Paul speaks weU of, but 1 7na7/ wish that the family was set to work in a stony soil to make new roads, and that Miss Bhmber went in front, and had the pickaxe!" Miss Nipper then took breath, and went on faster than before, as if this extraordinary aspiration had relieved her. Walter, who had by this time no breath of his own to spare, hurried along without asking any more questions ; and they soon, in their impatience, burst in at a little door and came into a clean parlour full of children. "Where's Mrs. Eichards!" exclaimed Susan Nipper, looking round. " Oh Mrs. Eichards, Mrs. Eichards, come along with me, my dear creetur!" "Why, if it an't Susan !" cried Polly, rising with her honest face and motherly figure from among the group, in great surprise. "Yes, Mrs. Eichards, it's me," said Susan, "and I Avish it wasn't, though I may not seem to flatter when I say so, but little Master Paul is very iU, and told his Pa to-day that he would hke to see the face of his old nurse, and him and Miss Ploy hope you'U come along with me — and Mr. Walter Mrs. Eichards — forgetting what is past, and do a kindness to the sweet dear that is withering away. Oh, Mrs. Eichards, withering away ! " Susan Nipper crying, Polly shed tears to see her, and to hear what she had said ; and all the children gathered round (including numbers of new babies) ; and Mr. Toodle, who had just come home from Birmingham, and was eating his dinner out of a basin, laid down his knife and fork, and put on his wife's bonnet and shaAvl for her, which were hanging up behind the door; then tapped her on the back; and said, with more fatherly feeling than eloquence, " Polly ! cut away ! " So they got back to the coach, long before the coachman expected them ; and Walter putting Susan and Mrs. Eichards inside, took his seat on the box himself that there might be no more mistakes, and deposited them safely in the hall of ]\Ii-. Dombey's house — where, by the bye, he saw a mighty nosegay lying, which reminded him of the one Captain Cuttle had purchased in his company that morning. He would have lingered to know more of the young invaUd, or waited any lengtli of time to see if he could render the feast service ; but, painfully sensible that such conduct would be looked upon by Mr. Dombey as presumptuous and forwai'd, he turned slowly, sadly, anxiously, away. He had not gone five minutes' walk from the door, when a man came running after him, and begged him to retm-n. Walter retraced his steps as quickly as he could, and entered the gloomy house with a sorrowful foreboding. DOMBEY AND SON. 157 CHAPTER XVI. "WHAT THE WAVES WERE ALWAYS SAYING. Paul had never risen from tis little bed. He lay there, listening to the noises in the street, quite tranquilly ; not caring much how the time went, but watching it and watching everything about him with observing eyes.. "When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the opposite wall hke golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful. As the reflec- tion died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen, deepen, deepen, into night. Then he thought how the long streets were dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were shining overhead. His fancy had a strange tendency to wander to the river, which he knew was flowing through the great city ; and now he thought how black it was, and how deep it woidd look, reflecting the hosts of stars — and more than aU, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea. As it grew later in the night, and footsteps in the street became so rare that he could hear them coming, count them as they paused, and lose them ia the hollow distance, he would lie and watch the many-coloured ring about the candle, and wait patiently for day. His only trouble was, the swift and rapid river. He felt forced, sometimes, to try to stop it — to stem it Avith his childish hands — or choke its way with sand — and when he saw it coming on, resistless, he cried out ! But a word from Florence, who was always at his side, restored him to himself; and leaning liis poor head upon her breast, he told Floy of his dream, and smiled. When day began to dawn again, he watched for the sun ; and when its cheerful light began to sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself — pictured ! he saw — the high church towers rising up into the morning sky, the toAvn reviving, waking, starting into life once more, the river gUstening as it rolled (but rolling fast as ever), and the country bright with dew. Famihar sounds and cries came by degrees into the street below ; the servants in the house were roused and busy; faces looked in at the door, and voices asked his attendants softly how he was. Paul always answered for himself, " I am better. I am a great deal better, thank you ! Tell Papa so!" By little and little, he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of carriages and carts, and people passing and re-passing ; and would fall asleep, or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense again — the child coidd hardly tell whether this were in his sleeping or his waking moments — of that rushing river. " Why, wiU it never stop, Floy?" he would some- times ask her. " It is bearing me away, I think !" But Floy could always soothe and reassure him ; and it was his daily delight to make her lay her head down on his pillow, and take some rest. "You are always watching me, Floy. Let me watch you, now!" They would prop him up with cushions in a corner of his bed, and there he woidd rechne the while she lay beside him : bending forward often- times to kiss her, and whispering to those who were near that she was tired, and how she had sat up so many nights beside him. 158 DOMBEY AND SON. Thus, the flush of the day, in its heat and light, would gradually decline ; and again the golden water would be dancing on the wall. He was visited by as many as three grave doctors — they used to assemble down-stairs, and come up together — and the room was so quiet, and Paul was so observant of them (though he never asked of anybody what they said), that he even knew the difi^erence in the sound of their watches. But his interest centered in Sir Parker Peps, who always took his seat on the side of the bed, For Paul had heard them say long ago, that that gentleman had been with his mamma when she clasped Florence in her arms, and died. And he could not forget it, now. He liked him for it. He was not afraid. The people round him changed as unaccountably as on that first night at Dr. Blimber's — except Florence ; Florence never changed — and what had been Sir Parker Peps, was now his father, sitting with his head upon his hand. Old Mrs. Pipchin dozing in an easy chair, often changed to Miss Tox, or his aunt : and Paul was quite content to shut his eyes again, and see what happened next, without emotion. But this figure with its head upon its hand returned so often, and remained so long, and sat so still and solemn, never speaking, never being spoken to, and rarely lifting up its face, that Paul began to wonder languidly, if it were real; and in the night-time saw it sitting there, with fear. " Floy ! " he s^d. " What is that ? " " Where, dearest ? " "There! at the bottom of the bed." " There 's notliing there, except Papa ! " The figm'e lifted up its head, and rose, and coming to the bedside, said: " My own boy ! Don't you know me? " Paul looked it in the face, and thought, was this his father ? But the face, so altered to liis thinking, thrilled while he gazed, as if it were in pain; and before he coidd reach out both his hands to take it between them, and draw it towards him, the figure turned away quickly from the little bed, and went out at the door. Paul looked at Florence with a fluttering heart, but he knew -what she was going to say, and stopped her with liis face against her hps. The next time he observed the figure sitting at the bottom of the bed, he called to it. " Don't be so sorry for me, dear Papa ! Indeed I am quite happy ! " His father coming, and bending down to him — which he did quickly, and without first pausing by the bedside — ^Paul held Mm round the neck, and repeated those words to him several tunes, and veiy earnestly ; and Paul never saw him in his room again at any time, whether it were day or night, but he called out, "Don't be so sorry for me! Indeed I am qidte happy!" This was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so. How many times the golden water danced upon the wall ; how many nights the dark dark river roUed towards the sea in spite of him ; Paid never counted, never sought to know. If their kindness or his sense of it, could have increased, they were more kind, and he more gi-ateful every day ; but whether there were many days or few, appeared of little moment now, to the gentle boy. One night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the DOMBEY AND SON. 159 ch-awiug-iX)om down staks, and had thought she must have loved sweet Florence better than Ms father did, to have held her in her arms when she felt that she was dying — ^for even he, her brother, who had such dear love for her, could have no greater wish than that. The train of thought suggested to him. to inquire if he had ever seen his mother? for he could not remember whether they had told him yes, or no, the river running very fast, and confusing his mind, "Floy, did I ever see mamma? " " No, darhng, why ? " " Did I never see any kind face, like a mamma's, looking at me when I was a baby, Floy?" He asked, incredulously, as if he had some vision of a face before liim. " Oh ves, dear ! " "Whose, Floy?" " Your old nurse's. Often." " And where is my old nurse ? '* said Paul. " Is she dead too ? Floy, are we all dead, except you ? " There was .a hurry in the room, for an instant — ^longer, perhaps ; but it seemed no more — then aU was still again ; and Florence, with her face quite coloiu'less, but smiling, held his head upon her arm. Her arm trembled very much. " Show me that old nurse, Floy, if you please ! " " She is not here, darling. She shall come to-morrow." " Thank you, Floy ! " Paul closed his eyes with those words, and fell asleep. When he awoke, the sun was liigh, and the broad day was clear and warm. He lay a little, looking at the windows, which were open, and the curtains rustling in the air, and wa\dng to and fro : then he said, " Floy, is it to-morrow ? Is she come ? " Some one seemed to go in quest of her. Perhaps it was Susan. Paul thought he heard her teUing liim when he had closed liis eyes again, that she would soon be back; but he did not open them to see. She kept her word — perhaps she had never been away — but the next tiling that hap- pened was a noise of footsteps on the stairs, and then Paul Avoke — woke mind and body — and sat upright in his bed. He saw them now about him. There was no gray mist before them, as there had been sometimes in the night. He knew them every one, and called them by their names. " And who is this? Is this my old nm'se ? " said the child, regarding with a radiant smde, a figure coming in. Yes, yes. No other stranger would have shed those tears at sight of liim, and called him her dear boy, her pretty boy, her own poor blighted child. No other woman would have stooped down by his bed, and taken up his wasted hand, and put it to her Ups and breast, as one who had some right to fondle it. No other woman woidd have so for- gotten everybody there but him and Floy, and been so full of tenderness and pity. " Floy ! this is a kind good face ! " said Paul. " I am glad to see it again. Don't go away, old nurse ! Stay here !" His senses were aU quickened, and he heard a name he knew. " Who was that, who said ' Walter?'" he asked, looking round. "Some one said Walter. Is he here ? I should like to see him very much." 160 DOMBEY AND SON. Nobody replied directly ; but bis father soon said to Susan, " Call him back, then : let him come up ! " After a short pause of expectation, duiing which he looked with smiling interest and wonder, on his nurse, and saw that she had not forgotten Floy, Walter was brought into the room. His open face and manner, and his cheerful eyes, had always made him a favourite with Paul ; and when Paul saw him, he stretched out his hand, and said, " Good-bye ! " " Good-bye, my child!" cried Mrs. PipcMn, hm-rying to his bed's head. "Not good-bye?" For an instant, Paul looked at her with the wistful face with wliich he had so often gazed upon her in his corner by the fire. " Ah, Yes," he said, placidly, "good-bye! Walter dear, good-bye!" — turning his head to where he stood, and putting out his hand again. " Where is Papa? " He felt his father's breath upon his cheek, before the words had parted from his lips. "Eemember Walter, dear Papa," he whispered, looking in his face. " Eemember Walter. I was fond of Walter ! " The feeble hand waved in the air, as if it cried, ' good-bye ! ' to Walter once again. " Now lay me down," he said; " and Ploy, come close to me, and let me see you ! " Sister and brother woimd their arms around each other, and the golden light came streaming in, and feU upon them, locked together. " How fast the river runs, between its green banks and the rushes, Floy ! But it 's very near the sea. I hear the waves ! They always said so ! " Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream w^as lulling him to rest. How green the banks were now, how bright the flowers growing on them, and how tall the rushes ! Now the boat was out at sea, but ghding smoothly on. And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank ! — He put his hands together, as he had been used to do, at his prayers. He did not remove his arms to do it; but they saw hun fold them so, behind her neck. " Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face ! But tell them that the print upon the stairs at school, is not divine enough. The light about the head is shining on me as I go ! " The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the room. The old, old, fashion ! The fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its coui'se, and the wide firmament is roUed up like a scroll. The old, old fashion — Death ! Oh thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality ! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean ! " Dear me, dear me ! To think," said Miss Tox, bursting out afresh that night, as if her heart were broken, " that Dombey and Son should be a Daughter after all ! " DOMBKY AND SON. 161 CHAPTER XVII. CAPTAIN CUTTLE DOES A LITTLE BUSINESS FOK THE YOUNG PEOPLE. Captain Cuttle, in the exercise of that surprising talent for deep-laid and unfathomable scheming, with which (as is not unusual in men of transparent simplicity) he sincerely believed himself to be endowed by nature, had gone to Mr. Dombey's house on the eventful Sunday, winking all the Avay as a vent for his superfluous sagacity, and had pre- sented himself in the full lustre of the ankle-jacks before the eyes of Tow- linson. Hearing from that individual, to his great concern, of the impending calamity, Captain Cuttle, in his delicacy, sheered off again confounded ; merely handing in the nosegay as a small mark of his solici- tude, and leaving "his respectful compUments for the family in general, which he accompanied with an expression of his hope that they would lay theii- heads well to the wind under existing circumstances, and a friendly intimation that he would " look up again " to-morrow. The Captain's compliments were never heard of any more. The Cap- tain's nosegay, after lying in the hall all night, was swept into the dust- binn next morning ; and the Captain's sly arrangement, involved in one <^tastrophe with gi-eater hopes and loftier designs, was crushed to pieces. So, when an avalanche bears down a moimtain-forest, twigs and bushes suffer with the trees, and aU perish together. When Walter retumed home on the Sunday evening from his long walk, and its memorable close, he was too much occupied at first by the tidings he had to give them, and by the emotions natm-ally awakened in his breast by the scene througli which he had passed, to observe either that his uncle was evidently unacquainted with the intelligence the Captain had under- taken to impart, or that the Captain made signals with his hook, warning him to avoid the subject. Not that the Captain's signals ^'were calculated to have proved very comprehensible, however attentively observed ; for, like those Chinese sages who are said in their conferences to write certain learned words in the air that are wholly impossible of pronunciation, the Captatia made such waves and flourishes as nobody without a previous knowledge of his mystery, would have been at all likely to understand. Captain Cuttle, however, becoming cognizant of what had happened, relinquished these attempts, as he perceived the slender chance that now existed of his being able to obtain a little easy chat with Mr. Dombey before the period of Walter's departure. But in admitting to himself, with a disappointed and crest-fallen countenance, that Sol GUIs must be told, and that Walter must go — taking the case for the present as he foimd it, and not having it enlightened or improved beforehand by the knowing management of a friend — the Captain still felt an unabated confidence that he, Ned Cuttle, was the man for Mr. Dombey ; and that, to set Walter's fortunes quite square, nothing was wanted but that they two should come together. For the Captain never could forget how well he M 162 DOMBEY AND SON. and Mr. Dombey had got on at Brigliton ; with what nicety each of them had put in a word when it was wanted ; how exactly they had taken one another's measure ; nor how Ned Cuttle had pointed out that resom-ce in the first extremity, and had brought the interview to the desired termina- tion. On all these grounds the Captain soothed himself with thinking that though Ned Cuttle was forced by the pressure of events to " stand by " almost useless for the present, Ned wovdd fetch up with a wet sail in good time, and carry all before him. Under the influence of this good-natured delusion. Captain Cuttle even went so far as to revolve in his own bosom, Avhile he sat looking at Walter and Hstening with a tear on his shirt-collar to what he related, whether it might not be at once genteel and politic to give Mr. Dombey a verbal invitation, whenever they should meet, to come and cut his mutton in Brig Place on some day of Ms own naming, and enter on the question of his young friend's prospects over a social glass. But the uncertain temper of Mi-s. Mac Stinger, and the possibility of her setting up her rest in the passage during such an entertainment, and there delivering some homily of an uncomplimentaiy nature, operated as a check on the Captain's hospitable thoughts, and rendered him timid of giving them encourage- ment. One fact was quite clear to the Captain, as Walter, sitting thoughtfidly over his untasted dinner, dwelt on all that had happened ; namely, that however Walter's modesty might stand in the way of his perceiving it himself, he was, as one might say, a member of Mr. Dombey's family. He had been, in his own person, connected with the incident he so patheti- cally described ; he had been by name remembered and commended in close association with it ; and his fortunes must have a particular interest in his employer's eyes. If the Captain had any lurking doubt whatever of his own conclusions, he had not the least doubt that they were good con- clusions for the peace of mind of the Instrument-maker. Therefore he availed himself of so favourable a moment for breaking the West Indian intelligence to his old friend, as a piece of extraordinary preferment ; declar- ing that for his part he would fi'eely give a hundi-ed thousand pounds (if he had it) for Walter's gain in the long-nm, and that he had no doubt such an investment woidd yield a handsome premium. Solomon Gills was at first stunned by the communication, which fell upon the little back-parlour like a thunderbolt, and tore up the hearth savagely. But the Captain flashed sxich golden prospects before his dim sight : hinted so mysteriously at Whittingtonian consequences : laid such emphasis on what Walter had just now told them : and appealed to it so confidently as a corroboration of his predictions, and a great advance towards the realisation of the romantic legend of Lovely Peg : that he bewildered the old man. Walter, for his part, feigned to be so fuU of hope and ardour, and so sure of coming home again soon, and backed iip the Captain with such expressive shakings of his head and rubbings of his hands, that Solomon, looking first at him and then at Captain Cuttle, began to think he ought to be transported with joy. " But I'm behind the time, you understand," he obseiwed, in apology, passing his hand nervously down the whole row of bright buttons on his DOMBEY AND SON. 163 coat, and then up again, as if they were beads and he were telling them twice over : " and I would rather have my dear boy here. It's an old- fashioned notion, I dare say. He was always fond of the sea. He's " — and he looked wistfully at Walter — " he's glad to go." " Uncle Sol ! " cried Walter, quickly, " if you say that, I worCt go. No, Captain Cuttle, I won't. If ray uncle thinks I could be glad to leave liim, though I was going to be made Governor of all the Islands in the West Indies, that 's enough. I 'm a fixture." " Wal'r, my lad," said the Captain. " Steady ! Sol Gills, take an observation of your nevy." Following with his eyes the majestic action of the Captain's hook, the old man looked at Walter. " Here is a certain craft," said the Captain, with a magnificent sense of the allegory into which he was soaring, " a-going to put out on a certain voyage. What name is wrote upon that craft indelibly ? Is it The Gay ? or," said the Captain, raising his voice as much as to say, observe the point of this, "is it The GiUs." "Ned," said the old man, drawing Walter to his side, and taking his arm tenderly through his, " I know. I know. Of course I know that Wally considers me more than himself always. That 's in my mind. When I say he is glad to go, I mean I hope he is. Eh ? look you, Ned, and you too, Wally, my dear, this is new and unexpected to me ; and I'm afraid my being behind the time, and poor, is at the bottom of it. Is it really good fortune for him, do you teU me, now ? " said the old man, looking anxiously from one to the other. " EeaUy and truly ? Is it ? I can reconcile myself to almost anything that advances WaUy, but I won't have Wally putting himself at any disadvantage for me, or keeping any- thing from me. You, Ned Cuttle ! " said the old man, fastening on the Captain, to the manifest confusion of that diplomatist ; " are you dealing plainly by your old friend ? Speak out, Ned Cuttle. Is there anything behind ? Ought he to go ? How do you know it first, and why ? " As it was a contest of affection and self-denial, Walter struck in with infinite effect, to the Captain's relief; and between them they tolerably reconciled old Sol Gills, by continued talking, to the project ; or rather so confused him, that nothing, not even the pain of separation, was distinctly clear to his mind. He had not much time to balance the matter ; for on the very next day, Walter received from Mr. Carker the Manager, the necessary creden- tials for his passage and outfit, together with the information that the Son and Heir would sail in a fortnight, or within a day or two afterwards at latest. In the huriy of preparation : which Walter purposely enhanced as much as possible : the old man lost what little self-possession he ever had ; and so the time of departure drew on rapidly. The Captain, who "did not fail to make himself acquainted with aU that passed, through inquiries of Walter from day to day, found the time still tending on towards his going away, without any occasion oftering itself, or seeming likely to oft'er itself, for a better understanding of his position. It was after much consideration of this fact, and much pondering over such an unfortunate combination of circumstances, that a bright idea M 2 164 DOMBEY AND SON. occuiTed to the Captain. Suppose lie made a call on Mr. Carker, and tried to find out from him liow the land really lay ! Captain Cuttle liked this idea very much. It came upon him in a mo- ment of inspiration, as he was smoking an early pipe in Brig Place after breakfast ; and it was worthy of the tobacco. It would quiet his conscience, which was an honest one, and was made a little uneasy by what Walter had confided to him, and what Sol GiUs had said ; and it would be a deep, shrewd act of friendship. He would sound Mr. Carker carefully, and say much or little, just as he read that gentleman's character, and discovered that they got on well together or the reverse. Accordingly, without the fear of Walter before his eyes (who he knew was at home packing), Captain Cuttle again assumed his ankle-jacks and mourning brooch, and issued forth on this second expedition. He purchased no propitiatory nosegay on the present occasion, as he was going to a place of business; but he put a small sunflower in his button-hole to give himself an agreeable relish of the coimtry ; and with this, and the knobby stick, and the glazed hat, bore down upon the offices of Dombey and Son. After taking a glass of warm rum-and-water at a tavern close by, to collect his thouglits, the Captain made a rush down the court, lest its good effects should evaporate, and appeared suddenly to Mr. Perch. " Matey," said the Captain, in persuasive accents. " One of your Governors is named Carker." Mr. Perch admitted it ; but gave him to understand, as in official duty bound, that all his Grovernors were engaged, and never expected to be dis- engaged any more. "Look'ee here, mate," said the Captain in his ear; " mv name's Cap'en Cuttle." The Captain wovdd have hooked Perch gently to him, but Mr. Perch eluded the attempt ; not so much in design, as in starting at the sudden thought that such a weapon unexpectedly exhibited to Mrs. Perch might, in her then condition, be destructive to that lady's hopes. " If you 'U be so good as just report Cap'en Cuttle here, when you get a chance," said the Captain, "I'll wait." Saying which, the Captain took his seat on Mr. Perch's bracket, and drawing out his handkerchief from the crown of the glazed hat, wliich he jammed between his knees (without injury to its shape, for nothing human could bend it), rubbed his head well all over, and appeared refreshed. He subsequently arranged his hair with his hook, and sat looking round the office, contemplating the clerks with a serene respect. The Captain's equanimity was so impenetrable, and he was altogether so mysterious a being, that Perch the messenger was daunted. " AATiat name was it you said ? " asked Mr. Perch, bending down over him as he sat on the bracket. " Cap'en," in a deep hoarse whisper. " Yes," said Mr. Perch, keeping time with his head. " Cuttle." " Oh ! " said Mr. Perch, in the same tone, for he caught it, and couldn't help it ; the Captain, in his diplomacy, was so impressive. " I '11 see if he 's disengaged now, I don't know. Perhaps he may be for a minute." DOMBEY AND SON. 165 "Aye, aye, my lad, I won't detain liim longer than a minute," said the Captain, nodding with all the weighty importance that he felt within liim. Perch, soon returning, said, " Will Captain Cuttle walk this way ? " Mr. Carker the manager, standing on the hearth-rug before the empty fire-place, which was ornamented with a castellated sheet of brown paper, looked at the Captain as he came in, with no very special encouragement. " Mr. Carker ? " said Captain Cuttle. " I believe so," said Mr. Carker, showing all his teeth. The Captain hked his answering with a smile ; it looked pleasant. "You see," began the Captain, rolling his eyes slowly round the little room, and taking in as much of it as his shirt coUar permitted ; " I 'm a seafaring man myself, Mr. Carker, and Wal'r, as is on your books here, is a'most a son of mine." "Walter Gay?" said Mr. Carker, showing all his teeth again. " Wal'r Gay it is," replied the Captain, " right ! " The Captain's manner expressed a warm approval of Mr. Carker' s quickness of perception. " I 'm a intimate friend of his and his uncle's. Perhaps," said the Captain, " you may have heard your head Governor mention my name ? — Captain Cuttle." " No ! " said Mr. Carker, with a stiU wider demonstration than before. "Well," resumed the Captain, "I've the pleasure of his acquaintance. I waited upon him down on the Sussex coast there, with my young friend Wal'r, when, — in short, when there was a little accommodation wanted." The Captain nodded his head in a manner that was at once comfortable, easy, and expressive. " You remember, I dare say ?" "I think," said Mr. Carker, "I had the honour of arranging the business." " To be sure ! " returned the Captain. " Right again ! you had. Now I 've took the liberty of coming here — " " Won't you sit down ? " said Mr. Carker, smiling. " Thank'ee," returned the Captain, availing himself of the oifer. " A man does get more way upon himself, perhaps, in his conversation, when he sits down. Won't you take a cheer yourself? " " No thank you," said the manager, standing, perhaps from the force of winter habit, with his back against the chimney-piece, and looking down upon the Captain mth an eye in every tooth and gum. " You have taken the liberty, you were going to say — though it 's none — " "Thank'ee kindly, my lad," returned the Captain: " of coming here, on account of my friend Wal'r. Sol Gills, his uncle, is a man of science, and in science he may be considered a clipper ; but he ain't what I should altogether call a able seaman — not a man of practice. Wal'r is as trim a lad as ever stepped ; but he 's a little down by the head in one respect, and that is, modesty. Now what I should wish to put to you," said the Captain, lowering his voice, and speaking in a kind of confidential growl, " in a friendly way, entirely between you and me, and for my own private reckoning, 'till your head Governor has wore round a bit, and I can come alongside of him, is this. — Is everything right and comfortable here, and is Wal'r out'ard bound with a pretty fail- wind ? " "What do you think now. Captain Cuttle," retm-ned Carker, gathering up his skirts and settling himself in his position. " You are a practical man ; what do you think ? " 166 DOMBEY AND SON. Tlie acuteness and significance of the Captain's eye, as lie cocked it in reply, no words short of those unutterable Chinese words before referred to could describe. " Come ! " said the Captain, \mspeakably encouraged, " what do you say ? Am I right or ^vroIlg ? " So much had the Captain expressed in his eye, emboldened and incited by Mr. Carter's smiling urbanity, that he felt himself in as fair a condition to put the question, as if he had expressed his sentiments with the utmost elaboration. "Eight," said Mr. Carker, " I have no doubt." " Out'ard bound with fair weather, then, I say," cried Captain Cuttle. Mr. Carker smiled assent. " Wind right astarn, and plenty of it," pursued the Captain. Mr. Carker smiled assent again. "Aye, aye!" said Captain Cuttle, greatly relieved and pleased. "I know'd how she headed, Avell enough ; I told Wal'r so, Thank'ee, thank'ee." " Gay has brilliant prospects," observed Mr. Carker, stretching his mouth wider yet ; " all the world before him." "All the world and his wife too, as the saying is," returned the delighted Captain. At the word " Avife," (which he had uttered without design), the Captain stopped, cocked his eye again, and putting the glazed hat on the top of the knobby stick,' gave it a twirl, and looked sideways at his always- smiling friend. " I 'd bet a giU of old Jamaica," said the Captain, eying him atten- tively, "that I know what you're a smiling at." Mr. Carker took his cue, and smiled the more. " It goes no farther?" said the Captain, making a poke at the door with the knobby stick to assure himself that it was shut. " Not an inch," said Mr. Carker. "You're a thinking of a capital F perhaps ?" said the Captain. Mr. Carker didn't deny it. " Anything about a L," said the Captain, " or a ?" Mr. Carker still smiled. " Am I right, again ? " inquired the Captain in a whisper, with the scarlet circle on his forehead, swelling in his triumphant joy. Mr. Carker, in reply, still smiling, and now nodding assent. Captain Cuttle rose and squeezed him by the hand, assuring hun, warmly, that they were on the same tack, and that as for him (Cuttle) he had laid his course that way all along. " He know'd her first," said the Captain, with all the secrecy and gravity that the subject demanded, "in an uncommon manner — you remember his finding her in the street, when she was a'most a babby — he has liked her ever since, and she him, as much as two such youngsters can. We 've always said, Sol GUIs and me, that they was cut out for each other." A cat, or a monkey, or a hyena, or a death's-head, coiild not have shown the Captain more teeth at one time, than Mr. Carker showed him at this period of their interview. DOMBEY AND SON. 167 There's a general in-draught tliat way," observed the happy Captain. " Wind and water sets in that direction, you see. Look at his being present t'other day !" " Most favourable to his hopes," said Mr. Carker. " Look at his being towed along in the wake of that day!" pui'sued the Captain. "Why what can cut him adrift now?" " Nothing," replied Mr. Carker. "You're right again," returned the Captain, giving liis hand another squeeze. " Nothing it is. So ! steady ! There 's a son gone : pretty little creetur'. Ain't there ? " " Yes, there 's a son gone," said the acquiescent Carker. " Pass the word, and there 's another ready for you," quoth the Captain. " Nevy of a scientific uncle ! Nevy of Sol GiUs ! Wal'r ! Wal'r, as is akeady in your business ! And" — said the Captain, rising gi-adually to a quotation he was preparing for a final biu'st, " who — comes from Sol Gills's daily, to your business, and your buzzums." The Captain's complacency as he gently jogged Mr. Carker with his elbow, on concluding each of the foregoing short sentences, coidd be sur- passed by nothing but the exultation with which he fell back and eyed him when he had finished this brilliant display of eloquence and sagacity; his gi'cat blue waistcoat heaving with the throes of such a masterpiece, and his nose in a state of violent inflammation from the same cause. " Am I right ?" said the Captain. " Captain Cuttle," said Mr. Carker, bending down at the knees, for a moment, in an odd manner, as if he were falling together to hug the whole of himself at once, " your views in reference to Walter Gay are thoroughly and accurately right. I understand that we speak together in confidence." " Honom- !" interposed the Captain. " Not a word." " To him or any one ?" pursued the Manager. Captain Cuttle frowned and shook his head. " But merely for your own satisfaction and guidance — and guidance, of course," repeated Mr. Carker, " with a view to your future proceedings." " Thank'ee kindly, I am sure," said the Captain, listening with great attention. " I have no hesitation in saying, that 's the fact. You have hit the probabilities exactly." " And with regard to your head governor," said the Captain, "why an interview had better come about nat'ral between us. There 's time enough." Mr. Carker, with his mouth from ear to ear, repeated " Time enough." Not articulating the words, but bowing his head aftably, and forming them with liis tongue and lips. " And as I know now — it 's what I always said — that Wal'r 's in a way to make his fortune," said the Captain. "To make his fortune," Mr. Carker repeated, in the same dmnb manner. " And as Wal'r 's going on this little voyage is, as I may say, in his day's work, and a part of his general expectations here," said the Captain. " Of his general expectations here," assented Mr. Carker, dumbly as before. 168 DOMBEY AND SON. ""Why, so long as I know that," pursued the Captain, "there's no hurry, and my mmd 's at ease." IVIr. Carker still blandly assenting in the same voiceless manner. Captain Cuttle was strongly confirmed in his opinion that he was one of the most agreeable men he had ever met, and that even Mr. Dombey might improve himself on such a model. With great heartiness, therefore, the Captain once again extended his enormous hand (not unlike an old block in colour), and gave him a grip that left upon his smoother flesh a proof impression of the chinks and crevices with which the Captain's palm was liberally tattoo'd. "Farewell ! " said the Captain. " I an't a man of many words, but I take it very kind of you to be so friendly, and above-board. You 'U excuse me if I 've been at all intruding, will you ?" said the Captain. " Not at aU," returned the other. " Thank'ee. My berth an't very roomy," said the Captain, turning back again, " but it's tolerable snug ; and if you was to find yourself near Brig Place, number nine, at any time — will you make a note of it ? — and woidd come up stairs, without minding what was said by the person at the door, I should be proud to see you." With that hospitable invitation, the Captain said " Good day ! " and Avalked out and shut the door ; leaving Mr. Carker still reclining against the chimney-piece. In Avhose sly look and watchfid manner ; in whose false mouth, stretched but not laughing ; in whose spotless cravat and very whiskers ; even in whose silent passing of his soft hand over his white hnen and his smooth face ; there was something desperately cat-Uke. The unconscious Captain walked out in a state of self-glorification that imparted quite a new cut to the broad blue suit. " Stand by, Ned ! " said the Captain to himself " You 've done a little business for the youngsters to-day, my lad ! " In his exultation, and in his familiarity, present and prospective, with the House, the Captain, when he reached the outer office, could not refrain from rallying Mr. Perch a little, and asking him whether he thought everybody was stiU engaged. But not to be bitter on a man who had done liis duty, the Captain whispered in his ear, that if he felt disposed for a glass of rum-and-water, and would follow, he woidd be happy to bestow the same upon him. Before leaving the premises, the Captain, somewhat to the astonish- ment of the clerks, looked round from a central point of view, and took a general survey of the office as part and parcel of a project in which his young friend was nearly interested. The strong-room excited his especial admiration ; but, that he might not appear too particidar, he limited himself to an approving glance, and, with a graceful recognition of the clerks as a body, that was fuU of politeness and patronage, passed out into the court. Being promptly joined by ]\Ir. Perch, he conveyed that gentleman to the tavern, and fulfilled his pledge — ^hastUy, for Perch's time was precious. " I'U give you for a toast," said the Captain, "Wal'r !" " Who ?" submitted Mr. Perch. " Wal'r !" repeated the Captain, in a voice of thunder. DOMBEY AND SON. 169 Mr. Perch, who seemed to remember having heard in infancy that there was once a poet of that name, made no objection ; but he was much astonished at the Captain's coming into the City to propose a poet ; indeed if he had proposed to put a poet's statue up — say Shakespeare's for example — in a civic thoroughfare, he could hardly have done a greater outrage to Mr. Perch's experience. On the whole, he was such a myste- rious and incomprehensible character, that Mr. Perch decided not to mention him to Mrs. Perch at all, in case of giving rise to any disagree- able consequences. Mysterious and incomprehensible the Captain, with that lively sense upon him of having done a little business for the youngsters, remained all day, even to his most intimate friends ; and but that Walter attributed his winks and grins, and other such pantomimic reliefs of himself, to his satisfaction in the success of their innocent deception upon old Sol GiEs, he would assuredly have betrayed himself before night. As it was, how- ever, he kept his own secret ; and went home late from the Instrument- maker's house, wearing the glazed hat so much on one side, and carrying- such a beaming expression in his eyes, that Mrs. MacStinger (who might have been brought up at Doctor Blimber's, she was such a Koman matron) fortified herself, at the first glimpse of him, behind the open street-door, and refused to come out to the contemplation of her blessed infants, until he was secm'ely lodged in his own room. CHAPTER XYIII. FATHEK AND DAUGHTER. There is a hush through Mr. Dombey's house. Servants gliding up and down stairs rustle but make no sound of footsteps. They talk together constantly, and sit long at meals, making much of their meat and drink, and enjoying themselves after a grim urdioly fashion. Mrs. Wickam, with her eyes suffused with tears, relates melancholy anecdotes ; and tells them how she always said at IVIrs. Pipchin's that it would be so, and takes more table-ale than usual, and is very sorry but sociable. Cook's state of mind is similar. She promises a little fry for supper, and strug- gles about equally against her feehngs and the onions. Towlinson begins to think there 's a fate in it, and wants to know if anybody can teU him of any good that ever came of living in a corner-house. It seems to all of them as having happened a long time ago ; though yet the child lies, calm and beautiful, upon his little bed. After dark there come some visitors — noiseless visitors, with shoes of felt — who have been there before ; and with them comes that bed of rest which is so strange a one for infant sleepers. All this time, the bereaved father has not been seen even by his attendant ; for he sits in an inner corner of his own dark room when any one is there, and never seems to move at other times, except to pace it to and fro. But in the morning it is whispered among the household that he was heard to go 170 DOMBEY AND SON. up stairs in the dead night, and that he stayed there — in the room — until the sun was shining. At the offices in the city, the gTOund-glass windows are made more dim by sliuttcrs ; and wliile tlie lighted lamps upon the desks are half extinguished by the day that wanders in, the day is half extinguished by the lamps, and an unusual gloom prevails. There is not much business done. The clerks are indisposed to work; and they make assignations to eat chops in the afternoon, and go up the river. Perch, the messenger, stays long upon his errands ; and finds himself in bars of pubhc houses, invited thither by friends, and holding forth on the uncer- tainty of human affairs. He goes home to Ball's Pond earlier in the evening than usual, and treats Mrs. Perch to a veal cutlet and Scotch ale. Ml'. Carker the manager treats no one ; neither is he treated ; but alone in his o\vn room he shows his teeth all day ; and it would seem that there is something gone from Mr. Carker's path — some obstacle removed — Avhich clears his way before him. Now the rosy children living opposite to Mr. Dombey's house, peep from their nursery windows down into the street ; for there are four black horses at his door, with feathers on their heads ; and feathers tremble on the carriage that they draw ; and these, and an array of men with scarves and staves, attract a crowd. The juggler who was going to twirl the basin, puts his loose coat on again over his fine dress ; and his trudging wife, one-sided with her heavy baby in her arms, loiters to see the company come out. But closer to her dingy breast she presses her baby, Avhen the bm'den that is so easily carried is borne forth ; and the youngest of the rosy children at the high window opposite, needs no restraining hand to check her in her glee, when, pointing Avith her dimpled finger, she looks into her nurse's face, and asks " What 's that ! " And now, among the knot of servants dressed in mourning, and the weeping women, Mr. Dombey passes through the hall to the other carriage that is waiting to receive him. He is not " brought down," these observers think, by sorrow and distress of mind. His walk is as erect, his bearing is as stiff as ever it has been. He hides his face behind no handkerchief, and looks before him. But that his face is something sunk and rigid, and is pale, it bears the same expression as of old. He takes his place within the carriage, and thi'ee other gentlemen follow. Then the grand funeral moves slowly down the street. The feathers are yet nodding in the distance, when the juggler has the basin spinning on a cane, and has the same crowd to admire it. But the juggler's wife is less alert than usual with the money-box, for a child's burial has set lier thinking that perhaps the baby underneath her shabby shawl may not grow up to be a man, and wear a sky-blue fillet round his head, and salmon-coloured worsted drawers, and tumble in the mud. The feathers wind their gloomy way along the streets, and come within the sound of a church bell. In this same church, the pretty boy received all that will soon be left of him on earth — a name. All of him that is dead, they lay there, near the perishable substance of his mother. It is well. Their ashes lie where Florence in her walks — oh lonely, lonely walks ! — may pass them any day. DOMBEY AND SON. 171 The service over, and the clergyman withdrawn, Mr. Dombey looks round, demanding in a low voice, whether the person who has been re- quested to attend to receive instructions for the tablet, is there ? Some one comes forward, and savs " Yes." Mr. Dombey intimates where he would have it placed ; and shows him, with his hand upon the wall, the shape and size ; and how it is to follow the memorial to the mother. Then, with his pencil, he writes out the inscription, and gives it to him : adding, "I wish to have it done at once." " It shall be done immediately, sir." " There is reaUy notliing to inscribe but name and age, you see." The man bows, glancing at the paper, but appears to hesitate. Mr. Dombey not observing his hesitation, tm*ns away, and leads towards the porch. " I beg your pardon, sir ;" a touch falls gently on his mourning cloak ; " but as you wish it done immediately, and it may be put in hand when I get back — " " WeU ? " " Will you be so good as read it over again ? I think there 's a mistake." "Where?" The statuary gives him back the paper, and points out, with his pocket rule, the words " beloved and only child." " It should be ' son,' I think, sir ? " " You are right. Of course. Make the coiTCction." The father, with a hastier step, pursues his way to the coach. When the other three, who follow closely, take their seats, his face is hidden for the fii'st time — shaded by his cloak. Nor do they see it any more that day. He alights first, and passes immediately into his own room. The other mourners (who are only Mr. Chick, and two of the medical attend- ants) proceed up-stairs to the drawing-room, to be received by Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox. And what the face is, in the shut-up chamber underneath : or what the thoughts are : what the heai't is, what the contest or the suftering : no one knows. The chief thing that they know, below-stau's, in the kitchen, is that " it seems Uke Sunday." They can hardly persuade themselves but that there is something unbecoming, if not wicked, in the conduct of the peo- ple out of doors, who pursue their ordinary occupations and wear their every-day attire. It is quite a novelty to have the blinds up, and the shutters open ; and they make themselves dismally comfortable over bottles of wine, which are freely broached as on a festival. They are much inclined to moralize. Mr. Towlinson proposes with a sigh, "Amendment to us aU ! " for which, as Cook says Avith another sigh, " There 's room enough, God knows." In the evening, Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox take to needlework again. In the evening also, Mr. Towbnson goes out to take the air, accompanied by the housemaid, who has not yet tried her moimiing bonnet. They are very tender to each other at dusky street- comers, and Towlinson has visions of leading an altered and blameless existence as a serious green-grocer in Oxford Market. There is sounder sleep and deeper rest in Mr. Dombey's house to-night, than there has been for many nights. The morning sun awakens the old 172 DOMBEY AND SON. household, settled down once more in their old ways. The rosy children, opposite, run past with hoops. There is a splendid wedding in the church. The juggler's wife is active with the money-box in another quarter of the town. The mason sings and whistles as he chips out P-A-u-L in the marble slab before him. And can it be that in a world so full and busy, the loss of one weak creature makes a void in any heart, so wide and deep that nothing but the width and depth of vast eternity can fill it up ! Florence, in her innocent affliction, might have answered " Oh my brother, oh my dearly loved and loving brother ! Only friend and companion of my slighted childhood ! Could any less idea shed the light already dawning on your early grave, or give birth to the softened sorrow that is springing into life beneath this rain of tears !" " My dear child," said Mrs. Chick, who held it as a duty incumbent on her, to improve the occasion, " when you are as old as I am — " " Which will be the prime of life," observed Miss Tox. " You will then," pursued Mrs. Chick, gently squeezing Miss Tox's hand, in acknowledgment of her friendly remark, " you will then know that aU grief is unavailing, and that it is our duty to submit." " I will try, dear aunt. I do try," answered Florence, sobbing. " I am glad to hear it," said Mrs. Chick, " because, my love, as our dear Miss Tox — of whose sound sense and excellent judgment, there can- not possibly be two opinions — " " My dear Louisa, I shall really be proud, soon," said Miss Tox. — " will tell you, and confirm by her experience," pm"sued Mrs. Chick, " we are called upon on all occasions to make an elfort. It is required of ns. If any — my dear," turning to Miss Tox, " I want a word. Mis — Mis—" " Demeanour?" suggested Miss Tox. " No, no, no," said Mrs. Chick. " How can you ! Goodness me, it 's on the end of my tongue. Mis — " " Placed afl^ection ?" suggested Miss Tox, timidly. " Good gracious, Lucretia!" returned Mrs. Chick, "How very mon- strous ! Misanthrope, is the word I want. The idea ! Misplaced affection ! I say, if any misanthrope were to put, in my presence, the question 'Why were we born?' I should reply, ' To make an effort.' " " Very good indeed," said Miss Tox, much impressed by the originality of the sentiment. " Very good." " Unhappily," pursued Mrs. Chick, " we have a warning under our own eyes. We have but too much reason to suppose, my dear child, that if an effort had been made in time, in this family, a train of the most trying and distressing circumstances might have been avoided. Nothing shall ever persuade me," observed the good matron, with a resolute air, " but that if that effort had been made by poor dear Fanny, the poor dear darling child would at least have had a stronger constitution." Mi-s. Chick abandoned herself to her feelings for half a moment ; but, as a practical illustration of her doctrine, brought herself up short, in the middle of a sob, and went on again. " Therefore, Florence, pray let us see that you have some strength of DOMBEY AND SON. 173 mind, and do not selfishly aggravate the distress in wliicli your poor papa is phiiiged." "Dear aunt!" said Florence, kneeling quickly down before her, that she might the better and more earnestly look into her face. " Tell me more about Papa. Pray tell me about him ! Is he quite heart-broken?" Miss Tox was of a tender nature, and there was something in this appeal that moved her very much. Whether she saw in it a succession, on the part of the neglected cliild, to the affectionate concern so often expressed by her dead brother — or a love that sought to twine itself about the heart that had loved him, and that could not bear to be shut out from sympathy with such a sorrow, in such sad community of love and grief — or whether she only recognised the earnest and devoted spirit which, although discarded, and repulsed, was wrung with tenderness long unre- tumed, and in the waste and solitude of this bereavement cried to him to seek a comfort in it, and to give some, by some small response — what- ever may have been her understanding of it, it moved Miss Tox. Por the moment she forgot the majesty of Mrs. Cliick, and, patting Florence hastily on the cheek, turned aside and suffered the tears to gush from her eyes, without waiting for a lead from that wise matron. Mrs. Chick herself lost, for a moment, the presence of mind on which she so much prided herself; and remained mute, looking on the beautiful young face that had so long, so steadily, and patiently, been turned towards the little bed. But recovering her voice — which was synony- mous with her presence of mind, indeed they Avere one and the same thing — she replied with dignity : " Florence, my dear child, your poor papa is peculiar at times ; and to question me about him, is to question me upon a subject which I reaUy do not pretend to understand. I believe I have as much influence with your papa as anybody has. Still, aU I can say is, that he has said, very httle to me ; and that I have only seen him once or twice for a minute at a time, and indeed have hardly seen him then, for his room has been dark. I have said to your papa ' Paul ! ' — that is the exact expression I used — ' Paul ! why do you not take something stimulating ? ' Your papa's reply has always been, ' Louisa, have the goodness to leave me. I want nothing. I am better by myself.' If I was to be put upon my oath to-morrow, Lucretia, before a magistrate," said Mrs. Chick, " I have no doubt I could ventm*e to swear to those identical words." Miss Tox expressed her admiration by saying, ." My Louisa is ever methodical ! " " In short, Florence," resumed her aunt, " literally nothing has passed between your poor papa and myself, until to-day ; when I mentioned to your papa that Sir Barnet and Lady Skettles had written exceedingly kind notes — our sweet boy ! Lady Skettles loved him like a — — where's my pocket handkerchief! " Miss Tox produced one. "Exceedingly kind notes, proposing that you should visit them for change of scene. Mentioning to your papa that I thought Miss Tox and myself might now go home (in which he quite agreed), I inquired if he had any objection to your accepting tliis invitation. He said, 'No Louisa, not the least ! ' " 174 DOMBEY AND SON. Florence raised her tearful eyes. " At tlie same time, if you would prefer staying here, Florence, to paying this visit at present, or to going home with me— — ■" " I should much prefer it, aunt," was the faint rejoinder. "Why then, child," said Mrs. Chick, "you can. It 's a strange choice, I must say. But you always icere strange. Anybody else at your time of life, and after what has passed — my dear Miss Tox, I have lost my pocket- handkerchief again — would be glad to leave here, one would suppose." " I shovdd not like to feel," said Florence, " as if the house was avoided. I should not like to think that the — his — the rooms up-stairs were quite empty and dreaiy, aunt. I would rather stay here, for the present. Oh my brother ! oh my brother ! " It was a natural emotion, not to be suppressed ; and it would make way even between the fingers of the hands with which she covered up her face. The overcharged and heavy-laden breast must sometimes have that vent, or the poor wounded solitary heart within it would have fluttered like a bird with broken wings, and sunk down in the dust. " Well, child ! " said Mrs. Chick, after a pause. " I wouldn't on any account say anything unkind to you, and that I 'm sure you know. You will remain here, then, and do exactly as you like. No one will interfere with you, Florence, or wish to interfere with you, I 'm sure." Florence shook her head in sad assent. " I had no sooner begun to advise your poor papa that he really ought to seek some distraction and restoration in a temporary change," said Mrs. Chick, "than he told me he had already formed the intention of going into the country for a short time. I 'm sure I hope he '11 go very soon. He can't go too soon. But I suppose there are some arrangements connected with his private papers and so forth, consequent on the affliction that has tried us all so much — I can't think what 's become of mine:' Lucretialend me yours my dear — that may occupy him for one or two evenings in lus own room. Your papa 's a Dombey, child, if ever there was one," said Mrs. Chick, drying both her eyes at once with gi-eat care on opposite corners of Miss Tox's handkerchief. " He '11 make an effort. There 's no fear of him." "Is there nothing, aunt," asked Florence, trembling, " I might do to " " Lord, my dear child," interposed Mrs. Chick, hastily, " what are you talking about ? If your papa said to Me — I have given you his exact words, ' Louisa I want nothing ; I am better by myself — what do you think he 'd say to you? You mustn't show yourself to him, child. Don't (b-eam of such a thing." " Aunt," said Florence, " I will go and lie down in my bed." Mrs. Chick approved of this resolution, and dismissed her with a kiss. But Miss Tox, on a faint pretence of looking for the mislaid handkerchief, went up-stairs after her ; and tried in a few stolen minutes to comfort her, in spite of great discouragement from Susan Nipper. For Miss Nipper, in her burning zeal, disparaged Miss Tox as a crocodile ; yet her sympathy seemed genuine, and had at least the vantage-ground of disinterestedness — there was little favom* to be won by it. DOMBEY AND SON. 175 And was there no one nearer and dearer than Susan, to uphold the striving heart in its anguish ? Was there no other neck to chasp ; no other face to turn to ; no one else to say a soothing word to such deep sorrow ? Was Florence so alone in the bleak world that nothing else remained to her ? Nothing. Stricken motherless and brotherless at once — for in the loss of little Paul, that first and greatest loss fell heavily upon her — this was the only help she had. Oh, who can tell how much she needed help at first ! At first, when the house subsided into its accustomed course, and they had all gone away, except the servants, and her father shut up in his own rooms, Florence could do nothing but weep, and wander up and down, and sometimes, in a sudden pang of desolate remembrance, fly to her own chamber, wring her hands, lay her face down on her bed, and know no consolation : nothing but the bitterness and cruelty of grief. This com- monly ensued upon the recognition of some spot or object very tenderly associated with him ; aud it made the miserable house, at fii'st, a place of agony. But it is not in the nature of pure love to burn so fiercely and unkindly long. The flame that in its grosser composition has the taint of earth, may prey upon the breast that gives it shelter ; but the sacred fu-e from heaven, is as gentle in the heart, as when it rested on the heads of the assembled twelve, and showed each man his brother, brightened and unhurt. The image conjured up, there soon returned the placid face, the softened voice, the loving looks, the quiet trustfulness and peace ; and Florence, thoiigh she wept still, wept more tranquilly, and courted the remembrance. It was not very long before the golden water, dancing on the wall, in the old place at the old serene time, had her calm eyes fixed upon it as it ebbed away. It was not very long before that room again knew her, often ; sitting there alone, as patient and as mild as when she had watched beside the little bed. When any sharp sense of its being empty smote upon her, she could kneel beside it, and pray God — it was the pouring out of her full heart — to let one angel love her and remember her. It was not very long, before, in tlie midst of the dismal house so wide and dreary, her low voice in the twibght, slowly and stopping sometimes, touched the old air to which he had so often listened, with his drooping head upon her arm. And after that, and when it was quite dark, a little strain of music trembled in the room : so softly played and sung, that it was more like the mournfid recollection of what she had done at his request on that last night, than the reality repeated. But it was repeated, often — very often, in the shadowy solitude ; and broken murmurs of the strain still trembled on the keys, when the sweet voice was hushed in tears. Thus she gained heart to look upon the Avork with which her fingers had been busy by his side on the sea-shore ; and thus it was not very long before she took to it again — with something of a human love for it, as if it had been sentient and had known him ; and, sitting in a window, near her mother's picture, in the unused room so long deserted, Avore aAvay the thoughtful hours. 176 DOMBEY AND SON. Why did the dark eyes turn so often from this work to where the rosy childi'en lived ? They were not immediately suggestive of her loss ; for they were all girls : four little sisters. But they were motherless like her — and had a father. It was easy to know when he had gone out and was expected home, for the elder child was always dressed and waiting for him at the drawing- room window, or in the balcony ; and when he appeared, her expectant face lighted up with joy, while the others at the high window, and always on the watch too, clapped their hands, and drummed them on the sill, and called to him. The elder child would come down to the hall, and put her hand in his, and lead him up the stairs ; and Florence would see her after- wards sitting by his side, or on his knee, or hanging coaxingly about his neck and talking to him : and though they were always gay together, he would often watch her face as if he thought her like her mother that was dead. Florence would sometimes look no more at this, and bursting into tears would hide behind the curtain as if she were frightened, or would hm-ry from the window. Yet she could not help returning ; and her Avork would soon fall unheeded from her hands again. It was the house that had been empty, years ago. It had remained so for a long time. At last, and while she had been away fi'om home, this family had taken it ; and it was repaired and newly painted ; and there w'ere bii'ds and flowers about it ; and it looked very different from its old self. But she never thought of the house. The children and their father were all in all. \\lien he had dined, she could see them, through the open windows, go down with their governess or nurse, and cluster rou.nd the table ; and in the still summer weather, the sound of their childish voices and clear laughter woidd come ringing across the street, into the drooping air of the room in which she sat. Then they would climb and clamber up stairs with him, and romp about him on the sofa, or groupe themselves at his knee, a very nosegay of little faces, Avhile he seemed to teU them some story. Or they would come running out into the balcony ; and then Flo- rence would hide herself quickly, lest it should check them in their joy, to see her in her black dress, sitting there alone. The elder child remained with her father when the rest had gone away, and made his tea for him — happy little housekeeper she was then ! — and sat conversing with him, sometimes at the window, sometimes in the room, until the candles came. He made her his companion, though she was some years younger than Florence; and she could be as staid and pleasantly demiu-e with her little book or work-box, as a woman. When they had candles, Florence from her own dark room was not afraid to look again. But when the time came for the child to say " Good night, papa," and go to bed, Florence would sob and tremble as she raised her face to him, and could look no more. Though still she would turn, again and again, before going to bed herself, from the simple air that had hdled him to rest so often, long ago, and from the other Ioav soft broken strain of music, back to that house. But that she ever thought of it, or watched it, was a secret which she kept within her own young breast. DOMBEY AND SON. 177 And did that breast of Florence — Florence, so ingenuous and true — so worthy of the love that he had borne her, and had whispered in his last faint words — whose guileless heart was mirrored in the beauty of her face, and breathed in every accent of her gentle voice — did that young breast hold any other secret ? Yes. One more. "VMien no one in the house was stirring, and the lights were all extinguished, she would softly leave her own room, and with noiseless feet descend the stair-case, and approach her father's door. Against it, scarcely breathing, she would rest her face and head, and press her lips, in the yearning of her love. She crouched upon the cold stone floor outside it, every night, to listen even for his breath ; and in her one absorbing wish to be allowed to show him some affection, to be a consola- tion to him, to win him over to the endurance of some tenderness from her, his solitary child, she would have knelt down at his feet, if she had dared, in humble supplication. No one knew it. No one thought of it. The door was ever closed, and he shut up within. He went out once or twice, and it was said in the house that he was very soon going on his country journey ; but he lived in those rooms, and hved alone, and never saw her, or inquired for her. Perhaps he did not even know that she Avas in the house. One day, about a week after the funeral, Florence was sitting at her work, when Susan appeared, with a face half laughing and half crying, to announce a visitor. " A visitor ! To me, Susan !" said Florence, looking up in astonish- ment. " Well, it w a wonder, ain't it now Miss Floy," said Susan ; " but I wish you had a many visitors, I do, indeed, for you'd be all the better for it, and it 's my opinion that the sooner you and me goes even to them old Skettleses, Miss, the better for both, I may not wish to live in crowds, JVIiss Floy, but still I 'm not a oyster." To do Miss Nipper justice, she spoke more for her young mistress than herself; and her face showed it. " But the visitor, Susan," said Florence. Susan, with an hysterical explosion that was as much a laugh as a sob, and as much a sob as a laugh, answered, " Mr. Toots !" The smile that appeared on Florence's face passed from it in a moment, and her eyes filled with tears. But at any rate it was a smile, and that gave great satisfaction to Miss Nipper. " My own feelings exactly. Miss Floy," said Susan, putting her apron to her eyes, and shaking her head. " Immediately I see that Innocent in the Hall, Miss Floy, I burst out laughing first, and then I choked." Susan Nipper involuntarily proceeded to do the like again on the spot. In the meantime Mr. Toots, who had come up stairs after her, all uncon- scious of the effect he produced, annomiced himself with his knuckles on the door, and walked in very briskly. " How dy'e do, Miss Dombey ?" said Mr. Toots. " I'm very well I thank you ; how are you ?" Ml'. Toots — than whom there were few better fellows in the world, though N 178 DOMBEY AND SON. tliere may have been one or two brighter spirits— had laboiiously invented this long burst of discoui'se with the view of relieving the feelings both of Florence and liimself. But finding that he had run through his property, as it were, in an injudicious manner, by squandering the whole before taking a chair, or before Florence had uttered a Avord, or before he had well got in at the door, he deemed it advisable to begin again. •' How dy'e do. Miss Dombey ?" said JVtr. Toots. " I 'm very well, I thank you ; how are you?" Florence gave him her hand, and said she was very well. " I 'm very well indeed," said Mr. Toots, taking a chair. " Very well indeed, I am. I don't remember," said Mr. Toots, after reflecting a little, " that I was ever better, thank you." " It 's very kind of you to come," said Florence, taking up her work. " I am very glad to see you." Mr. Toots responded with a chuckle. Thinking that might be too lively, he corrected it with a sigh. Thinking that might be too melancholy, he corrected it with a chuckle. Not thoroughly pleasing himself with either mode of reply, he breathed hard. " You were very kind to my dear brother," said Florence, obeying her own natural impulse to relieve him by saying so. " He often talked to me about you." "Oh, it 's of no consequence," said Mr. Toots hastily. "Warm, ain't it ?" "It is beautifid weather," replied Florence. " It agrees with me ! " said Mr. Toots. " I don't think I ever was so well as I find myself at present, I'm obliged to you." After stating this curious and unexpected fact, Mr. Toots feU into a deep well of silence. " You have left Doctor Blimber's, I think ?" said Florence, trying to help him out. " I should hope so," returned Mr. Toots. And tumbled in again. He remained at the bottom, apparently drowned, for at least ten mi- nutes. At the expii-ation of that period, he suddenly floated, and said, " Well ! Good morning, Miss Dombey." " Are you going ?" asked Florence, rising. " I don't know, though. No, not just at present," said Mr. Toots, sitting down again, most unexpectedly. " The fact is — I say. Miss Dombey ! " " Don't be afraid to speak to me," said Florence, with a quiet smile. " I should be veiy glad if you would talk about my brother." " Would you, though," retorted Mr. Toots, with sympathy in every fibre of his otherwise expressionless face. " Poor Dombey ! I'm sure I never thought that Burgess & Co. — fashionable tailors (but very dear), that we used to talk about — would make this suit of clothes for such a purpose." Mr. Toots was dressed in mourning. " Poor Dombey ! I say ! Miss Dombey !" blubbered Toots. " Yes," said Florence. " There 's a friend he took to veiy much at last. I thought you'd like to have him, perhaps, as a sort of keepsake. You remember his remember- ing Diogenes ?" » \M^y CL^m/^ Cl'^4^n^. Cl/£>(>t'' O-^aM' DOMBEY AND SON. 179 " Oh yes ! oh yes !" cried Elorence. " Poor Dombey ! So do I," said Mr. Toots. Mr. Toots, seeing Florence in tears, had great difficulty in getting be- yond this point, and had nearly tumbled into the well again. But a chuckle saved him on the brink. " I say," he proceeded, " Miss Dombey ! I could have had him stolen for ten shiUings, if they hadn't given him up : and I would : but they were glad to get rid of him, I think. If you'd Uke to have him, he's at the door. I brought him on purpose for you. He ain't a lady's dog, you know," said '^h:. Toots, " but you won't mind that, will you?" In fact, Diogenes was at that moment, as they presently ascertained, from looking down into the street, staring through the window of a hackney cabriolet, into which, for conveyance to that spot, he had been ensnared, on a false pretence of rats among the straw. Sooth to say, he was as unlike a lady's dog as dog might be ; and in his gruff anxiety to get out presented an appearance sufficiently unpromising, as he gave short yelps out of one side of his mouth, and overbalancing himself by the in- tensity of every one of those efforts, tumbled down into the straw, and then sprung panting up again, putting out his tongue, as if he had come express to a Dispensary to be examined for his health. But though Diogenes was as ridiculous a dog as one would meet with on a summer's day ; a blundering, ill-favoured, clumsy, bullet-headed dog, continually acting on a wrong idea that there was an enemy in the neigh- bourhood, whom it was meritorious to bark at ; and though he was far from good-tempered, and certainly was not clever, and had hair all over his eyes, and a comic nose, and an inconsistent tail, and a gi'uff voice ; he was dearer to Florence, in virtue of that parting remembrance of him and that request that he might be taken care of, than the most valuable and beautiful of his kind. So dear, indeed, was this same ugly Diogenes, and so welcome to her, that she took the jewelled hand of Mr, Toots and kissed it in her gi-atitude. And when Diogenes, released, came tearing up the stairs and bouncing into the room (such a business as there was, first, to get him out of the cabriolet !), dived under all the forai- ture, and wound a long iron chain, that dangled from his neck, round legs of chairs and tables, and then tugged at it until his eyes became unnatu- rally visible, in consequence of their nearly starting out of his head ; and when he groAvled at Mr. Toots, who affected familiarity ; and went peU- meU at Towlinson, morally convinced that he was the enemy whom he had barked at round the corner all his life and had never seen yet ; Florence was as pleased with him as if he had been a miracle of discretion. Mr. Toots was so overjoyed by the success of his present, and was so delighted to see Florence bending down over Diogenes, smoothing his coarse back with her little dehcate hand — ^Diogenes graciously allowing it from the first moment of their acquaintance — that he felt it difficult to take leave, and would, no doubt, have been a much longer time in making up his mind to do so, if he had not been assisted by Diogenes himself, who sud- denly took it into his head to bay Mr. Toots, and to make short runs at him with his mouth open. Not exactly seeing his way to the end of these demonstrations, and sensible that they placed the pantaloons constructed N 2 180 DOMBEY AND SON. by the art of Burgess & Co. in jeopardy, Mr. Toots, with chuckles, lapsed out at the door : by which, after looking in again two or three times without any object at all, and being on each occasion greeted with a fresh mn from Diogenes, he finally took himself oif and got away. " Come, then, Di 1 Dear Di ! Make friends with yoiu- new mistress. Let us love each other, Di ! " said Florence, fondling his shaggy head. And Di, the rough and gruif, as if his hairy hide were pervious to the tear that dropped upon it, and his dog's heart melted as it fell, put his nose up to her face, and swore fideUty. Diogenes the man did not speak plainer to Alexander the Great than Diogenes the dog spoke to Florence. He subscribed to the offer of his little mistress cheerfully, and devoted himself to her sendee. A banquet was immediately provided for him in a comer ; and when he had eaten and drunk his fiU, he went to the window where Florence was sitting, looking on, rose up on his hind legs, with his awkward fore paws on her shoul- ders, licked her face and hands, nestled his great head against her heart, and wagged his tail till he was tired. Finally, Diogenes coiled liimself up at her feet, and went to sleep. Although Miss Nipper was nervous in regard of dogs, and felt it neces- saiy to come into the room with her skirts carefully collected about her, as if she were crossing a brook on stepping-stones ; also to utter little screams and stand up on chairs when Diogenes stretched himself j she was in her own manner aifected by the kindness of Mr, Toots, and could not see Florence so ahve to the attachment and society of this rude friend of little Paul's, without some mental comments thereupon that brought the water to her eyes. Mr. Dombey, as a p^irt of her reflections, may have been, in the association of ideas, connected with the dog ; but, at any rate, after observing Diogenes and his mistress all the evening, and after exerting herself with much good will to provide Diogenes a bed in an ante- chamber outside his mistress's door, she said hurriedly to Florence, before leaving her for the night : " Your Pa 's a going off. Miss Floy, to-morrow morning." " To-morrow morning, Susan ? " *• Yes, Miss ; that 's the orders. Early." " Do you know," asked Florence, without looking at her, " where Papa is going, Susan ? " " Not exactly, Mss. He 's going to meet that precious Major first, and I must say, if I was acquainted with any Major myself (which Heavens forbid), it shouldn't be a blue one ! " *' Hush, Susan ! " urged Florence gently. "Well, Miss Floy," returned Miss Nipper, who was fuU of burning indignation, and minded her stops even less than usual. " I can't help it, blue he is, and while I was a Christian, although humble, I would have natm'al-coloured friends, or none." It appeared from what she added and had gleaned down stairs, that ]\Irs. Chick had proposed the Major for Mr. Dombey's companion, and that IVIi'. Dombey, after some hesitation, had invited him. " Talk of him being a change, indeed I " observed Miss Nipper to herself with boundless contempt. " If he 's a change, give me a constancy." *' Good night, Susan," said Florence. DOMBEY AND SON. 181 " Good night, my darling dear Miss Floy." Her tone of commiseration smote the chord so often rouglily touched, but never listened to while she or any one looked on. Florence left alone, laid her head upon her hand, and pressing the other over her swelling heart, held free communication with her sorrows. It was a wet night ; and the melancholy rain fell pattering and drop- ping with a weary sound. A sluggish wind was blowing, and went moan- ing round the house, as if it were in pain or grief. A shriU noise quivered through the trees. While she sat weeping, it grew late, and dreary midnight tolled out from the steeples. - Florence was little more than a child in years — not yet fourteen — and the loneliness and gloom of such an hour in the great house where Death had lately made its own tremendous devastation, might have set an older fancy brooding on vague terrors. But her innocent imagination was too full of one theme to admit them. Nothing wandered in her thoughts but love — a Avandering love, indeed, and castaway — ^but turning always to her father. There was nothing in the dropping of the rain, the moaning of the wind, the shuddering of the trees, the striking of the solemn clocks, that shook this one thought, or diminished its interest. Her recollections of the dear dead boy — and they were never absent — were itself ; the same thing. And oh, to be shut out : to be so lost : never to have looked inta her father's face or touched him, since that hour ! She could not go to bed, poor child, and never had gone yet, since then, without making her nightly pilgrimage to his door. It would have been a strange sad sight, to see her now, stealing lightly down the stairs through the thick gloom, and stopping at it with a beating heart, and blinded eyes, and hair that fell down loosely and unthought of: and touching it outside with her wet cheek. But the night covered it, and no one knew. The moment that she touched the door on this night, Florence found that it was open. For the first time it stood open, though by but a hair's- breadth : and there was a light within. The first impulse of the timid child — and she yielded to it — was to retire swiftly. Her next, to go back, and to enter ; and this second impulse held her in irresolution oa the stair-case. In its standing open, even by so much as that chink, there seemed to be hope. There was encouragement in seeing a ray of light from within, stealing tlirough the dark stern doorway, and falling in a thread upon the marble floor. She turned back, hardly knowing what she did, but urged on by the love within her, and the trial they had undergone together, but not shared: and with her hands a little raised and trembhng, glided in. Her father sat at liis old table in the middle room. He had been arranging some papers, and destroying others, and the latter lay in fragile ruins before him. The rain di-ipped heavily upon the glass panes in the outer room, where he had so often watched poor Paul, a baby ; and the low complainings of the wind were heard without. But not by him. He sat with his eyes fixed on the table, so immersed in thought, that a far heavier tread than the light foot of his child could make, might have failed to rouse liim. His face was turned towards her. 182 DOMBEY AND SON. By the waning lamp, and at that haggard hour, it looked worn and de- jected ; and in the utter loneliness suiTounding him, there was an appeal to Florence that struck home. " Papa ! Papa ! Speak to me, dear Papa !" He started at her voice, and leaped up from his seat. She was close before him Ayith extended arms, but he fell back. " What is the matter ?" he said, sternly. " Why do you come here ? What has frightened you ?" If anything had frightened her, it was the face he turned upon her. The glowing love within the breast of his young daughter froze before it, and she stood and looked at him as if stricken into stone. There was not one touch of tenderness or pity in it. There was not one' gleam of interest, parental recognition, or relenting in it. There was a change in it, but not of that kind. The old indifference and cold con- straint had given place to something : what, she never thought and did not dare to think, and yet she felt it in its force, and knew it well without a name : that as it looked upon her, seemed to cast a shadow on her head. Did he see before him the successful rival of his son, in health and bfe ? Did he look upon his own successful rival in that son's affection ? Did a mad jealousy and withered pride, poison sweet remembrances that should have endeared and made her precious to him ? Coidd it be possible that it was gall to him to look upon her in her beauty and her promise : thinking of his infant boy ! Plorence had no such thoughts. But love is quick to know when it is spui'ned and hopeless : and hope died out of hers, as she stood looking in her father's face. " I ask you, Florence, are you frightened ? Is there anything the matter, that you come here ?" "I came Papa — " " Against my wishes. Why ?" She saw he knew why : it was written broadly on his face : and dropped her head upon her hands with one prolonged low cry. Let him remember it in that room, years to come. It has faded from the air, before he breaks the silence. It may pass as quickly from his brain, as he believes, but it is there. Let him remember it in that room, years to come ! He took her by the arm. His hand was cold, and loose, and scarcely closed upon her. " You are tired, I dare say," he said, taking up the light, and leading her towards the door, " and want rest. We all want rest. Go, Florence. You have been dreaming." The dream she had had, was over then, God help her ! and she felt that it could never more come back. " I wiU remain here to light you up the stairs. The whole house is yours above there," said her father, slowly. " You are its mistress now. Good night !" Still covering her face, she sobbed, and answered " Good night, dear Papa," and silently ascended. Once she looked back as if she would have returned to him, but for fear. It was a momentary thought, too hopeless THE LITTLE MDSHIPMAN IN THE MINORIES. The famous " Little Midshipman " sign is old but not ancient, and it is of wood. It has, perhaps, been written about far more than any other sign, for it is a Dickensian item : the sign of Uncle Sol.'s nautical store, in " Dombey and Son." Solomon Gills was fond, of his Little Midship- man, who is elaborately referred to many times in the story, as indifferently braving all weathers, over the shop-door, in his cocked hat and knee-breeches, the uniform of the midshipmen and officers of the Navy in Nelson's time. His is represented in the act of taking an observation with what Dickens calls a " quadrant." Actually, he was at the time when the novelist wrote, on a bracket in front of one of the first-floor windows of J. W. Norie's " Naval Academy" in Leadenhall Street. The business afterwards was removed to No. 156 Minories, to what is now Messrs. Norie &: Wilson, where the little modern effigy is carefully preserved within, lest some enthusiastic collector of Dickens' relics should annex it. The figure once made a journey to Chelsea, for it was shown there in the Naval Exhibition of 1891. s e t P .s d e 16; 'J )r >y Ig is a, til be nt he ck y. LS. m a ry n- br of of ad an of lol t's iges around Grenoble. .MB, A.R.I.B.A. 18S By means of motor charabancs or trams, which start from i^'^ the centre of the town, most of the villages can very easily ^^^^ be reached. The trams, which are quite a feature of Grenoble, develop into powerful mountain trains, it seems, since they , . extend some 12 to 15 miles into the foothills around , Grenoble, and thus are of considerable benefit to the farms TYT and other industries, for the bringing of fruit, or produce, •J and other materials from the outlying villages, ijj^j The roads for the most part are surprisingly good, many and °^ *^^ main roads being coated with tar. They are also »] wonderfully engineered in the more mountainous districts, one and in many cases tunnels are cut clean through the rock, cha the longer ones being perpetually lit by electricity. Build- stra ings in the country typify the wildness of their surround- not ings. Many of the houses are roughly built of stone with a ni thatched roofs and gables stepped with stone slates, quite 1 a feature of the Dauphine. T)id There are several very fine chateaux in the district. ^^^^ At Sassenage will be found a moated chateau of the seven- y*^ teenth century, built when the eleventh century chateau on "J'y a hill above was abandoned. The interior contains much z^ of interest in the way of furniture, pictures and armour, etc. Above the main entrance is an allegorical carving smi • • . • ,^ representing the fairy Melusine, who according to the ,, French legend married a knight named Raymond, on thai condition that occasionally she should be left alone ; this (< request was subsequently refused, so that she transformed f herself into a winged serpent, and is supposed to inhabit 5 in spirit some caves nearby, and only appears on the death lier of any inmates of the castle. In the village is a church ] with Romanesque belfry, somewhat spoilt in effect by an the immense clock. In a side chapel is the tomb of Lesdigiueres, as 1 who lived in the sixteenth century and was known as con " the old fox of Dauphiny." 1 At Vizilles is a very fine chateau magnificently situated, clo' built in 1610, enlarged in the eighteenth century and restored in the nineteenth century. It was in this castle ^^^ that a meeting was arranged in 1788 among the various ^°^ states of Dauphine, which became a prelude to the French . Revolution. Over the main entrance, just visible in ^ photograph, is an equestrian statue of Lesdigiueres. Vizilles, named by the Romans Vigilia, was an important % station in those times, since it lay on the road between c Italy and Vienne. Pjj, On a hill above the town is a very fine little Romanesque ].g^, chapel, particularly pure in style and according to tradition connected with the Templars. In many of the villages the manufacture of cement is actively carried out. There beauty is therefore marred by the clouds of dust which overhang them, and by the f actor V chimnevs which belch forth dense clouds of smoke. DOMBEY AND SON. 183 to encourage ; and her father stood there with the light — hard, unrespon- sive, motionless — until the fluttering dress of his fair child was lost in the darkness. Let him remember it in that room, years to come. The rain that falls upon the roof : the wind that mourns outside the door : may have foreknowledge in their melancholy sound. Let him remember it in that room, years to come ! The last time he had watched her, from the same place, w^inding up those stairs, she had had her brother in her arms. It did not move his heart towards her now, it steeled it : but he went into his room, and locked his door, and sat down in his chair, and cried for his lost boy. Diogenes was broad awake upon his post, and waiting for his little mistress. " Oh Di ! Oh dear Di ! Love me for his sake !" Diogenes akeady loved her for her own, and didn't care how much he showed it. So he made himself vastly ridiculous by performing a variety of uncouth bounces in the ante-chamber, and concluded, when poor Florence was at last asleep, and dreaming of the rosy childi'en opposite, by scratcliing open her bedroom door : rolling up his bed into a pillow : lying down on the boards, at the full length of his tether, with his head towards her : and looking lazily at her, upside down, out of the tops of his eyes, until from winking and winking he fell asleep himself, and di-eamed, with gruff barks, of his enemy. CHAPTER XIX. W ALTER GOES AWAY, The "Wooden Midshipman at the Instrament-maker's door, like the hai'd-hearted little midshipman he was, remained supremely indifferent to Walter's going away, even when the veiy last day of his sojourn in the back-parlour was on the decline. With his quadrant at his round black knob of an eye, and his figure in its old attitude of indomitable alacrity, the midshipman displayed his elfin small-clothes to the best advantage, and, absorbed in scientific pursuits, had no sympathy with worldly concerns. He was so far the creature of circumstances, that a dry day covered him with dust, and a misty day peppered him with little bits of soot, and a wet day brightened up his tarnished uniform for the moment, and a very hot day blistered him ; but otherwise he was a callous, obdurate, con- ceited midshipman, intent on his own discoveries, and caring as little for what went on about him, terrestrially, as Archimedes at the taking of Svracuse. Such a midsliipman he seemed to be, at least, in the then position of doiuestic aff'aii-s. Walter eyed him kindly many a time in passing in and out ; and poor old Sol, when Walter was not there, would come and lean against the door-post, resting his weary wig as near the shoe-buckles of the guardian genius of his trade and shop as he could. But no fierce idol with a mouth from ear to ear, and. a murderous visage made of parrot's 184 DOMBEY AND SON. feathers, was ever more indifferent to the appeals of its savage votaries, than was the midshipman to these marks of attachment. Walter's heart felt heavy as he looked round his old bed-room, up among the parapets and chimney-pots, and thought that one more night already darkening would close his acquaintance with it, perhaps for ever. Dismantled of his little stock of books and pictures, it looked coldly and reproachfully on him for his desertion, and had already a foreshadowing upon it of its coming strangeness. " A few hours more," thought Walter, " and no dream I ever had here when I was a school-boy will be so little mine as this old room. The dream may come back in my sleep, and I may return waking to this place, it may be : but the dream at least will serve no other master, and the room may have a score, and every one of them may change, neglect, misuse it." But his uncle was not to be left alone in the httle back-parlour, where he was then sitting by himself ; for Captain Cuttle, considerate in his roughness, stayed away against his wiU, purposely that they should have some talk together unobserved : so Walter, newly returned home from his last day's bustle, descended briskly, to bear him company. " Uncle," he said gady, laying his hand upon the old man's shoulder, " what shall I send you home from Barbadoes ? " " Hope, my dear WaUy. Hope that we shall meet again, on this side of the grave. Send me as much of that as you can." " So I will. Uncle : I have enough and to spare, and I 'U not be chary of it ! And as to lively turtles, and hmes for Captain Cuttle's punch, and preserves for you on Sundays, and aU that sort of thing, why I '11 send you shiploads. Uncle : when I 'm rich enough." Old Sol wiped his spectacles, and faintly smiled. " That 's right. Uncle !" cried Walter, merrily, and clapping him half a dozen times more upon the shoulder. " You cheer up me ! I 'U cheer up you ! We 'U be as gay as larks to-morrow morning. Uncle, and we '11 fly as high ! As to my anticipations, they are singing out of sight now." " WaUy, my dear boy," returned the old man, " I '11 do my best, I '11 do my best." " And your best. Uncle," said Walter, with his pleasant laugh, " is the best best that I know. You '11 not forget what you 're to send me, Uncle?" " No, WaUy, no," replied the old man ; " eveiything I hear about Miss Dombey, now that she is left alone, jjoor lamb, I '11 write. I fear it won't be much though, WaUy." " Why, I 'U tell you what. Uncle," said Walter, after a moment's hesitation," " I have just been up there." " Ay, ay, ay?" murmured the old man, raising his eyebrows, and his spectacles with them. " Not to see her" said Walter, " though I could have seen her, I dare say, if I had asked, Mr. Dombey being out of town : but to say a parting word to Susan. I thought I might venture to do that, you know, under the circumstances, and remembering when I saw Miss Dombey last." " Yes, my boy, yes," replied his uncle, rousing himself from a temporary abstraction. .'/Z ^^4 rr/y, //A 1^, ,7 y? , -.v //, //?/:''/': r//y^ . DOMBEY AND SON. 185 *' So I saw her," pursued Walter, " Susan, I mean : and I told her I was off and away to-morrow. And I said, Uncle, that you had always had an interest in IVIiss Dombey since that night when she was here, and always wished her well and happy, and always would be proud and glad to serve her in the least : I thought I might say that, you know, under the circumstances. Don't you think so?" " Yes, my boy, yes," replied his uncle, in the tone as before. " And I added," pursued "Walter, " that if she — Susan, I mean — could ever let you know, either through herself, or Mrs. Kichards, or anybody else who might be coming this way, that Miss Dombey was weU and happy, you would take it very kindly, and would write so much to me, and I should take it very kindly too. There ! Upon my word. Uncle," said Walter, " I scarcely slept all last night throxigh thinking of doing this ; and could not make up my mind when I was out, whether to do it or not ; and yet I am siu-e it is the true feeling of my heart, and I should have been quite miserable afterwards if I had not relieved it." His honest voice and manner corroborated what he said, and quite established its ingenuousness. " So if you ever see her, Uncle," said Walter, " I mean Miss Dombey now — and perhaps you may, who knows ! — teU her how much I felt for her ; how much I used to think of her when I was here ; how I spoke of her, with the tears in my eyes. Uncle, on this last night before I went away. Tell her that I said I never could forget her gentle manner, or her beautiful face, or her sweet kind disposition that was better than all. And as I didn't take them from a woman's feet, or a young lady's : only a little innocent cliild's," said Walter: " tell her, if you don't mind. Uncle, that I kept those shoes — she 'U remember how often they fell off, that night — and took them away with me as a remembrance ! " They were at that very moment going out at the door in one of Walter's trunks. A porter carrying oft' his baggage on a truck for shipment at the docks on board the Son and Heir, had got possession of them ; and wheeled them away under the very eye of the insensible IVIidshipman before their owner had weU finished speaking. Eut that ancient mariner might have been excused his insensibility to the treasure as it roUed away. For, imder his eye at the same moment, accurately within liis range of observation, coming full into the sphere of his startled and intensely wide-awake look-out, were Florence and Susan Nipper : Florence looking up into his face half timidly, and receiving the whole shock of his wooden oslins; ! More than this, they passed into the shop, and passed in at the parlour door before they were observed by anybody but the Midshipman. Ajid Walter, having his back to the door, would have known nothing of their apparition even then, but for seeing his uncle spring out of his own chair, and nearly tumble over another. " Why Uncle ! " exclaimed Walter. " What 's the matter ? " Old Solomon replied, " Miss Dombey ! " *' Is it possible !" cried Walter, looking round and starting up in his turn. "Here!" Why it was so possible and so actual, that, whUe the words were on his 186 DOMBEY AND SON. lips, Florence hurried pastliim; took Uncle Sol's snufF-coloured lappels, one in each hand; kissed him on the cheek; and turning, gave her hand to Walter with a simple truth and earnestness that was her own, and no one else's in the world ! " Going away, Walter !" said Florence. " Yes, Miss Dombey," he replied, but not so hopefully as he endeavoured : "I have a voyage before me." " And your Uncle," said Florence, looking back at Solomon. " He is sorry you are going, I am sure. Ah ! I see he is ! Dear Walter, I am very sorry too." " Goodness knows," exclaimed Miss Nipper, " there's a many we could spare instead, if numbers is a object, Mrs. Pipchin as a overseer would come cheap at her weight in gold, and if a knowledge of black slavery should be required, them Blimbers is the very people for the sitiwation." With that Miss Nipper untied her bonnet strings, and after looking vacantly for some moments into a httle black tea-pot that was set forth with the usual homely service, on the table, shook her head and a tin canister, and began unasked to make the tea. In the meantime Florence had turned again to the Instrument-maker, who was as full of admiration as surprise. " So grown ! " said old Sol, " So improved ! And yet not altered ! Just the same ! " " Indeed ! " said Florence. " Ye — yes," returned old Sol, rubbing his hands slowly, and considering the matter half aloud, as something pensive in the bright eyes looking at him arrested his attention. "Yes, that expression was in the younger face, too ! " " You remember me," said Florence with a smile, " and what a little creature I was then ?" " My dear young lady," returned the Instniment-maker, " how could I forget you, often as I have thought of you and heard of you since ! At the very moment, indeed, when you came in, Wally was talking about you to me, and leaving messages for you, and — " " Was he ?" said Florence. " Thank you, Walter ! Oh thank you, Wal- ter ! I was afraid you might be going away and hardly thinking of me ;" and again she gave him her Httle hand so freely and so faithfully that Wal- ter held it for some moments in his own, and could not bear to let it go. Yet Walter did not hold it as he might have held it once, nor did its touch awaken those old day-dreams of his boyhood that liad floated past him sometimes even lately, and confused him with their indistinct and broken shapes. The purity and innocence of her endearing manner, and its per- fect trustfulness, and the undisguised regard for him that lay so deeply seated in her constant eyes, and glowed upon her fair face throiigh the smile that shaded — for alas ! it was a smile too sad to brighten — it, were not of their romantic race. They brought back to his thoughts the early death-bed he had seen her tending, and the love the child had borne her ; and on the wings of such remembrances she seemed to rise up, far above his idle fancies, into clearer and serener air. " I — I am afraid I must call you Walter's Uncle, Sii-," said Florence to the old man, " if you'll let me." " My dear young lady," cried old Sol. " Let you ! Good gi-acious !" DOMBEY AND SON. 187 "We always knew you by that name, and talked of you," said Florence, glancing round, and sighing gently. " The nice old parlour ! Just the same ! How well I recoUect it !" Old Sol looked first at her, then at his nephew, and then rubbed his hands, and rubbed his spectacles, and said below his breath, " Ah! time, time, time! " There was a short silence ; during which Susan Nipper skilfully im- pounded two extra cups and saucers from the cupboard, and awaited the drawing of the tea with a thoughtful air. " I want to tell Walter's Uncle," said Florence, laying her hand timidly upon the old man's as it rested on the table, to bespeak his attention, " some- thing that I am anxious about. He is going to be left alone, and if he will allow me— not to take Walter's place, for that I couldn't do, but to be his true friend and help him if I ever can while Walter is away, I shall be very much obliged to him indeed. Will you ? May I, Walter's Uncle ?" The Instrument -maker, without speaking, put her hand to his lips, and Susan Nipper, leaning back with her arms crossed, in the chair of presidency into which she had voted herself, bit one end of her bonnet strings, and heaved a gentle sigh as she looked up at the skylight. "You will let me come to see you," said Florence, "when I can ; and you will tell me everything about yourself and Walter ; and you will have no secrets from Susan when she comes and I do not, but wiW. confide in us, and trust us, and rely upon us. And you '11 try to let us be a comfort to you ? WiU you, Walter's Uncle ?" The sweet face looking into his, the gently pleading eyes, the soft voice, and the light touch on his arm made the more winning by a child's respect and honour for his age, that gave to all an air of graceful doubt and modest hesitation — these, and her natural earnestness, so overcame the poor old Instrument-maker, that he only answered : " Wally ! say a word for me, my dear. I 'm very grateful." "No, Walter," returned Florence Avith her quiet smile. " Say nothing for him, if you please. I understand him very well, and we must learn to talk together without you, dear Walter." The regi-etfid tone in which she said these latter words, touched Walter more than aU the rest. "Miss Florence," he replied, with an effort to recover the cheerful manner he had preserved while talking with his uncle, " I know no more than my uncle, what to say in acknowledgment of such kindness, I am sure. But what could I say, after all, if I had the power of talking for an hour, except that it is like you !" Susan Nipper began upon a new part of her bonnet string, and nodded at the skylight, in approval of the sentiment expressed. " Oh ! but Walter," said Florence, "there is something that I wish to say to you before you go away, and you must call me Florence if you please, and not speak like a stranger." " Like a stranger ! " returned Walter. " No. I couldn't speak so. I am sure, at least, I couldn't feel like one." " Aye, but that is not enough, and is not what I mean. For Walter," added Florence, burstmg into tears, " he liked you very much, and said before he died that he was fond of you, and said ' Eemember Walter !' and 188 DOMBEY AND SON. if you '11 be a brother to me Walter, now tliat he is gone and I have none on earth, I '11 be your sister aU my life, and think of you like one wherever we may be ! This is what I wished to say, dear Walter, but I cannot say it as I would, because my heart is full." And in its fulness and its sweet simplicity, she held out both her hands to him. Walter taking them, stooped down and touched the tearful face that neither shrunk nor turned away, nor reddened as he did so, but looked up at him Avith confidence and truth. In that one moment, every shadow of doubt or agitation passed away from Walter's soul. It seemed to him that he responded to her innocent appeal, beside the dead child's bed : and, in the solemn presence he had seen there, pledged himself to cherish and protect her very image, in his banishment, with brotherly regard ; to garner up her simple faith, inviolate ; and hold himself degraded if he breathed upon it any thought that was not in her own breast when she gave it to him. Susan Nipper, who had bitten both her bonnet strings at once, and im- parted a great dea^l of private emotion to the skylight, dm'ing this transac- tion, now changed the subject by inquiring who took milk and who took sugar ; and being enlightened on these points, poured out the tea. They all four gathered socially about the little table, and took tea under that young lady's active superintendence ; and the presence of Florence in the back parlour, brightened the Tartar frigate on the wall. Half an hour ago Walter, for his Life, would have hardly called her by her name. But he could do so now when she entreated him. He could think of her being there, without a lurking misgiving that it would have been better if she had not come. He could calmly think how beautiful she was, how full of promise, what a home some happy man would find in such a heart one day. He could reflect upon his own place in that heart, with pride ; and with a brave determination, if not to deserve it — he stdl thought that far above him — never to deserve it less. Some fairy influence must surely have hovered round the hands of Susan Nipper when she made the tea, engendering the tranquil air that reigned in the back parlour during its discussion. Some counter-influence must surely have hovered round the hands of Uncle Sol's chronometer, and moved them faster than the Tartar frigate ever went before the wind. Be this as it may, the visitors had a coach in waiting at a quiet corner not far ofi" ; and the chronometer, on being incidentally referred to, gave such a positive opinion that it had been waiting a long time, that it was impos- sible to doubt the fact : especially when stated on such unimpeachable authority. If Uncle Sol had been going to be hanged by his own time, he never would have allowed that the chronometer was too fast, by the least fraction of a second. Florence at parting recapitulated to the old man aU that she had said before, and bound him to their compact. Uncle Sol attended her lovingly to the legs of the Wooden Midshipman, and there resigned her to Walter, who was ready to escort her and Susan Nipper to the coach. " Walter," said Florence by the way, " I have been afraid to ask, before your uncle. Do you think you wiU be absent very long ? " " Indeed," said Walter, " I don't know. I fear so, Mr. Dombey signified as much, I thought, when he appointed me." DOMBEY AND SON. 189 " Is it a favour, Walter ? " inquired Florence, after a moment's hesita- tion, and looking anxiously in liis face. " The appointment ? " returned Walter. "Yes." Walter would have given anything to have answered in the affirmative, but his face answered before his lips could, and Florence was too attentive to it not to understand its reply. " I am afraid you have scarcely been a favouiite with Papa," she said, timidly. " There is no reason," replied Walter, smiling, " why I should be." [ " No reason, Walter !" " There was no reason," said Walter, understanding what she meant. " There are many people employed in the house. Between Mr. Dombey and a young man like me, there 's a wide space of separation. If I do my duty, I do what I ought, and do no more than all the rest." Had Florence any misgiving of which she was hardly conscious : any misgiving that had sprimg into an indistinct and undefined existence since that recent night when she had gone down to her father's room : that Walter's accidental interest in her, and early knowledge of her, might have involved him in that powerful displeasm-e and dislike ? Had Walter any such idea, or any sudden thought that it was in her mind at that moment? Neither of them hinted at it. Neither of them spoke at all, for some short time. Susan, walking on the other side of Walter, eyed them both sharply; and certainly Miss Nipper's thoughts travelled in that dii-ection, and very confidently too. " You may come back very soon," said Florence, " perhaps, Walter." " I TtMi/ come back," said Walter, " an old man, and find you an old lady. But I hope for better things." " Papa," said Florence, after a moment, " will — mH recover from his grief, and — and speak more freely to me one day, perhaps ; and if he should, I will teU him how much I wish to see you back again, and ask him to recall you for my sake." There was a touching modulation in these \«-ord3 about her father that Walter understood too well. The coach being close at hand, he would have left her without speaking, for now he felt what parting was ; but Florence held his hand when she was seated, and then he found there was a little packet in her own. " Walter," she said, looking fuU upon him with her affectionate eyes, " like you, I hope for better things. I wiU pray for them, and believe that they will arrive. I made this little gift for Paul. Pray take it with my love, and do not look at it until you are gone away. And now, God bless you, Walter ! never forget me. You are my brother, dear ! " He was glad that Susan Nipper came between them, or he might have left her with a sorrowful remembrance of him. He was glad too that she did not look out of the coach again, but waved the httle hand to him instead, as long as he could see it. In spite of her request, he could not help opening the packet that night when he went to bed. It was a little purse : and there was money in it. 190 DOMBEY AND SON. . Bright rose the sun next morning, from his absence in strange countries, and up rose Walter with it to receive the Captain, who was akeady at the door : having turned out earlier than was necessary, in order to get under weigh while JVIrs. Mac Stinger was yet slumbering. The Captain pretended to be in tip-top spirits, and brought a very smoky tongue in one of the pockets of the broad blue coat for breakfast. " And Wal'r," said the Captain, when they took their seats at table, " if your uncle 's the man I think him, he '11 bring out the last bottle of the Madeira on the present occasion." " No, no, Ned," returned the old man. " No ! That shall be opened when Walter comes home again." " Well said ! " cried the Captain. " Hear him ! " " There it lies," said Sol Gills, " down in the little cellar, covered with dirt and cobwebs. There may be dirt and cobwebs over you and me perhaps, Ned, before it sees the light." " Hear him ! " cried the Captain. " Good morality ! Wal'r my lad. Train up a fig-tree in the way it should go, and when you are old sit under the shade on it. Overhaul the — Well," said the Captain on second thoughts, " I an't quite certain where that 's to be found ; but when found, make a note of. Sol GiUs, heave a-head again ! " " But there, or somewhere, it shall he, Ned, until Wally comes back to claim it," said the old man. " That 's all I meant to say." " And well said too," returned the Captain ; " and if we three don't crack that there bottle in company, I 'U give you two leave to drink my allowance ! " Notwithstanding the Captain's excessive joviality, he made but a poor hand at the smoky tongue, though he tried very hard, when anybody looked at him, to appear as if he were eating with a vast appetite. He was terri- bly afraid, likewise, of being left alone with either uncle or nephew; appear- ing to consider that his only chance of safety as to keeping up appearances, was in their being always three together. This terror on the part of the Captain, reduced him to such ingenious evasions as running to the door, when Solomon went to put his coat on, under pretence of having seen an extraordinary hackney-coach pass : and darting out into the road when Walter went up-stau's to take leave of the lodgers, on a feint of smelling fire in a neighbouring chimney. These artifices Captain Cuttle deemed inscrutable by any uninsphed observer. Walter was coming down from his parting expedition up-stairs, and was crossing the shop to go back to the Httle parlour, when he saw a faded face he knew, looking in at the door, and darted towards it. " Mr. Carker ! " cried Walter, pressing the hand of John Carker the Junior. " Pray come in ! This is kind of you, to be here so early to say good bye to me. You knew how glad it would make me to shake hands with you, once, before going away. I cannot say how glad I am to have this opportunity. Pray come in." " It is not likely that we may ever meet again, Walter," returned the other, gently resisting liis invitation, " and I am glad of this opportunity too. I may ventm'e to speak to you, and to take you by the hand, on the eve of separation. I shall not have to resist your frank approaclies, Walter, any more." DOMBEY AND SON. 191 Tliere was a melancholy in liis smile as he said it, that showed he had found some company and friendship for his thoughts even in that. " Ah, Mr. Carker ! " returned Walter. " Why did you resist them ? You could have done me nothing but good, I am very sm'e." He shook his head. " If there were any good," he said, " I could do on tliis earth, I would do it, Walter, for you. The sight of you from day to day, has been at once happiness and remorse to me. But the pleasure has outweighed the pain. I know that, now, by knowing what I lose." " Come in, Mr. Carker, and make acquaintance with my good old uncle," urged Walter. " I have often talked to him about you, and he will be glad to tell you all he hears from me. I have not," said Walter, noticing his hesitation, and speaking with embarrassment himself: " I have not told him anything about our last conversation, Mr. Carker ; not even him, believe me." The gi'ey Junior pressed his hand, and tears rose in his eyes. " If I ever make acquaintance with him, Walter," he retm*ned, "it wiU be that I may hear tidings of you. Eely on my not wronging your for- bearance and consideration. It would be to wrong it, not to tell Ixim all the truth, before I sought a word of confidence from him. But I have no friend or acquaintance except you : and even for your sake, am little Ukely to make any." " I wish," said Walter, " you had suffered me to be your friend indeed. I always wished it, Mr. Carker, as you know ; but never half so much as now, when we are going to part." " It is enough," replied the other, " that you have been the friend of my own breast, and that when I have avoided you most, my heart inchned the most towards you, and was fullest of you. Walter, good bye ! " " Good bye, Mr. Carker. Heaven be with you, sir ! " cried Walter, with emotion. " If," said the other, retaining his hand while he spoke ; " if when you come back, you miss me from my old corner, and should hear from any one where I am lying, come and look upon my grave. Think that I might have been as honest and as happy as you ! And let me tliink, when I know my time is coming on, that some one like my former self may stand there, for a moment, and remember me with pity and forgiveness ! Walter, good bye ! " His figure crept Uke a shadow down the bright, sun-lighted street, so cheerful yet so solemn in the early summer morning; and slowly passed away. The relentless chronometer at last announced that Walter must turn his back upon the Wooden Midsliipman : and away they went, himself, his uncle, and the Captain, in a hackney-coach to a wharf, where they were to take steam-boat for some Keach down the river, the name of which, as the captain gave it out, was a hopeless mystery to the ears of landsmen. Arrived at this Keach (whither the ship had repaired by last night's tide), they were boai-ded by various excited watermen, and among others by a dirty Cyclops of the captain's acquaintance, who, with his one eye, had made the captain out some mile and a half off, and had been exchanging unintelligible roars with him ever since. Becoming the lawful prize of this personage, who was frightfully hoarse and constitutionally in 192 DOMBEY AND SON. want of shaving, fhey were all tlu'ee put aboard the Son and Heir. And the Son and Heir was in a pretty state of confusion, with sails lying all bedraggled on the wet decks, loose ropes tripping people up, men in red shirts running barefoot to and fro, casks blockading every foot of space, and, in the tliickest of the fray, a black cook in a black caboose up to his eyes in vegetables and blinded with smoke. The Captain immediately drew Walter into a corner, and with a great effort, that made his face very red, pulled up the silver watch, which was so big, and so tight in his pocket, that it came out like a bung. " Wal'r," said the Captain, handing it over, and shaking him heartily by the hand, " a parting gift, my lad. Put it back half an hour every morn- ing, and about another quarter towards the arternoon, and it's a watch that '11 do you credit." " Captain Cuttle ! I couldn't think of it !" cried Walter, detaining him, for he was running away. " Pray take it back. I have one already." " Then Wal'r," said the Captain, suddenly diving into one of his pockets and bringing up the two tea-spoons and the sugar-tongs, with which he had armed himself to meet such an objection, " Take this here trifle of plate, instead." " No, no, I couldn't indeed!" cried Walter, " a thousand thanks! Don't tlu'OAv them away. Captain Cuttle !" for the Captain was about to jerk them overboard. " They'll be of much more use to you than me. Give me your stick. I have often thought that I should like to have it. There ! Good bye. Captain Cuttle ! Take care of my uncle ! Uncle Sol, God bless you !" They were over the side in the confusion, before Walter caught another glimpse of either ; and when he ran up to the stern, and looked after them, he saw his uncle hanging down his head in the boat, and Captain Cuttle rapping him on the back with the great sUver watch (it must have been very painful), and gesticulating hopefully with the tea-spoons and sugar- tongs. Catching sight of Walter, Captain Cuttle dropped the property into the bottom of the boat with perfect unconcern, being evidently oblivious of its existence, and pulling off the glazed hat hailed him lustily. The glazed hat made quite a show in the sun with its gHstening, and the Captain continued to wave it until he could be seen no longer. Then the confusion on board, which had been rapidly increasing, reached its height ; two or three other boats went away with a cheer ; the sails shone bright and fuU above, as Walter watched them spread their smface to the favourable breeze ; the water flew in sparkles from the prow ; and off upon her voyage went the Son and Heir, as hopefully and trippingly as many another son and heii-, gone down, had started on his way before her. Day after day, old Sol and Captain Cuttle kept her reckoning in the little back parlour and worked out her com-se, with the chart spread before them on the round table. At night, when old Sol climbed up-stairs, so lonely, to the attic where it sometimes blew great gims, he looked up at the stars and listened to the wind, and kept a longer Avatch than woidd have fallen to his lot on board the ship. The last bottle of the old Madeira, which had had its cruising days, and known its dangers of the deep, lay silently beneath its dust and cobwebs, in the meanwliile, undisturbed. DOMBEY AND SON, 193 CHAPTER XX. MR. DOMBEY GOES UPON A JOURNEY. " Mr. Dombey, Sir," said Major Bagstock, " Joey B. is not in general :a man of sentiment, for Joseph is tough. But Joe has his feelings. Sir, and when they are awakened — Damme Mr. Dombey," cried the Major with sudden ferocity, "this is weakness, and I won't submit to it !" Major Bagstock delivered himself of these expressions on receiving Mr. Dombey as his guest at the head of his own staircase in Princess's Place. Mr. Dombey had come to breakfast with the Major, previous to their setting forth on their trip ; and the ill-starred Native had akeady under- gone a world of misery arising out of the muffins, while, in connexion with the general question of boiled eggs, life was a burden to him. " It is not for an old soldier of the Bagstock breed," observed the Major, relapsing into a mild state, " to deliver himself up, a prey to his own emotions; but — damme Sir," cried the Major, in another spasm of ferocity, " I condole with you ! " The Major's purple visage deepened in its hue, and the Major's lobster «yes stood out in bolder relief, as he shook Mr. Dombey by the hand, im- pai-ting to that peaceful action as defiant a character as if it had been the prelude to his immediately boxing Mr. Dombey for a thousand pounds a side and the championship of England. With a rotatory motion of his head, and a wheeze very like the cough of a horse, the Major then con- ducted his visitor to the sitting-room, and there welcomed him (having now composed his feelings) with the freedom and frankness of a travelling companion. " Dombey," said the Major, " I 'm glad to see you. I 'm proud to see you. There are not many men in Em-ope to whom J. Bagstock would say that — for Josh is blunt, Sir : it 's his nature — but Joey B. is proud to see you, Dombey." " Major," retvirned Mr. Dombey, " you are very obliging." •" No, Sir," said the Major, " Devil a bit ! That 's not my character. If that had been Joe's character, Joe might have been, by this time, Lieutenant- General Sir Joseph Bagstock, K.C.B., and might have received you in very different quarters. You don't know old Joe yet, I find. But this occasion, being special, is a source of pride to me. By the Lord, Sir," said the Major resolutely, " it 's an honour to me !" Mr. Dombey, in his estimation of himself and his money, felt that this was very true, and therefore did not dispute the point. But the instinctive recognition of such a truth by the Major, and his plain avowal ■of it, were very agi-eeable. It was a confirmation to Mi'. Dombey, if he had required any, of his not being mistaken in the Major. It was an assurance to him that his power extended beyond his own immediate sphere ; and that the Major as an officer and a gentleman, had a no less becoming sense of it, than the beadle of the Eoyal Exchange. o 194 DOMBEY AND SON. And if it were ever consolatory to know this, or the like of this, it was consolatory then, when the impotence of his will, the instability of his hopes, the feebleness of wealth, had been so direfully impressed upon him. What conld it do, his boy had asked him. Sometimes, thinking of the baby question, he could hardly forbear inquiring, himself, what could it do indeed : what had it done ? But these were lonely thoughts, bred late at night in the sullen despon- dency and gloom of his retirement, and pride easily found its re-assurance in many testimonies to the truth, as unimpeachable and precious as the Major's. Mr. Dombey, in his friendlessness, inclined to the Major. It cannot be said that he warmed towards him, but he thawed a little. The Major had had some part — and not too much — in the days by the seaside. He was a man of the world, and knew some gi-eat people. He talked much, and told stories; and Mr. Dombey was disposed to regard him as a choice spirit who shone in society, and who had not that poisonous ingre- dient of poverty Avith which choice spirits in general are too much adul- terated. His station was undeniable. Altogether the Major was a credit- able companion, weU accustomed to a life of leisure, and to such places as that they were about to visit, and having an air of gentlemanly ease about him that mixed well enough with his own city character, and did not compete with it at all. If Mr. Dombey had any lingering idea that the Major, as a man accustomed, in the way of his calling, to make light of the ruthless hand that had lately crushed his hopes, might unconsciously impart some useful philosophy to him, and scare away his weak regrets, he hid it from himself, and left it lying at the bottom of his pride, unexamined. " Where is my scoundrel !" said the Major, looking wrathfully round the room. The Native, who had no particular name, but answered to any vitu- perative epithet, presented liimself instantly at the door and ventured to come no nearer. " You viUain !" said the choleric Major, " where 's the breakfast ?" The dark servant disappeared in search of it, and was quickly heard reascending the stairs in such a tremulous state, that the plates and dishes on the tray he carried, trembhng sympathetically as he came, rattled again, all the way up. " Dombey," said the Major, glancmg at the Native as he arranged the table, and encoui-aging him with an awful shake of his fist when he upset a spoon, " here is a devilled grill, a savomy pie, a dish of kidneys, and so forth. Pray sit down. Old Joe can give you nothing but camp fare, you see." " Very excellent fare. Major," replied his guest; and not in mere politeness either ; for the Major always took the best possible care of himself, and indeed ate rather more of rich meats than was good for him, insomuch that his Imperial complexion was mainly referred by the faculty to that circumstance. " You have been looking over the way Sir," observed the Major. " Have you seen our friend ?" " You mean Miss Tox," retorted Mi-. Dombey. " No." " Charming woman, Sir," said the Major, with a fat laugh rising in his short throat, and nearly suffocating him. DOMBEY AND SON. 195 te Miss Tox is a very good sort of person, I believe," replied ^Mr. Dombey. The haughty coldness of the reply seemed to afford Major Bagstock infinite dehght. He swelled and swelled, exceedingly : and even laid down his knife and fork for a moment, to rub his liands. " Old Joe, Sir," said the Major, " was a bit of a favourite in that quarter once. But Joe has had his day. J. Bagstock is extinguished — outrivalled — floored, Sir. I tell you what, Dombey." The Major paused in his eating, and looked mysteriously indignant. " That's a de-vilish ambitious woman, Sir." Mr. Dombey said " Indeed !" with frigid indifference : mingled perhaps with some contemptuous incredulity as to Miss Tox having the pre- sumption to harbour such a superior quality. " That woman. Sir," said the Major, " is, in her way, a Lucifer. Joey B. has had his day Sir, but he keeps his eyes. He sees, does Joe. His Koyal Highness the late Duke of York observed of Joey, at a levee, that he saw." The Major accompanied this with such a look, and, between eating, drinking, hot tea, devilled grill, muffins, and meaning, was altogether so sw^oUen and infiamed about the head, that even Mr. Dombey showed some anxiety for him. " That ridiculous old spectacle, Sir," pursued the Major, " aspires. She aspires sky-high, Sir. Matrimonially, Dombey." " I am sorry for her," said Mr. Dombey. "Don't say that, Dombey," returned the Major in a warning voice. "Why should I not. Major ?" said Mr. Dombey. The Major gave no answer but the horse's cough, and went on eating vigorously. " She has taken an interest in your household," said the Major, stop- ping short again, "and been a frequent visitor at your house for some time now." " Yes," replied IVIr. Dombey with great stateliness, " Miss Tox was originally received there, at the time of Mrs. Dombey's death, as a friend of my sister's; and being a well-behaved person, and showing a liking for the poor infant, she was permitted — I may say encouraged — to repeat her visits with my sister, and gradually to occupy a kind of footing of famili- arity in the family. I have," said Mr. Dombey, in the tone of a man who was making a great and valuable concession, " I have a respect for Miss Tox. She has been so obliging as to render many little services in my house : trifling and insignificant services perhaps. Major, but not to be disparaged on that account : and I hope I have had the good fortune to be enabled to acknowledge them by such attentioa a. id notice as it has been in my power to bestow. I hold myself indebted to Miss Tox, Major," added Mr. Dombey, with a slight wave of his hand, " for the pleasiu-e of your acquaintance." "])ombey," said the Major warmly; " no ! No, Sir! Joseph Bagstock can never permit that assertion to pass uncontradicted. Your knowledge of old Joe, Sir, such as he is, and old Joe's knowledge of you. Sir, had its origin in a noble fellow. Sir — in a great creature. Sir. Dombey !" said the Major, with a struggle which it was not very difficult to parade, his whole life o2 19& DOMBEY AND SON. being a struggle against all kinds of apoplectic symptoms, "we knew eacli other through your boy." Mr. Dombey seemed touched, as it is not improbable the Major designed he should be, by this allusion. He looked down and sighed : and the Major, rousing himself fiercely, again said, in reference to the state of mind into which he felt himself in danger of falling, that this was weakness, and nothing should induce him to submit to it. " Our friend had a remote connexion with that event," said the Major, " and all the credit that belongs to her, J. B. is wilhng to give her. Sir. Notwithstanding which. Ma'am," he added, raising his eyes from his plate, and casting them across Princess's Place, to where Miss Tox was at that moment visible at her window watering her flowers, " you 're a scheming jade. Ma'am, and your ambition is a piece of monstrous impudence. If it only made yourself ridiculous, Ma'am," said the Major, rolling his head at the unconscious Miss Tox, while his starting eyes appeared to make a leap towards her, "you might do that to yom- heart's content. Ma'am, without any objection, I assure you, on the part of Bagstock." Here the Major laughed frightfully up in the tips of his ears and in the veins of his head. " But when. Ma'am," said the Major, "you compromise other people, and generous, unsuspicious people too, as a repayment for their condescension, you stir the blood of old Joe in his body." " Major," said Mr. Dombey, reddening, " I hope you do not hint at anything so absurd on the part of Miss Tox as — " " Dombey," returned the Major, "I hint at nothing. But Joey B. has lived in the world. Sir : lived in the world Avith his eyes open, Sir, and his ears cocked : and Joe tells you, Dombey, that there 's a de-viUsh artful and ambitious woman over the way." Mr. Dombey involuntarily glanced over the way ; and an angry glance he sent in that direction, too. " That 's all on such a subject that shall pass the lips of Joseph Bag- stock," said the Major firmly. " Joe is not a tale-bearer, but there are times when he must speak, when he will speak ! — confound your arts, Ma'am," cried the Major, again apostrophising his fair neighbour, with great ire " — when the provocation is too strong to admit of his remain- ing silent." The emotion of this outbreak threw the Major into a paroxysm of horse's coughs, which held him for a long time. On recovering he added : " And now, Dombey, as you have invited Joe — old Joe, who has no other merit. Sir, but that he is tough and hearty — to be your gniest and guide at Leamington, command him in any way you please, and he is wholly yours. I don't know. Sir," said the Major, wagging his double chin with a jocose air, " what it is you people see in Joe to make you hold him in such great request, all of you ; but this I know, Sir, that if he wasn't pretty tough, and obstinate in his refusals, you'd kill him among you with your invitations and so forth, in double quick time." Mr. Dombey, in a few words, expressed his sense of the preference he received over those other distinguished members of society who were clamom-ing for the possession of Major Bagstock. But the Major cut him short by giving him to understand that he followed his own inclina- tions, and that they had risen up in a body and said with one accord, " J. B., Dombey is the man for you to choose as a friend." DOMBEY AND SON. 197 Tlie Major being by tliis time in a state of repletion, with essence of savoury pie oozing out at the corners of his eyes, and devilled grill and kidneys tightening his cravat : and the time moreover approaching for the departure of the railway train to Birmingham, by which they were to leave town : the Native got him into liis great coat with immense difficulty, and buttoned him up until his face looked staring and gasping, over the top of that garment, as if he were in a bai-rel. The Native then handed him separately, and with a decent interval between each supply, his wash- leather gloves, his thick stick, and his hat ; which latter article the Major wore with a rakish air on one side of his head, by way of toning down his remarkable visage. The Native had previously packed, in all possible and impossible parts of Mr. Dombey's chariot, which was in waiting, an unusual quantity of carpet-bags and small portmanteaus, no less apopletic in appearance than the Major himself: and having filled his own pockets with Seltzer water. East India sherry, sandwiches, shawls, telescopes, maps, and newspapers, any or aU of which Ught baggage the Major might require at any instant of the journey, he announced that everything was ready. To complete the equipment of this unfortunate foreigner (cur- rently believed to be a prince in his own country), when he took his seat in the rumble by the side of Mr. Towlinson, a pile of the Major's cloaks and great-coats was hurled upon him by the landlord, who aimed at him from the pavement with those great missiles like a Titan, and so covered him up, that he proceeded, in a living tomb, to the railroad station. But before the carriage moved away, and while the Native was in the act of sepulture, Miss Tox appearing at her window, waved a lily-white handkerchief. Mr. Dombey received this parting salutation very coldly — very coldly even for him — and honouring her with the slightest possible inclination of his head, leaned back in the caiTiage with a very dis- contented look. His marked behaviour seemed to afford the Major (who was all politeness in his recognition of Miss Tox) unbounded satisfaction ; and he sat for a long time afterwards, leering, and choking, like an over- fed Mephistopheles. During the bustle of preparation at the railway, Mr. Dombey and the Major walked up and down the platform side by side ; the former taciturn and gloomy, and the latter entertaining him, or entertaining himself, with a variety of anecdotes and reminiscences, in most of which Joe Bagstock was the principal performer. Neither of the two observed that in the course of these walks, they attracted the attention of a working man who Avas standing near the engine, and who touched his hat every time they passed; for Mr. Dombey habitually looked over the vulgar herd, not at them ; and the Major was looking, at the time, into the core of one of his stories. At length, however, this man stepped before them as they turned round, and pulling his hat off, and keeping it off, ducked his head to Mr. Dombey. "Beg your pardon. Sir," said the man, "but I hope you're a doin' pretty well. Sir." He was dressed in a canvass suit abundantly besmeared with coal-dust and oil, and had cinders in his whiskers, and a smell of half-slaked ashes all over him. He was not a bad-looking fellow, nor even what could be faMy called a dirty-looking fellow, in spite of this ; and, in short, he was Mr. Toodle, professionally clothed. 198 DOMBEY AND SON. (( I shall have the honour of stokin' of you down, Sir," said Mr. Toodle. "Beg your pardon, Sir. I hope you find yourself a coming round ? " Mr. Dombey looked at him, in return for his tone of interest, as if a man like that would make his very eyesight dirty. " 'Souse the liberty, Sir," said Toodle, seeing he was not clearly remem- bered, " but my wife Polly, as was called Eichards in your family — " A change in Mr. Dombey's face, which seemed to express recollection of him, and so it did, but it expressed in a much stronger degree an angry sense of humiliation, stopped Mr. Toodle short. " Your wife wants money, I suppose," said Mr. Dombey, putting his hand in his pocket, and speaking (but that he always did) haughtily. " No thank'ee, Sir," returned Toodle, " I can't say she does. / don't." Mr. Dombey was stopped short now in his turn : and awkwardly : with his hand in his pocket. " No Sir," said Toodle, turning his oilskin cap round and round ; " we're a doin' pretty well Sir; we haven't no cause to complain in the worldly way Sii-. We've had four more since then Sir, but we rubs on," Mr. Dombey woidd have rubbed on to his own carriage, though in so doing he had rubbed the stoker underneath the wheels ; but his attention was arrested by something in connection with the cap still going slowdy round and round in the man's hand " We lost one babby," observed Toodle, " there 's no denyin'." " Lately," added Mr. Dombey, looking at the cap. " No Sir, up'ard of three years ago, but all the rest is hearty. And in the matter o' readin' Sir," said Toodle, ducking again, as if to remind Mr. Dombey of what had passed between them on that subject long ago, " them boys o' mine, they learned me, among 'em, arter aU. They 've made a wery tolerable scholar of me Sii", them boys." " Come, Major ! " said Mr. Dombey. " Beg your pardon Sir," resumed Toodle, taking a step before them and deferentially stopping them again, still cap in hand : " I wouldn't have troubled you wdth such a pint except as a way of gettin' in the name of my son Biler— christened Eobin— him as you was so good as make a Charitable Grinder on." " Well, man," said Mi-. Dombey in his severest manner. " What about him ? " " Why Sir," returned Toodle, shaking his head with a face of great anxiety and distress. " I 'm forced to say Sir, that he 's gone wrong." " He has gone wrong, has he ? " said Mr. Dombey, with a hard kind of satisfaction. " He has fell into bad company, you see, genelmen," pursued the father looking wistfully at both, and evidently taking the Major into the conver- sation with the hope of having his sympathy. " He has got into bad ways. God send he may come to again, genelmen, but he's on the wrong track now ! You could hardly be off hearing of it somehow. Sir," said Toodle, again addi-essing Mr. Dombey individually ; " and it 's better I should out and say my boy 's gone rather w^rong. Polly 's dreadful do^vn about it, genelmen," said Toodle mth the same dejected look, and another appeal to the ilajor. DOMBEY AND SON. ' 199 " A son of this man's whom I caused to be educated, Major," said j\Ir. Dombey, giving him his aim. " The usual return ! " " Take advice from plain old Joe, and never educate that sort of people, Sir," returned the Major. " Damme Sir, it never does ! It always fails !" The simple father was beginning to submit that he hoped his son, the quondam Grinder, huffed and cuffed, and flogged and badged, and taught, as parrots are, by a brute jobbed into his place of schoolmaster with as much fitness for it as a hound, might not have been educated on quite a right plan in some undiscovered respect, when Mr. Dombey angrily repeat- ing " The usual return ! " led the Major away. And the Major being heavy to hoist into Mr. Dombey's carriage, elevated in mid-air, and having to stop and swear that he would flay the Native alive, and break every bone in his skin, and visit other physical torments upon him, every time he couldn't get his foot on the step, and fell back on that dark exile, had barely time before they started to repeat hoarsely that it would never do : that it always failed : and that if he were to educate ' his own vaga- bond,' he would certainly be hanged. Mr. Dombey assented bitterly ; but there was something more in his bitterness, and in his moody way of falling back in the carriage, and looking with knitted brows at the changing objects without, than the failure of that noble educational system administered by the Grinders' Company. He had seen upon the man's rough cap a piece of new crape, and he had assured himself, from his manner and his answers, that he wore it for his son. So ! from high to low, at home or abroad, from Florence in his great house to the coarse churl who was feeding the fire then smoking before them, every one set up some claim or other to a share in his dead boy, and was a bidder against him ! Could he ever forget how that woman had wept over his pillow, and called him her own child ! or how he, waking from his sleep, had asked for her, and had raised himself in his bed and brightened when she came in ! To think of this presumptuous raker among coals and ashes going on- before there, with his sign of mourning ! To think that he dared to enter, even by a common show like that, into the trial and disappointment of » proud gentleman's secret heart ! To think that this lost child, who was to have divided with him his riches, and his projects, and his power, and allied with whom he was to have shut out all the world as with a double door of gold, should have let in such a herd to insult him with their know- L'dge of his defeated hopes, and their boasts of claiming community of feeling with himself, so far removed: if not of having crept into the place wherein he would have lorded it, alone ! He found no pleasm-e or relief in the journey. Tortured by these thoughts he carried monotony with him, through the rushing landscape, and hurried headlong, not through a rich and-varied country, but a wilder- ness of blighted plans and gnawing jealousies. The very speed at which the train was whirled along, mocked the swift course of the young life that had been borne away so steadily and so inexorably to its fore-doomed end. The power that forced itself upon its iron way — its own — defiant of all paths and roads, piercing through the heart of every obstacle, and dragging living creatures of all classes, ages, and degi-ees beliind it, was a type of the triumphant monster. Death. 200 ■ DOMBEl AND SON. Away, with a sliriek, and a roar, and a rattle, from the town, burrowing among the dweUings of men and making the streets hum, flashing out into the meadows for a moment, mining in through the damp earth, booming on in darkness and heavy air, bursting out again into the sunny day so bright and wide; away, with a shriek, and a roar, and a rattle, through the fields, through the woods, through the corn, through the hay, through the chalk, through the moidd, through the clay, through the rock, among, objects close at hand and almost in the grasp, ever flying from the traveller, and a deceitful distance ever moving slowlv with him : like as in the track of the remorseless monster. Death ! Through the hoUow, on the height, by the heath, by the orchard, by the- park, by the garden, over the canal, across the river, where the sheep are feeding, where the miU is going, where the barge is floating, where the dead are lying, where the factory is smoking, where the stream is running,, where the -village clusters, where the great cathedral rises, where the bleak moor lies, and the wild breeze smooths or ruffles it at its inconstant wiU ;, away, with a sluiek, and a roar, and a rattle, and no trace to leave behind but dust and vapour: like as in the track of the remorseless monster. Death! Breasting the wind and light, the shower and sunshine, away, and still away, it rolls and roars, fierce and rapid, smooth and certain, and greai works and massive bridges crossing up above, fall like a beam of shadow an inch broad, upon the eye, and then are lost. Away, and still away, onward and onward ever : glimpses of cottage-homes, of houses, mansions^ rich estates, of husbandry and handicraft, of people, of old roads and paths, that look deserted, small, and insignificant as they are left behind : and so they do, and what else is there but such glimpses, in the track of the indomitable monster. Death ! Away, with a shriek, and a roar, and a rattle, plunging down into the earth again, and working on in such a storm of energy and perseverance, that amidst the darkness and whirlwind the motion seems reversed, and to tend furiously backward, until a ray of light upon the wet wall shows its surface flying past Hke a fierce stream. Away once more into the day, and through the day, with a shriU yell of exultation, roaring, rattling, tearing on, spurning everything with its dark breath, sometimes pausing for a minute where a crowd of faces are, that in a minute more are not : sometimes- lapping water greedily, and before the spout at which it drinks has ceased to drip upon the ground, shrieking, roaring, rattling through the purple distance ! Louder and louder yet, it shrieks and cries as it comes tearing on resistless to the goal : and now its way, still like the way of Death, is strewn with ashes thickly. Everything around is blackened. There are dark pools of water, muddy lanes, and miserable habitations far below. There are jagged walls and falling houses close at hand, and through the battered roofs and broken windows, w^-etched rooms are seen, where want and fever hide themselves in many wretched shapes, while smoke, and crowded gables, and distorted chimneys, and deformity of brick and mortar penn- ing up deformity of mind and body, choke the murky distance. As Mr. Dombey looks out of his carriage window, it is never in his thoughts that the monster who has brought him there has let the light of day in on these things : not made or caused them. It was the jom-ney's fitting end, and might have been the end of everything ; it was so ruinous and (keary. DOMBEY AND SON. 201 So, pursuing the one course of tliouglit, he had the one relentless mon- ster still before him. All things looked black, and cold, and deadly upon him, and he on them. He found a likeness to his misfortune everywhere. There was a remorseless triumph going on about him, and it galled and stung him in his pride and jealousy, whatever form it took : though most of all when it divided with liim the love and memory of his lost boy. There was a face — he had looked upon it, on the previous night, and it on him with eyes that read his soul, though they were dim with tears, and hidden soon behind two quivering hands — that often had attended him in fancy, on this ride. He had seen it, with the expression of last night, timidly pleading to him. It was not reproachful, but there was some- thing of doubt, almost of hopeful incredulity in it, which, as he once more saAV that fade away into a desolate certainty of his dishke, was like reproach. It was a trouble to him to think of this face of Florence. Because he felt any new compunction towards it? No. Because the feeling it awakened in him — of which he had had some old fore- shadowing in older times — was full-formed now, and spoke out plainly, moving him too much, and threatening to grow too strong for his compo- sure. Because the face was abroad, in the expression of defeat and perse- cution that seemed to encircle him like the air. Because it barbed the arrow of that cruel and remorseless enemy on which his thoughts so ran, and put into its grasp a double-handed sword. Because he knew fuU well, in his own breast, as he stood there, tinging the scene of transition before him with the morbid colours of his own mind, and making it a ruin and a picture of decay, instead of hopeful change, and promise of better things, that life had quite as much to do with his complainings as death. One child was gone, and one child left. Why was the object of his hope removed instead of her ? The sweet, calm, gentle presence in his fancy, moved him to no reflection but that. She had been unwelcome to him from the first ; she was an aggravation of his bitterness now. If his son had been his only child, and the same blow had fallen on him, it would have been heavy to bear ; but infinitely lighter than now, when it might have fallen on her (whom he could have lost, or he believed it, without a pang), and had not. Her loving and innocent face rising before him, had no softening or winning influence. He rejected the angel, and took up with the tormenting spirit crouching in his bosom. Her patience, goodness, youth, devotion, love, were as so many atoms in the ashes upon which he set his heel. He saw her image in the bhght and blackness all around him, not irradiating but deepening the gloom. More than once upon this journey, and now again as he stood pondering at this journey's end, tracing figures in the dust with his stick, the thought came into his mind, what was there he could interpose between himself and it ? The Major, who had been blowing and panting all the way down, Uke another engine, and whose eye had often wandered from his news- paper to leer at the prospect, as if there were a great procession of discom- fited Miss Toxes pouring out in the smoke of the train, and flying away over the fields to hide themselves in any place of refuge, aroused his friend by informing him that the post-horses were harnessed and the carriage ready. " Dombey," said the Major, rapping him on the arm with his cane, 202 DOMBEY AND SON. " don't be thoughtful. It 's a bad habit. Old Joe, Sir, wouldn't be as tough as you see him, if he had ever encouraged it. You are too great a man, Dombey, to be thoughtful. In your position, Sir, you 're far above that kind of thing." The Major, even in his friendly remonstrances, thus consulting tlie dignity and honour of IMr. Dombey, and showing a lively sense of their importance, Mr. Dombey felt more than ever disposed to defer to a gentle- man possessing so much good sense and such a well-regulated mind ; accordingly he made an effort to listen to the Major's stories, as they trotted along the turnpike road ; and the Major, finding both the pace and the road a great deal better adapted to his conversational powers than the m.ode of travelling they had just relinquished, came out for his entertainment. In this flow of spirits and conversation, only inteiTupted by his usual plethoric symptoms, and by intervals of lunch, and from time to time by some violent assault upon the Native, who Avore a pair of ear-rings in his dark-brown ears, and on whom his European clothes sat with an out- landish impossibility of adjustment — being, of their own accord, and without any reference to the tailor's art, long where they ought to be short, short where they ought to be long, tight where they ought to be loose, and loose where they ought to be tight — and to which he imparted a new grace, whenever the Major attacked him, by shrinking into them like a shrivelled nut, or a cold monkey — in this flow of spirits and conversation, the Major continued aU day : so that when evening came on, and found them trotting through the green and leafy road near Leamington, the Major's voice, what with talking and eating and chuckling and choking, appeared to be in the box under the rumble, or in some neighbouring hay-stack. Nor did the Major improve it at the Eoyal Hotel, where rooms and dinner had been ordered, and where he so oppressed his organs of speech by eating and di-inking, that when he retired to bed he had no voice at all, except to cough with, and could only make himself intelligible to the dark servant by gasping at him. He not only arose next morning, however, like a. giant refreshed, but conducted himself, at breakfast, like a giant refreshing. At this meal they arranged their daily habits. The Major was to take the responsibility of ordering everything to eat and drink ; and they were to have a late breakfast together every morning, and a late dinner together eveiy day. Mr. Dombey would prefer remaining in his own room, or walking in the country by himself, on that first day of their sojourn at Leamington; but next morning he would be happy to accompany the Major to the Pump- room, and about the town. So they parted until dinner-time. Mr. Dom- bey retii-ed to nurse his wholesome thoughts in his own way. The Major, attended by the Native carrying a camp-stool, a great-coat, and an umbrella, swaggered up and down through all the public places : looking into sub- scription books to find out who was there, looking up old ladies by whom he was much admired, reporting J. B. tougher than ever, and puffing his rich friend Dombey wherever he went. There never was a man who stood by a friend more staunchly than the Major, when in puffing him, he puft'ed himself. It was surprising how much new conversation the ]\Tajor had to let off at dinner-time, and what occasion he gave Mr. Dombey to admii-e his DOMBEY AND SON. 203 social qualities. At breakfast next morning, he knew the contents of the latest newspapers received; and mentioned several subjects in connexion with them, on which his opinion had recently been sought by persons of such power and might, that they were only to be obscurely hinted at. Mr. Dombey, who had been so long shut up within himself, and who had rarely, at any time, overstepped the enchanted circle within which the operations of Dombey and Son were conducted, began to think this an improvement on his solitary life ; and in place of excusing himself for another day, as he had thought of doing when alone, walked out with the Major arm-in-arm. CHAPTEE XXI. NEW FACES. The Major, more blue-faced and staring — more over-ripe, as it were,- than ever — and giving vent, every now and then, to one of the horse's coughs, not so much of necessity as in a spontaneous explosion of impor- tance, walked arm-in-arm with Mr. Dombey up the sunny side of the way, with his cheeks swelling over his tight stock, his legs majestically wide apart, and his great head wagging from side to side, as if he were remon- strating within himself on being such a captivating object. They had not walked many yards, before the Major encountered somebody he knew, nor many yards farther before the Major encountered somebody else he knew, but he merely shook his fingers at them as he passed, and led Mr. Dombey on : pointing out the locaUties as they went, and enlivening the walk with any current scandal suggested by them. In this manner the Major and Mr. Dombey were walking ann-in-arm, much to their own satisfaction, when they beheld advancing towards them, a wheeled chair, in which a lady was seated, indolently steering her car- riage by a kind of rudder in front, while it was propelled by some unseen power in the rear. Although the lady was not young, she was very blooming in the face — quite rosy — and her dress and attitude were per- fectly juvenile. Walking by the side of the chair, and carrying her gossamer parasol with a proud and wearj'^ air, as if so great an effort must be soon abandoned and the parasol dropped, sauntered a much younger lady, very handsome, very haixghty, very wilful, who tossed her head and drooped her eyelids, as though, if there were anything in all the world worth looking into, save a mirror, it certainly was not the earth or sky. "Why, what the devil have we here, Sir !" cried the Major, stopping as this little cavalcade drew near. " My dearest Edith !" drawled the lady in the chair, " Major Bagstock !" The Major no sooner heard the voice, than he relinquished Mr, Dom- bey's arm, darted forward, took the hand of the lady in the chair and pressed it to his lips. With no less gallantry, the Major folded both his gloves upon his heart, and bowed low to the other lady. And now, the chair having stopped, the motive power became visible in the shape of a flushed page pushing behind, Avho seemed to have in part out-grown and in part out-pushed his strength, for when he stood upright he was tall, and wan, and thin, and his plight appeared the more forlorn from his having 204 DOMBEY AND SON. injured tlie shape of his hat, by butting at the carriage with his head to m-ge it forward, as is sometimes done by elephants in Oriental countries. " Joe Bagstock," said the Major to both ladies, " is a proud and happy man for the rest of his life." " You false creature," said the old lady in the chair, insipidly. " Where do you come from ? I can't bear you." "Then suffer old Joe to present a friend. Ma'am," said the Major promptly, " as a reason for being tolerated. Mr. Dombey, Mrs. Skewton." The lady in the chair was gracious. " Mr. Dombey, Mrs. Granger." The lady with the parasol was faintly conscious of IVIr. Dombey's taking off his hat, and bowing low. " I am delighted. Sir," said the Major, " to have this opportunity," The Major seemed in earnest, for he looked at all the three, and leered in his ugliest manner. " Mrs. Skewton, Dombey," said the Major, " makes havoc in the heart of old Josh." Mr. Dombey signified that he didn't wonder at it. " You perfidious goblin," said the lady in the chair, " have done ! How long have you been here, bad man ?" " One day," replied the Major. " And can you be a day, or even a minute," returned the lady, slightly settling her false curls and false eyebrows with her fan, and showing her false teeth, set oft' by her false complexion, " in the garden of what's- its-name — " " Eden I suppose. Mama," interrupted the younger lady, scornfully. " My dear Edith," said the other, " I cannot help it. I never can remember those frightful names — without having your whole Soid and Being inspired by the sight of Nature; by the perfume," said Mrs. Skewton, rustling a handkerchief that was faint and sickly with essences, " of her artless breath, you creatm-e ! " The discrepancy between Mrs. Skewton's fresh enthusiasm of words, and forlornly faded manner, was hardly less observable than that between her age, which was about seventy, and her dress, which would have been youthful for twenty-seven. Her attitude in the wheeled chair (which she never varied) was one in which she had been taken in a barouche, some fifty years before, by a then fashionable artist who had appended to his published sketch the name of Cleopatra : in consequence of a discovery made by the critics of the time, that it bore an exact resemblance to that Princess as she reclined on board her galley. Mrs. Skewton was a beauty then, and bucks threw wine-glasses over their heads by dozens in her honour. The beauty and the barouche had both passed away, but she stiU preserved the attitude, and for this reason expressly, maintained the wheeled chair and the butting page : there being nothing whatever, except the attitude, to prevent her from walking. " Mr. Dombey is devoted to Nature, I trust?" said Mrs. Skewton, settling her diamond brooch. And by the way, she chiefly lived upon the reputation of some diamonds, and her family connections. " My friend Dombey, Ma'am," returned the Major, " may be devoted to her in secret, but a man who is paramount in the greatest city in the universe — " // DOMBEY AND SON. 205 *' No one can be a stranger," said Mrs. Skewton, " to Mr. Dombey's immense influence." As ]VIi*. Dombey acknowledged the compliment with a bend of his head, the younger lady glancing at him, met his eyes. " You reside here, Madam ? " said Mr. Dombey, addressing her. " No, we have been to a great many places. To Harrowgate, and Scarborough, and into Devonshire. We have been visiting, and resting here and there. Mama likes change." " Edith of course does not," said Mrs. Skewton, with a ghastly archness. " I have not found that there is any change in such places," was the answer, delivered with supreme indifference. " They libel me. There is only one change, Mr. Dombey," observed Mrs. Skewton, with a mincing sigh, " for which I really care, and that I fear I shall never be permitted to enjoy. People cannot spare one. But seclusion and contemplation are my what 's-his-name — " " If you mean Paradise, Mama, you had better say so, to render your- self intelligible," said the younger lady. "My dearest Edith," returned Mrs. Skewton, "you know that I am wholly dependant upon you for those odious names. I assure you, Mr. Dombey, Nature intended me for an Arcadian. I am thrown away in society. Cows are my passion. What I have ever sighed for, has been to retreat to a Swiss farm, and live entirely surrounded by cows — and china." This curious association of objects, suggesting a remembrance of the cele- brated buU who got by mistake into a crockery shop, was received with perfect gravity by Mr. Dombey, who intimated his opinion that Nature was, no doubt, a very respectable institution. " What I want," drawled Mrs. Skewton, pinching her shrivelled throat, *'is heart." It was frightfully true in one sense, if not in that in which she used the phrase. " What I want, is frankness, confidence, less conven- tionality, and freer play of soul. We are so dreadfully artificial." We were, indeed. " In short," said Mrs. Skewton, " I want Nature everywhere. It would be so extremely charming." " Nature is inviting us away now. Mama, if you are ready," said the younger lady, curUng her handsome lip. At this hint, the wan page, who had been surveying the party over the top of the chair, vanished behind it as if the ground had swallowed him up. " Stop a moment. Withers !" said Mrs. Skewton, as the chair began to move ; calling to the page with all the languid dignity with which she had called in days of yore to a coachman with a wig, cauliflower nosegay, and silk stockings. " Where are you staying, abomination ?" The Major was staying at the Eoyal Hotel, with his friend Dombey. *' You may come and see us any evening when you are good," lisped Mrs. Skewton. " If Mr. Dombey wiU honour us, we shall be happy. Withers, go on !" The Major again pressed to his blue lips the tips of the fingers that were disposed on the ledge of the wheeled chair with careful carelessness ; after the Cleopatra model: and Mr. Dombey bowed. The elder lady honoured them both with a very gracious smile and a girlish wave of her hand ; the younger lady with the very slightest inclination of her head that common courtesy allowed. 206 DOMBEY AND SON. The last glimpse of the wrinkled face of the mother, with that patched colour on it which the sun made infinitely more haggard and dismal than any want of colour could have been, and of the proud beauty of the daughter with her graceful figm-e and erect deportment, engendered such an involuntary disposition on the part of both the Major and Mr; Dombey to look after them, that they both turned at the same moment. The Page, nearly as much aslant as his own shadow, was toiling after the chair, uphill, like a slow battering-ram; the top of Cleopatra's bonnet was fluttering in exactly the same comer to the inch as before ; and the Beauty, loitering by herself a little in advance, expressed in all her elegant form, from head to foot, the same supreme disregard of everything and everybody. " I tell you what. Sir," said the Major, as they resumed their walk again. " If Joe Bagstock were a younger man, there 's not a woman in the world whom he 'd prefer for Mrs. Bagstock to that woman. By George, Sir !" said the Major, " she 's superb !" " Do you mean the daughter?" inquired Mr. Dombey. " Is Joey B. a turnip, Dombey," said the Major, " that he should mean the mother." " You were complimentary to the mother," returned Mr. Dombey. " An ancient flame Sir," chuckled Major Bagstock. " De-vilish ancient. I humom* her." " She impresses me as being perfectly genteel," said Mr. Dombey. " Genteel, Sir," said the Major, stopping short, and staring in his com- panion's face. " The Honourable Mrs. Skewton, Sir, is sister to the late Lord Feenix, and aunt to the present Lord. The family are not wealthy — they 're poor, indeed — and she lives upon a small jointure ; but if you come to blood Sir- !" The Major gave a flomish with his stick and walked on again, in despair of being able to say what you came to, if you came to that. " You addressed the daughter, I observed," said Mr. Dombey, after a short pause, " as Mrs. Granger." " Edith Skewton, Sir," returned the Major, stopping short again, and punching a mark in the ground with his cane, to represent her, " married (at eighteen) Granger of Ours ;" whom the Major indicated by another punch. " Granger, Sir," said the Major, tapping the last ideal portrait, and roUing his head, emphatically, " was Colonel of Ours ; a de-viHsh handsome feUow, Sir, of forty -one. He died. Sir, in the second year of his marriage." The Major ran the representative of the deceased Granger through and through the body with his walking-stick, and went on again, carrying his stick over his shoulder. " How long is this ago ?" asked Mr. Dombey, making another halt. " Edith Granger, Sir," replied the Major, shutting one eye, putting his head on one side, passing his cane into his left hand, and smoothing his shirt-friU with his right, " is, at this present time, not quite thirty. And, damme, Sir," said the Major, shoiddering his stick once more, and walking on again, " she 's a peerless woman !" " Was there any family? " asked Mr. Dombey presently. " Yes, Sir," said the Major. " There was a boy." Mr. Dombey's eyes sought the ground, and a shade came over his face. " Wlio was drowned, Sir," pursued the Major, " when a child of four or five years old." DOMBEY AND SON. 207 " Indeed ?" said Mr. Dombey, raising his head. " By the upsetting of a boat in which his nurse had no business to have put him," said the Major. " That 's his history. Edith Granger is Edith Granger still; but if tough old Joey B., Sir, were a little younger and a little richer, the name of that immortal paragon should be Bagstock." The Major heaved his shoulders, and his cheeks, and laughed more like an over-fed Mephistopheles than ever, as he said the Avords. " Provided the lady made no objection, I suppose ?" said Mr, Dombej coldly. " By Gad, Sir," said the Major, " the Bagstock breed are not accus- tomed to that sort of obstacle. Though it 's true enough that Edith might have married twen-ty times, but for being proud, Sir, proud." Mr. Dombey seemed, by his face, to think no worse of her for that. " It 's a great quality after all," said the Major. " By the Lord, it 's a high quality ! Dombey ! You are proud yourself, and your friend. Old Joe, respects you for it, Sti'." With this tribute to the character of his ally, which seemed to be wrung from him by the force of circumstances and the irresistible tendency of their conversation, the Major closed the subject, and glided into a general exposition of the extent to which he had been beloved and doted on by splendid women and brilliant creatures. On the next day but one, Mr. Dombey and the Major encountered the honourable Mrs. Skewton and her daughter in the Pump-room ; on the day after, they met them again very near the place where they had met them first. After meeting them thus, three or four times in all, it became a point of mere civility to old acquaintances that the Major should go there one evening. Mr. Dombey had not originally intended to pay visits, but on the Major announcing this intention, he said he woidd have the pleasure of accompanying him. So the Major told the Native to go round before dinner, and say, with his and Mi-. Dombey's compliments, that they would have the honom- of visiting the ladies that same evening, if the ladies were alone. In answer to which message, the Native brought back a very small note with a very large quantity of scent about it, indited by the Honourable Mrs. Skewton to Major Bagstock, and briefly saying, "You are a shocking bear and I have a great mind not to forgive you, but if you are very good indeed," which was underlined, " you may come. Compliments (in which Edith unites) to Mr. Dombey." The Honourable Mrs. Skewton and her daughter, Mrs. Granger, resided while at Leamington, in lodgings that were fashionable enough and dear enough, but rather limited in point of space and conveniences; so that the Honourable Mrs. Skewton, being in bed, had her feet in the window and her head in the fire-place, while the Honourable Mrs. Skewton's maid was quartered in a closet ^vithin the drawing-room, so extremely small, that, to avoid developing the whole of its accommodations, she was obliged to writhe in and out of the door like a beautiful serpent. Withers, the wan page, slept out of the house immediately under the tiles at a neighbouring milk-shop; and the wheeled chair, which was the stone of that young Sisyphus, passed the night in a shed belonging t ) the same dairy, where new-laid eggs were produced by the poultry connected with the establish- ment, who roosted on a broken donkey-cart, persuaded, to all appearancCj that it grew there, and was a species of tree. 208 DOMBEY AND SON. Ml". Dombey and tlie Major found Mrs. Skewton arranged, as Cleopatra, among the cushions of a sofa : very airily dressed : and certainly not resembling Shakspeare's Cleopatra, Avhom age could not wither. On their way up stairs they had heard the sound of a harp, but it had ceased on their being announced, and Edith now stood beside it handsomer and haughtier than ever. It was a remarkable characteristic of this lady's beauty that it appeared to vaunt and assert itself without her aid, and against her will. She knew that she was beautiful : it was impossible that it could be otherwise : but she seemed with her own pride to defy her very self. Whether she held cheap, attractions that could only call forth admiration that was worthless to her, or whether she designed to render them more precious to admirers by this usage of them, those to whom they were precious seldom paused to consider. "I hope, Mrs. Granger," said ]\Ir. Dombey, advancing a step towards her, "we are not the cause of your ceasing to play?" " Tou ? oh no !" " Why do you not go on, then, my dearest Edith ?" said Cleopatra. " I left off as I began — of my own fancy." The exquisite indifference of her manner in saying this : an indifference quite removed from dullness or insensibility, for it was pointed with proud purpose : Avas well set off by the carelessness with which she di'ew her hand across the strings, and came from that part of the room. "Do you know, Mr. Dombey," said her languisliing mother, playing with a hand-screen, "that occasionally my dearest Edith and myself actually almost differ — " "Not quite, sometimes. Mama?" said Edith. " Oh never quite, my darUng ! Fie, fie, it would break my heart," returned her mother, making a faint attempt to pat her with the screen, which Edith made no movement to meet, " — about these cold conventional- ities of manner that are observed in little things ? Why are we not more natui-al ! Dear me ! With all those yearnings, and gushings, and impul- sive throbbings that we have implanted in our souls, and which are so very charming, why are we not more natural ?" Mr. Dombey said it was very true, very true. " We could be more naturall suppose if we tried?" said Mrs. SkcAvton. Mr. Dombey thought it possible. " Devil a bit. Ma'am," said the Major. " We could'nt afford it. Unless the world Avas peopled with J. B.'s — tough and blunt old Joes, Ma'am, plain red herrings Avith hard roes, Sir — we couldn't afford it. It wouldn't do." " You naughty Infidel," said Mrs. SkcAvton, " be mute." " Cleopatra commands," returned the Major, kissing his hand, " and Antony Bagstock obeys." " The man has no sensitiveness," said Mrs. Skewton, crueUy holding up the hand-screen so as to shut the Major out. " No sympathy. And what do we live for but sympathy ! What else is so extremely charming ! Without that gleam of sunshine on our cold cold earth," said Mrs. Skewton, arranging her lace tucker, and complacently observing the effect of her bare lean arm, looking upward from the Avrist, "how could Ave possibly beai- it ? In short, obdurate man ! " glancing at the Major, round the DOMBEY AND SON. 209 screen, " I would have my world all heart ; and Faith is so excessively charming, that I won't allow you to disturb it, do you hear? " The Major replied that it was hard in Cleopatra to require the world to be all heart, and yet to appropriate to herself the hearts of all the world ; which obliged Cleopatra to remind him that flattery was insupportable to her, and that if he had the boldness to address her in that strain any more, she would positively send him home. Withers the Wan, at this period, handing round the tea, Mr. Donabey again addressed himself to Edith. " There is not much company here, it would seem? " said Mr. Dombey, in his own portentous gentlemanly way. " I believe not. We see none." " Why really," observed IVIrs. Skewton from her couch, " there are no people here just now with whom we care to associate." " They have not enough heart," said Edith, with a smile. The very twilight of a smile : so singularly were its light and darkness blended. " My dearest Edith rallies me, you see ! " said her mother shaking her head : which shook a little of itself sometimes, as if the palsy twinkled now and then in opposition to the diamonds. " Wicked one ! " " You have been here before, if I am not mistaken ?" said Mr. Dombey. StiU to Edith. " Oh, several times. I think we have been everywhere." " A beautiful country ! " *' I suppose it is. Everybody says so." "Your cousin Feenix raves about it Edith," interposed her mother from her couch. The daughter slightly turned her graceful head, and raising her eyebrows by a hair's-breadth as if her cousin Feenix were of all the mortal world the least to be regarded, turned her eyes again towards Mr. Dombey. " I hope, for the credit of my good taste, that I am tired of the neigh- bourhood," she said. "You have almost reason to be. Madam," he replied, glancing at a variety of landscape drawings, of which he had aheady recognised several as representing neighbouring points of view, and which were strewn abundantly about the room, " if these beautiful productions are from your hand." She gave him no reply, but sat in a disdainful beauty, quite amazing, " Have they that interest ? " said Mr. Dombey. " Are thev vours ? ' "Yes." " And you play, I akeady know." "Yes." " And sins ? " » "Yes." She answered all these questions with a strange reluctance; and with that remarkable air of opposition to herself, already noticed as belonging to her beauty. Yet she was not embarrassed, but wholly self-possessed. Neither did she seem to wish to avoid the conversation, for she addressed her face, and — so far as she could — her manner also, to him; and continued to do so, when he was silent. " You have many resources against weariness at least," said Mr. Dombey. p 210 DOMBEY AND SON. "Whatever their efficiency may be," she returned, "you know them all now. I have no more." " May I hope to prove them all ? " said Mr. Dombey, with solemn gal- lantry, laying down a drawing he had held, and motioning towards the harp. " Oh certainly ! If you desire it ! " She rose as she spoke, and crossing by her mother's couch, and direct- ing a stately look towards her, which was instantaneous in its dm'ation, but inclusive (if any one had seen it) of a multitude of expressions, among which that of the twilight smile, without the smile itself, overshadowed all the rest, went out of the room. The Major, who was quite forgiven by this time, had wheeled a little table up to Cleopatra, and was sitting down to play picquet with her. Mr. Dombey, not knowing the geme, sat down to watch them for his edification until Edith should retm-n. " We are going to have some music, Mr. Dombey, I hope ? " said Cleopatra. Mrs. Granger has been kind enough to promise so," said Mr. Dombey. ■Ah ! That's very nice. Do you propose, Major?" ' No Ma'am," said the Major. " Couldn't do it." " You 're a barbarous being," replied the lady, "and my hand's destroyed. Tou are fond of music, Mr. Dombey ?" " Eminently so," was Mr. Dombey's answer. " Yes. It 's very nice," said Cleopatra looking at her cards. " So much heart in it — undeveloped recollectioiis of a previous state of existence — and all that — which is so truly charming. Do you know," simpered Cleopatra, reversing the knave of clubs, who had come into her game Avith liis heels uppermost, " that if anything could tempt me to put a period to my life, it would be curiositv to find out what it 's all about, and what it means : there are so many provoking mysteries, really, that are hidden from us. Major, you to play !" The Major played ; and Mr. Dombey, looking on for his instruction, woidd soon have been in a state of dire confusion, but that he gave no attention to the game whatever, and sat wondering instead when Edith would come back. She came at last, and sat dov/n to her harp, and Mr. Dombey rose and stood beside her, listening. He had little taste for music, and no know- ledge of the strain she played, but he saw her bending over it, and perhaps he heard among the sounding strings some distant music of his own, that tamed the monster of the iron road, and made it less inexorable. Cleopatra had a sharp eye, verily, at picquet. It glistened like a bird's, and did not fix itself upon the game, but pierced the room from end to end; and gleamed on harp, performer, listener, everything. When the haughty beauty had concluded, she arose, and receiving Mi-. Dombey's thanks and compliments in exactly the same manner as before, went with scarcely any pause, to the piano, and began there. Edith Granger, any song but that ! Edith Granger, you are very hand- some, and your touch upon the keys is brilliant, and your voice is deep and rich; but not the air that his neglected daughter sang to his dead son ! Alas he knows it not ; and if he did, what air of hers would stir him, DOMBEY AND SON. 211 rigid man ! Sleep, lonely ]Florence, sleep ! Peace in tliy di'eams, althougli the niglit has turned dark, and the clouds are gathering, and tin-eaten to discharge themselves in hail ! CHAPTER XXII. A TKIFLE OF MANAGEMENT BY MR. CABKEE, THE MANAGER. Mr. Career the Manager sat at his desk, smooth and soft as usual, reading those letters which were reserved for him to open, backing them occasionally with such memoranda and references as their business purport required, and parceilhig them out into little heaps for distribution through the several departments of the House. The post had come in heavy that morning, and Mr. Carker the Manager had a good deal to do. The general action of a man so engaged — pausing to look over a bundle of papers in his hand, dealing them round in various portions, taking up another bundle and examining its contents with knitted brows and pursed- out lips — dealing, and sorting, and pondering by turns — would easily suggest "some whimsical resemblance to a player at cards. The face of ^Ir. Carker the Manager was in good keeping with such a fancy. It was the face of a man who studied his play, warily : who made himself master of all the strong and weak points of the game : who registered the cards in his mind as they fell about him, knew exactly what was on them, what they missed, and what they made : who was crafty to find out what the other players held, and who never betrayed his own hand. The letters were in various languages, but Mr. Carker the Manager read them all. If there had been anything in the offices of Dombey and Son that he could not read, there would have been a card wanting in the pack. He read almost at a glance, and made combinations of one letter with another and one business with another as he went on, adding new matter to the heaps — ^much as a man woiJd know the cards at sight, and work out their combinations in his mind after they were turned. Something too deep for a partner, and much too deep for an adversary, Mr: Carker the Manager sat in the rays of the sun that came down slanting on him through the skylight, playing his game alone. And although it is not among the instincts \vild or domestic of the cat tribe to play at cards, feline from sole to crown was Mr. Carker the Manager, as he basked in the strip of summer-light and warmth that shone upon his table and the ground as if they were a crooked dial- plate, and himself the only figure on it. With hair and whiskers deficient in colour at all times, but feebler than common in the rich sunshine, and more like the coat of a sandy tortoise-shell cat ; with long nails, nicely pared and sharpened; with a natural antipathy to any speck of dirt, which made him pause sometimes and watch the falling motes of dust, and rub them ofl:" his smooth white hand or glossy linen : Mr. Carker the Manager, sly of manner, sharp of tooth, soft of foot, watchful of eye, oily of tongue, cruel of heart, nice of habit, sat with a dainty stedfastness and patience at his work, as if he were waiting at. a mouse's hole. At-length the letters were disposed of, excepting one which he reserved r2 212 DOMBEY AND SON. for a particular audience. Having locked the more confidential cor- respondence in a diawer, Mr. Carker the Manager rang his bell. " Why do you answer it ?" was his reception of his brother. " The messenger is out, and I am the next," was the submissive reply. " You are the next !" muttered the Manager. "Yes ! Creditable to me ! There !" Pointing to the heaps of opened letters, he tm-ned disdainfully away, in, his elbow-chair, and broke the seal of that one which he held in his hand. " I am sorry to trouble you, James," said the brother, gathering them up, " but " " Oh ! You have something to say. I knew that. Well?" Mr. Carker the Manager did not raise his eyes or turn them on his. brother, but kept them on his letter, though without opening it. " WeU?" he repeated sharply. " I am uneasy about Harriet." " Harriet who ? what Hai-riet ? I know nobody of that name." " She is not well, and has changed very much of late." " She changed very much, a great many years ago," replied the Manager ; " and that is all I have to say." " I think if you would hear me — " "W^hy should I hear you, Brother John?" returned the Manager, laying a sarcastic emphasis on those two words, and throwing up his head, but not lifting his eyes. " I teU. you, Harriet Carker made her choice many years ago between her two brothers. She may repent it, but she must abide by it." " Don't mistake me. I do not say she does repent it. It would be black ingratitude in me to hint at such a thing," returned the other. " Though believe me, James, I am as sorry for her sacrifice as you." " As I ?" exclaimed the Manager. " As I ?" " As sorry for her choice — for what you call her choice — as you are angry at it," said the Junior. " Angry ?" repeated the other, with a wide show of his teeth. " Displeased. Whatever word you like best. You know my meaning. There is no oft'ence in my intention." " There is ofltence in everything you do," replied his brother, glancing at him with a sudden scowl, which in a moment gave place to a wider smile than the last. " Carry those papers away, if you please. I am busy." His politeness was so much more cutting than his wrath, that the Junior went to the door. But stopping at it, and looking round, he said : " Wlien Harriet tried in vain to plead for me with you, on your first just indignation, and my first disgrace ; and when she left you, James, to follow my broken fortunes, and devote herself, in her mistaken affection, to a ruined brother, because without her he had no one, and was lost ; she was young and pretty, I think if you could see her now — if you would go and see her — she would move your admiration and compassion." The Manager inclined his head, and showed his teeth, as who should say, in answer to some careless small-talk, " Dear me ! Is that the case ?" but said never a word. " We thought in those days : you and I both : that she would marry young, and lead a happy and light-hearted life," pursued the other. " Oh DOMBEY AND SON. 213 if you knew how cheerfully she cast those hopes away ; how cheerfully she has gone forward on the path she took, and never once looked back ; you never could say again that her name was strange in your ears. Never !'* Again the Manager inclined his head, and showed his teeth, and seemed to say, " Kemarkable indeed ! Tou quite surprise me !" And again he uttered never a word, " May I go on ?" said John Carker, mildly. " On your Avay ?" replied his smding brother. " If you wiU have the goodness." John Carker, with a sigh, was passing slowly out at the door, when his brother's voice detained him for a moment on the threshold. " If she has gone, and goes, her own way cheerfully," he said, throwing the still unfolded letter on his desk, and putting his hands firmly in his pockets, " you may teU her that I go as cheerfully on mine. If she has never once looked back, you may tell her that I have, sometimes, to recal her taking part with you, and that my resolution is no easier to wear away ;" he smiled very sweetly here ; " than mai'ble." " I teU her nothing of you. We never speak about you. Once a year, on your birthday, Harriet says always, ' Let us remember James by name, and wish him happy,' but we say no more." " Tell it then, if you please," retm-ned the other, " to yourself. Yovi can't repeat it too often, as a lesson to you to avoid the subject in speak- ing to me. I know no Harriet Carker. There is no such person. Fou may have a sister ; make much of her. I have none." Mr. Carker the Manager took up the letter again, and waved it with a smile of mock courtesy towards the door. Unfolding it as his brother withdrew, and looking darkly after him as he left the room, he once more turned round in his elbow-chair, and applied himself to a diligent perusal of its contents. It was in the writing of his great chief, Mr. Dombey, and dated from Leamington. Though he was a quick reader of aU other letters, Mr. Carker read this slowly : weighing the words as he went, and bringing every tooth in his head to bear upon them. When he had read it tluough once, he turned it over again, and picked out these passages. ' I find myself benefited by the change, and am not yet inclined to name any time for my return.' ' I wish, Carker, you would arrange to come down once and see me here, and let me know how things are going on, in person.' ' I omitted to speak to you about young Gay. If not gone per Son and Heir, or if Son and Heir stiU lying in the Docks, appoint some other young man and keep him in the city for the present. I am not decided.' " Now that 's unfortunate ! " said Mr. Carker the Manager, expanding his mouth, as if it were made of India Kubber : " for he 's far away ! " Still that passage, which was in a postscript, attracted Ms attention and his teeth, once more. " I think," he said, " my good friend Captain Cuttle mentioned some- thing about being towed along in the wake of that day. What a pity he 's so far away ! " He refolded the letter, and was sitting trifling with it, standing it long- wise and broad-wise on his table, and turning it over and over on all sides — doing pretty much the same thing perhaps, by its contents — when Mr. Perch the messenger knocked softly at the door, and coming in on 214 DOMBEY AND SON. tiptoe, bending liis body at every step as if it were tlie delight of liis life to bow, laid some papers on the table. " Would you please to be engaged Sir ? " asked Mr. Perch, rubbing his hands, and deferentially putting his head on one side, like a man who felt he had no business to hold it up in such a presence, and would keep it as much out of the way as possible. " Who wants me ? " "Why Sir," said Mr. Perch, in a soft voice, "really nobody, Sir, to speak of at present. Mr. GUIs the Ship's Instrument-maker Su-, has looked in, about a little matter of payment, he says; but I mentioned to him. Sir, that you was engaged several deep ; several deep." Mr. Perch coughed once behind his hand, and Avaited for further oi-ders. "Anybody else?" " Well Sir," said Mr. Perch, " I wouldn't of ray own self take the liberty of mentioning. Sir, that there was anybody else; but that same young. lad that was here yesterday Sir, and last week, has been hanging about the place; and it looks Sir," added Mr. Perch, stopping to shut the door, " di'cadful unbusiness-like to see him whistling to the sparrows down the court, and making of 'em answer him." " You said he wanted something to do, didn't you Perch ? " asked Mr. Carker, leaning back in his chair and looking at that officer. "Why Sir," said Mr. Perch, coughing behind his hand again, "his expression certainly were that he was in wants of a sitiwation, and that he considered something might be done for him about the Docks, being used to fishing with a rod and line : but — " Mv. Perch shook his head veiy dubiously indeed. " What does he say when he comes ? " asked Mr. Carker. "Indeed Sir," said IMi-. Perch, coughing another cough behind his hand, which was always his resource as an expression of humility when nothing else occurred to him, " liis observation generally air that he would humbly wish to see one of the gentlemen, and that he wants to earn a living. But you see, Sii-," added Perch, dropping his voice to a whisper, and turning, in the inviolable nature of his confidence, to give the door a thrust with his hand and knee, as if that would shut it any more when it was shut akeady, "it's hardly to be bore Sir that a common lad like that shoidd come a prowling here, and saying that his mother nursed our House's young gentleman, and that he hopes our House will give him a chance on that account. I am sure Sir," observed Mr. Perch, "that although Mrs. Perch was at that time nm-sing as thriving a little girl Six as Ave 've ever took the liberty of adding to our family, I wouldn't have made so free as drop a hint of her being capable of imparting nourishment, not if it was ever so ! " Mr. Carker grinned at him hke a shark, but in an absent thoughtful mariner. " Whether," submitted Mr. Perch, after a short silence, and another cough, " it mightn't be best for me to tell him, that if he Avas seen here any more he Avould be given into custody ; and to keep to it ! With respect to bodily fear," said Mr. Perch, " I 'm so timid, myself, by nature Sir, and my nerves is so unstrung by ]\Irs. Perch's state, that I could take my affidavit easy." " Let me see this fellow. Perch," said ]\Ir, Carker. "Bring him in ! '* DOMBEY AND SON. 215 " Yes Sir. Begging your pardon Sir," said Mr. Perch, hesitating at the door, " he 's rough Sir, in appearance." " Never mind. If he 's there, bring him in. I '11 see IVIi-. Gills directly. Ask him to Avait ! " Mr. Perch bowed ; and shutting the door as precisely and carefully as if he were not coming back for a week, went on his quest among the sparrows in the court. While he was gone, Mr. Carker assumed his favom-ite attitude before the fire-place, and stood looking at the door ; pre- senting, with his under lip tucked into the smile that showed liis whole row of upper teeth, a singularly crouching appearance. The messenger was not long in retiurning, followed by a pair of heavy boots that came bumping along the passage like boxes. With the uncere- monious words " Come along with you ! " — a very unusual form of intro- duction from his lips — Mr. Perch then ushered into the presence a strong- built lad of fifteen, with a round red face, a round sleek head, round black eyes, round limbs, and round body, who, to carry out the general rotundity of has appearance, had a roimd hat in his hand, without a particle of brim to it. Obedient to a nod from Mr. Carker, Perch had no sooner confronted the visitor with that gentleman than he withdrew. The moment they were face to face alone, Mr. Carker, without a word of preparation, took him by the throat, and shook him until his head seemed loose upon his shoidders. The boy, who in the midst of his astonishment coidd not help staring Avildly at the gentleman with so many wliite teeth who was choking him, and at the office walls, as though determined, if he tcere choked, that his last look shoidd be at the mysteries for his intrusion into which he was- paying such a severe penalty, at last contrived to utter — " Come Sir ! You let me alone, will you ! " " Let you alone ! " said Mr. Carker. " What ! I have got you, have I ?'* There was no doubt of that, and tightly too. " You dog," said Mr. Carker, through his set jaws, " I '11 strangle you ! " Biler whimpered, would he though ? oh no he wouldn't — and what was he doing of — and why didn't he strangle somebody of his own size and not him : but Biler was quelled by the extraordinary nature of his recep- tion, and, as his head became stationary, and he looked the gentleman in the face, or rather in the teeth, and saw him snarling at him, he so far forgot his manhood as to cry. " I haven't done nothing to you Sir," said Biler, otherwise Eob, other- wise Grinder, and always Toodle. "You young scoundrel ! " rephed Mr. Carker, slowly releasing him, and moving back a step into his favourite position. " What do you mean by daring to come here ? " " I didn't mean no harm Sir," whimpered Eob, putting one hand to his throat, and the knuckles of the other to his eyes. " I'U never come again Sir. I only wanted work." " Work, young Cain that you are ! " repeated Mr. Carker, eyeing him narrowly. " An't you the idlest vagabond in London ? " The impeachment, while it much affected Mr. Toodle Junior, attached to his character so justly, that he could not say a word in denial. He stood looking at the gentleman, therefore, with a frightened, self- convicted, and remorseful air. As to his looking at him, it may be observed that he was fas- cinated by ]VL.'. Carker and never took his round eyes ofr him for an instant. 216 DOMBEY AND SON. " An't you a tliief ? " said Mr. Carker, with Ms hands behind him in his pockets. " No Sir," pleaded Eob. " You are ! " said Mr. Carker. " I an't indeed Sir," whimpered Kob. " I never did such a thing as thieve Sii-, if you '11 believe me. I know I 've been a going wrong Sir, ever since I took to bird-catching and walking-matching. I'm sure a cove might think," said Mr. Toodle Junior, with a burst of penitence, " that singing birds was innocent company, but nobody knows what harm is in them little creeturs and what they brings you down to." They seemed to have brought him down to a velveteen jacket and trousers very much the worse for wear, a particularly small red waistcoat like a gorget, an interval of blue check, and the hat before mentioned. " I an't been home twenty times since them birds got their will of me," said Eob, " and that 's ten months. How can I go home when every- body 's miserable to see me ! I wonder," said Bilcr, blubbering outright, and smearing his eyes with his coat-cuif, "that I haven't been and drownded myself over and over again." All of which, including liis expression of surprise at not having achieved this last scarce performance, the boy said, just as if the teeth of Mr. Carker drew it out of him, and he had no power of concealing anything Avith that battery of attraction in full play. " You 're a nice young gentleman ! " said Mr. Carker, shaking his head at him. " There 's hemp-seed sown for you, my fine fellow ! " " I'm sm'e Sir," returned the wretched Biler, blubbering again, and again having recourse to his coat cuft" : " I shouldn't care, sometimes, if it was growed too. My misfortunes aU begun in wagging, Sir ; but what could I do, exceptin' wag ? " " Excepting what ? " said IVIr. Carker. " Wag, Sii*. Wagging from school." " Do you mean pretending to go there, and not going? " said Mr. Carker. " Yes, Sir, that 's wagging. Sir," returned the quondam Grinder, much affected. I was chivied through the streets. Sir, when I went there, and pounded when I got there. So I wagged, and hid myself, and that began it." " And you mean to tell me," said Mr. Carker, taking him by the throat again, holding him out at arm's-length, and surveying him in silence for some moments, " that you want a place, do you ? " "I should be thankful to be tried. Sir," returned Toodle Junior, faintly. Mr. Carker the Manager pushed him backward into a corner — the boy submitting quietly, hardly venturing to breathe, and never once removing Ms eyes from his face — and rang the beU. " Tell IVIr. Gills to come here." Mr. Perch was too deferential to express sm-prise or recognition of the figTire in the corner : and Uncle Sol appeared immediately. " Mr. GiUs ! " said Carker, with a smile, " sit do^vn. How do you do ? You continue to enjoy your health, I hope ? " " Thank you. Sir," returned Uncle Sol, taking out his pocket-book, and handing over some notes as he spoke. "Nothing ails me in body but old age. Twenty-five, Sir. ■You are as punctual and exact, Mi-, Gills," replied the smiling CI DOMBEY AND SON. 217 Manager, taking a paper from one of his many draAvers, and making an endorsement on it, while Uncle Sol looked over him, " as one of your own chronometers. Quite right." " The Son and Heir has not been spoken, I find by the list. Sir," said Uncle Sol, with a slight addition to the usual tremor in his voice. " The Son and Heir has not been spoken," retm-ned Carker. " There seems to have been tempestuous weather, Mr. Gills, and she has probably been driven out of her course." •' She is safe, I trust in Heaven !" said old Sol. " She is safe, I trust in Heaven ! " assented Mr. Carker in that voice- less manner of his : which made the observant young Toodle tremble again. " Mr. Gills," he added aloud, throwing himself back in his chair, " you must miss yom* nephew veiy much ? " Uncle Sol, standing by him, shook his head and heaved a deep sigh. " Ml-. Gills," said Carker, with his soft hand playing round his mouth, and looking up into the Instrument-maker's face, " it would be company to you to have a young fellow in your shop just now, and it would be obliging me if you would give one house-room for the present. No, to be sure," he added quickly, in anticipation of what the old man was going to say, " there 's not much business doing there, I know ; but you can make him clean the place out, polish up the instruments ; drudge, Mr. Gills. That 's the lad ! " Sol GiUs pulled down his spectacles from his forehead to his eyes, and looked at Toodle Junior standing upright in the corner : his head presenting the appearance (which it always did) of having been newly drawn out of a bucket of cold water ; his small waistcoat rising and falling quickly in the play of his emotions; and his eyes intently fixed on ]VIr. Carker, without the least reference to his proposed master. " WiU you give him house-room, Mr. GiUs ? " said the Manager. Old Sol, without being quite enthusiastic on the subject, replied that he was glad of any opportunity, however sbght, to oblige Mr. Carker, whose wish on such a point was a command : and that the Wooden Midshipman would consider himself happy to receive in his berth any visitor of Mr. Garker's selecting. Mr. Carker bared himself to the tops and bottoms of his gums : making the watchful Toodle Junior tremble more and more : and acknowledged the Instrument-maker's politeness in his most affable manner. " I '11 dispose of him so, then, Mr. Gills," he answered, rising, and shaking the old man by the hand, " until I make up my mind what to do with him, and what he deserves. As I consider myself responsible for him, Mr. Gills," here he smiled a wide smile at Kob, who shook before it : "I shall be glad if you '11 look sharply after him, and report his behaviom* to me. I 'U ask a question or two of his parents as I ride home this after- noon — respectable people — to confirm some particidars in his own account of himself ; and that done, Mr. Gills, I '11 send him round to you to-morrow morning. Good b'ye ! " His smile at parting Avas so full of teeth, that it confused old Sol, and made him vaguely uncomfortable. He went home, thinking of raging seas, foimdering ships, drowning men, an ancient bottle of Madeira never brought to light, and other dismal matter. "Now, boy ! " said Mr. Carker, putting his hand on young Toodle's 218 DOMBEY AND SON. shoulder, and bringing him out into the middle of the room. " You have hem-d me ? " Eob said"Tes, Sir." "Perhaps you understand," pursued his patron, "that if you ever deceive or play tricks with me, you had better have disowned yourself, indeed, once for all, before you came here?" There was nothing in any branch of mental acquisition that Eob seemed to understand better than that. " If you have lied to me," said Mr. Carker, " in anything, never come in my way again. If not, you may let me find you waiting for me some- where near yom- mother's house this afternoon. I shall leave this at five o'clock, and ride there on horseback. Now, give me the address." Eob repeated it slowly, as Mr. Carker wrote it down. Eob even spelt it over a second time, letter by letter, as if he thought thtit the omission of a dot or scratch would lead to his destruction. Mr. Carker then handed him out of the room : and Eob, keeping his round eyes fixed upon his patron to the last, vanished for the time being. Mr. Carker the Manager did a great deal of bxisiness in the com*se of the day, and bestowed his teeth upon a great many people. In the office, in the court, in the street, and on 'Change, they glistened and bristled to a terrible extent. Pive o'clock arriving, and with it Mr. Carker's bay horse, they got on horseback, and went gleaming up Cheapside. As no one can easily ride fast, even if inclined to do so, through the press and tlu'ong of the city at that hour, and as Mr. Carker was not inclined, he went leisiu-ely along, picking his way among the carts and carriages, avoiding whenever he could the wetter and more dirty places in the over-watered road, and taking infinite pains to keep himself and his steed clean. Glancing at the passers-by while he was thus ambling on his way, he suddenly encountered the round eyes of the sleek-headed Eob intently fixed upon his face as if they had never been taken oft', while the boy himself, with a pocket-handkerchief twisted up like a speckled eel and girded round his waist, made a very conspicuous demonstration of being prepared to attend upon him, at whatever pace he might think proper to go. This attention, however flattering, being one of an unusual kind, and attracting some notice from the other passengers, INIr. Carker took advan- tage of a clearer thoroughfare and a cleaner road, and broke into a trot. Eob • immediately did the same. IMi*. Carker presently tried a canter j Eob was still in attendance. Then a short gallop ; it was all one to the boy. Whenever Mr. Carker turned his eyes to that side of the road, he stiU saw Toodle Junior holding his course, apparently without distress, and working himself along by the elbows after the most approved manner of professional gentlemen wlio get over the ground for wagers. Eidiculous as this attendance was, it was a sign of an influence esta- blished over the boy, and therefore Mr. Carker, affecting not to notice it, rode away into the neighbourliood of Mr. Toodle's house. On his slack- ening his pace here, Eob appeared before him to point out the turnings ; and when he called to a man at a neighboming gateway to hold his horse, pending his visit to the Buildmgs that had succeeded S^aggs's Gardens, Eob dutifully held the stirrup, while the Manager disme anted. " Now, Sir," said Mr. Carker, taking him by the shouMer, "come along!"' The prodigal son was evidently nervous of visiting the parental abode ; .•.a)OMBEY AND SON. 219 but !Mi\ Carter pushing him on before, lie had nothing for it but to open the right door, and suffer himself to be walked into the midst of his brothers and sisters, mustered in overwhelming force round the family tea-table. At sight of the prodigal in the gi'asp of a stranger, these tender relations united in a general howl, which smote upon the prodigal's breast so sharply when he saw his mother stand up among them, pale and trembling with the baby in her arms, that he lent his own voice to the chorus. Nothing doubting now that the stranger, if not ]\Ir. Ketch in person, was one of that company, the whole of the yoimg family wailed the louder, while its more infantine members, unable to control the transports of emotion appertaining to their time of life, threw themselves on their backs hke young birds when terrified by a hawk, and kicked violently. At length, poor Polly making herself audible, said, with quivering lips, " Oh Kob, my poor boy, what have you done at last 1" " Nothing mother," cried Eob, in a piteous voice, " ask the gentleman!" "Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Cai'ker, "I want to do him good." At this announcement, Polly, who had not cried yet, began to do so. The elder Toodles, who appeared to have been meditating a rescue, unclenched their fists. The younger Toodles clustered round their mother's gown, and peeped from under their own chubby arms at their desperado brother and his unknown friend. Everybody blessed the gentleman wath the beautiful teeth, who wanted to do good. " This fellow," said Mr, Carker to Polly, giving him a gentle shake, " is your son, eh Ma'am ? " " Yes Sir," sobbed Polly, with a curtsey; "yes Sir," " A bad son, I am afraid? " said Mr. Carker. "Never a bad son to me Sir," retiu'ned Polly. " To whom then? " demanded Mr. Carker. " He has been a bttle wild Sir," replied Polly, checking the baby, who was making convulsive efforts with his arms and legs to laimch himself on Bder, through the ambient air, " and has gone with wrong companions ; but I hope he has seen the misery of that Sir, and will do well again." Mr. Carker looked at Polly, and the clean room, and the clean children, and the simple Toodle face, combined of father and mother, that was reflected and repeated everywhere about him : and seemed to have acliieved the real purpose of his visit. "Your husband, I take it, is not at home?" he said. " No Sir, replied Polly. " He's down the line at present." The prodigal Rob, seemed very much relieved to hear it : though, still in the absorption of all his faculties in his patron, he hardly took his eyes from Mr. Carker's face, unless for a moment at a time to steal a sorrowful glance at his mother, " Then," said Mr. Carker, "I'll tell you how I have stumbled on this boy of yours, and who I am, and what I am going to do for him." This Mr. Carker did, in his own way : saying that he at first intended to have accumulated nameless terrors on his presumptuous head, for coming to the whereabout of Dombey and Son. That he had relented, in consideration of his youth, his professed contrition, and his friends. That he Avas afraid he took a rash step in doing anything for the boy, and one that might expose him to the censm-e of the prudent; but that he did it of himself and for himself, and risked the consequences single-handed ; and 220 DOMBEY AND SON. that his mother's past connection with Mr. Dombey's family had nothing to do with it, and that Mr. Dombey had nothing to do with it, but that he, ]\Ir. Carker, was the be-all, and the end-aU of this business. Taking great credit to himself for his goodness, and receiving no less from all the family then present, Mr. Carker signified, indu'ectly but still pretty plainly, that Eob's implicit fidelity, attachment, and devotion, were for evermore his due, and the least homage he could receive. And with this great truth Kob himself was so impressed, that, standing gazing on his patron with tears rolling down his cheeks, he nodded his shiny head until it seemed almost as loose as it had done under the same patron's hands that morning. PoUy, who had passed Heaven knows how many sleepless nights on account of this her dissipated firstborn, and had not seen him for weeks and Aveeks, coidd have almost kneeled to Mr. Carker the Manager, as to a Good Spii'it — in spite of his teeth. But Mr. Carker rising to depart, she only thanked him with her mother's prayers and blessings ; thanks so rich when paid out of the Heart's mint, especially for any service Mr. Carker had ren- dered, that he might have given back a large amount of change, and yet been overpaid. As that gentleman made his way among the crowding children to the door, Kob retreated on his mother, and took her and the baby in the same repentant hug. " I '11 try hard, dear mother, now. Upon my soul I will ! " said Eob. " Oh do, my dear boy ! I am sure you will, for our sakes and your own ! " cried Polly, kissing him. " But you 're coming back to speak to me, when you have seen the gentleman away ? " " I don't know, mother." Kob hesitated, and looked down. " Father — ^when 's he coming home ? " " Not tiU two o'clock to-morrow morning." " I '11 come back, mother dear ! " cried Kob. And passing through the shrill cry of his brothers and sisters in reception of this promise, he fol- lowed Mr. Carker out. " What ! " said Mi-. Carker, who had heard this. " You have a bad father, have you? " " No Sir ! " returned Kob, amazed. " There ain't abetter nor a kinder father going, than mine is." " Why don't you want to see him then ? " inquired his patron. " There 's such a difference between a father and a mother Sir," said Kob, after faltering for a moment. " He couldn't hardly believe yet that I was going to do better — though I know he 'd try to — but a mother — sJie always believes what 's good. Sir; at least I know my mother does, God bless her ! " Mx. Carker's mouth expanded, but he said no more until he was mounted on his horse, and had dismissed the man who held it, when, look- ing down from the saddle steadily into the attentive and watcliful face of the boy, he said : " You 'U come to me to-moiTow morning, and you shall be shown where that old gentleman lives ; that old gentleman who was with me this morn- ing ; where you are going, as you heard me say." "Yes Sir," returned Kob. " I have a great interest in that old gentleman, and in serving him, you serve me, boy, do you understand ? Well," he added, interrupting him. DOMBEY AND SON. 221 for he saw his round face brighten when he was told that : " I see you do. I Avant to know all about that old gentleman, and how he goes on from day to day — for I am anxious to be of service to him — and especially who comes there to see him. Do you understand ? " Rob nodded his stedfast face, and said, "Tes Sir," again. " I should like to know that he has friends who are attentive to him, and that they don't desert him — for he lives very much alone now, poor fellow ; but that they are fond of him, and of his nephew who has gone abroad. There is a very young lady who may perhaps come to see him. I want particularly to know all about lier^ " I '11 take care Sir," said the boy. " And take care," returned liis patron, bending forward to advance his grinning face closer to the boy's, and pat him on the shoulder with the handle of his whip : " take care you talk about affairs of mine to nobody but me." " To nobody in the world Sir," replied Kob, shaking his head. " Neither there," said Mr. Carker, pointing to the place they had just left, " nor anywhere else. I '11 try how true and gTateful you can be. I '11 prove you ! " Making this, by his display of teeth and by the action of his head, as much a threat as a promise, he turned from Eob's eyes, which were nailed upon him as if he had won the boy by a charm, body and soul, and rode away. But again becoming conscious, after trotting a short dis- tance, that his devoted henchman, girt as before, was yielding him the same attendance, to the great amusement of sundry spectators, he reined up, and ordered him oft". To insure his obedience, he turned in the saddle and watched him as he retired. It was curious to see that even theu Eob could not keep his eyes wholly averted from his patron's face, but, con- stantly turning and turning again to look after him, involved himself in a tempest of buttetings and jostlings from the other passengers in the street : of which, in the pursuit of the one paramount idea, he was perfectly heedless. Mr. Carker the Manager rode on at a foot pace, with the easy air of one who had performed all the business of the day in a satisfactory manner, and got it comfortably off his mind. Complacent and affable as man could be, Mr. Carker picked his way along the streets and hummed a soft tune as he went. He seemed to purr : he was so glad. And in some sort, Mr. Carker, in his fancy, basked upon a hearth too. Coiled up snugly at certain feet, he was ready for a spring, or for a tear, or for a scratch, or for a velvet touch, as the humour took him and occasion served. Was there any bird in a cage, that came in for a share of his regards ? " A very young lady ! " thought Mr. Carker the Manager, through his song. ♦• Aye ! when I saw her last, she was a little child. With dark eyes and hair, I recollect, and a good face ; a very good face ! I dare say she 's pretty." More affable and pleasant yet, and humming his song until his many teeth vibrated to it, IVIr. Carker picked his way along, and turned at last into the shady street where Mr. Dombey's house stood. He had been so busy, winding webs round good faces, and obscuring them with meshes, that he hardly thought of being at this point of his ride, mitil, glancing down the cold perspective of tall houses, he reined in liis horse quickly within a few yards of the door. But to explain why Mr. Carker reined in his horse quickly, and what he looked at in no gmaU surprise, a few digres- sive words are necessary. 222 DOMBEY AND SON. Mr. Toots, emancipated from the Blimber thraldom and coming into the possession of a certain portion of liis worklly wealth, " Avhich," as he had been wont, dming his last half-year's probation, to communicate to Mr. Feeder every evening as a new discovery, " the executors couldn't keep him out off,'' had applied himself, with great diligence, to the science of Life. Fired with a noble emulation to pursue a brilliant and distinguished career, Mr. Toots had fm'nished a choice set of apartments ; had estabhshed among them a sporting bower, embellished with the portraits of winning horses, in which he took no particle of interest ; and a divan, which made him poorly. In this delicious abode, Mr. Toots devoted himself to the cultivation of those gentle arts which refine and humanise existence, his chief instructor in which was an interesting character called the Game Chicken, who was always to be heard of at the bar of the Black Badger, wore a shaggy white great-coat in the warmest weather, and knocked Mr. Toots about the head three times a week, for the small consideration of ten and six per visit. The Game Chicken, who was quite the Apollo of IVIr. Toots's Pantheon, had introduced to him a marker who taught billiards, a Life Guard who taught fencing, a job-master who taught riding, a Cornish gentleman who was up to anything in the athletic line, and two or three other friends con- nected no less intimately with the fine arts. Under whose auspices Mr. Toots could hardly fail to improve apace, and under whose tuition he went to work. But however it came about, it came to pass, even while these gentle- men had the gloss of novelty upon them, that Mr. Toots felt, he didn't know how, unsettled and uneasy. There were husks in his corn, that even Game Chickens couldn't peck up ; gloomy giants in his leisure, that even Game Chickens couldn't knock down. Notliing seemed to do Mi*. Toots so much good as incessantly leaving cards at Mr. Dombey's door. No tax-gatherer in the British Dominions — that wide-spread territory on which the sun never sets, and where the tax-gatherer never goes to bed — was more regular and persevering in his caDs than Mi*. Toots. Mr. Toots never went upstairs ; and always performed the same cere- monies, richly dressed for the pui-pose, at the hall door. "Oh! Good morning!" wonld be Mr. Toots's first remark to the servant. "For Mr. Dombey," would be Mr. Toots's next remark, as he handed in a card. " For jMiss Dombey," would be his next, as he handed in another. Mr. Toots would then turn round as if to go away ; but the man knew him by this time, and knew he wouldn't. "Oh, I beg your pardon," Mr. Toots would say, as if a thought had suddenly descended on him. " Is the young woman at home ? " The man would rather think she was, but wouldn't quite know. Then he would ring a bell that rang upstairs, and Avould look up the staircase, and would say, yes she was at home, and was coming down. Then Miss Nipper wc.ild appear, and the man would retire. " Oh ! iiow de do ? " Mr. Toots would say, with a chuckle and a blush. Susan would thank him, and say she was very well. " How 's Diogenes going on ? '' would be Mr. Toots's second interro- gation. ^ „ ^..y^^?^^ ^:;^c5f?esg/^ y^9 DOMBEY AND SON. 261 " And that allusion," pursued Cleopatra, "would involve one of the most — if not positively the most — touching, and thrilling, and sacred emotions of which our sadly-fallen nature is susceptible, I conceive." The Major laid his hand upon his Ups, and wafted a kiss to Cleopatra, as if to identify the emotion in question. " I feel that I am weak. I feel that I am wanting in that energy, which should sustain a mama : not to say a parent : on such a subject," said Mrs. Skewton, trimming her Ups with the laced edge of her pocket-hand- kerchief ; "but I can hardly approach a topic so excessively momentous to my dearest Edith without a feeling of faintness. Nevertheless, bad man, as you have boldly remarked upon it, and as it has occasioned me great anguish :" Mrs. Skewton touched her left side with her fan : " I will not shrink from my duty." The Major, under cover of the dimness, swelled, and swelled, and rolled his purple face about, and winked his lobster eye, until he fell into a fit of wheezing, which obliged him to rise and take a turn or two about the room, before his fair friend could proceed. "Mr. Dombey," said IVIrs. Skewton, when she at length resumed, "was obliging enough, now many weeks ago, to do us the honour of visiting us here ; in company, my dear Major, with yourself. I acknowledge — let me be open — that it is my faihng to be the creature of impidse, and to wear my heart, as it were, outside, I know my failing full well. My enemy cannot know it better. But I am not penitent ; I would rather not be frozen by the heartless world, and am content to bear this imputation justly." Mrs. Skewton arranged her tucker, pinched her wiry throat to give it a soft surface, and went on, with gi-eat complacency. " It gave me (my dearest Edith too, I am sure) infinite pleasure to receive Mr. Dombey. As a friend of yours, my dear Major, we were naturally disposed to be prepossessed in his favour ; and I fancied that I observed an amount of Heart in Mr. Dombey, that was excessively refreshing." " There is devilish little heart in Dombey now, Ma'am," said the Major. " Wretched man ! " cried Mrs. Skewton, looking at him languidly, " pray be silent." " J. B. is dumb. Ma'am," said the Major. " Ml*. Dombey," pursued Cleopatra, smoothing the rosy hue upon her cheeks, " accordingly repeated his visit ; and possibly finding some attrac- tion in the simplicity and primitiveness of our tastes — for there is always a charm in nature^ — it is so very sAveet — became one of our little circle every evening. Little did I think of the awful responsibility into which I plunged when I encouraged Mi-. Dombey — to — " " To beat up these quarters. Ma'am," suggested Major Bagstock. "Coarse person!" said Mrs. Skewton, "you anticipate my meaning, though in odious language." Here Mi's. Skewton rested her elbow on the little table at her side, and suffering her wrist to droop in what she considered a graceful and becoming manner, dangled her fan to and fro, and lazily admired her hand while speaking. "^The agony I have endured," she said, mincingly, " as the truth Las 262 DOMBEY AND SON. by degi'ees dawned upon me, has been too exceedingly terrific to dilate upon. My whole existence is bound up in my sweetest Edith ; and to see her change from day to day — my beautiful pet, who has positively garnered up her heart since the death of that most delightful creature, Granger — is the most affecting thing in the world." Mrs. Skewton's world was not a veiy trying one, if one might judge of it by the influence of its most affecting circumstance upon her ; but this by the way. " Edith," simpered Mrs. Skewton, " who is the perfect pearl of my life, is said to resemble me. I believe we «re alike." *' There is one man in the world who never will admit that any one resembles you, Ma'am," said the Major ; " and that man's name is Old Joe Bagstock." Cleopatra made as if she would brain the flatterer with her fan, but relenting, smiled \ipon him and proceeded : " If my charming girl inherits any advantages from me, wicked one !" : the Major was the wicked one : " she inherits also my foolish nature. She has great force of character — mine has been said to be immense, though I don't believe it — ^but once moved, she is susceptible and sensitive to the last extent. What are my feelings when I see her pining ! They destroy me." The Major advancing his double chin, and pursing up his blue lips into a soothing expression, affected the profoundest sympathy. *' The confidence," said Mrs. Skewton, " that has subsisted between us — the free development of soul, and openness of sentiment — is touch- ing to think of. We have been more hke sisters than mama and child." " J. B.'s o^vn sentiment," observed the Major, " expressed by J. B. fifty thousand times ! " " Do not interrupt, rude man !" said Cleopatra. " What are my feel- ings, then, when I find that there is one subject avoided by us ! That there is a what's his name — a gulf — opened between us. That my own artless Edith is changed to me ! They are of the most poignant descrip- tion, of course." . The Major left his chair, and took one nearer to the little table. " From day to day I see this, my dear Major," proceeded Mrs. Skewton. " From day to day I feel this. From hour to horn* I reproach myself for that excess of faith and trustfulness which has led to such distressing consequences ; and almost from minute to mimite, I hope that Mr. Dombey may explain himself, and relieve the torture I undergo, which is extremely wearing. But nothing happens, my dear Major ; I am the slave of remorse — take care of the coffee cup : you are so very awkward — my darling Edith is an altered being; and I really don't see what is to be done, or what good creature I can advise with." Major Bagstock, encouraged perhaps by the softened and confidential tone into which IMi's. Skewton, after several times lapsing into it for a moment, seemed now to have subsided for good : stretched out his hand across the little table, and said with a leer, "Advise with Joe, Ma'am." "Then, you aggi-avating monster," said Cleopatra, giving one hand to the Major, and tapping his knuckles with her fan, which she held in the DOMBEY AND SON. 263 other : " why don't you talk to me ? You know what I mean. Why don't you tell me something to the purpose ? " The Major laughed, and kissed the hand she had bestowed upon him, and laughed again, immensely. "Is there as much Heart in Mr. Dombey as I gave him credit for? " languished Cleopatra tenderly. " Do you think he is in earnest, my dear Major ? Would you recommend his being spoken to, or his being left alone ? Now tell me, like a dear man, what you would advise." " Shall we marry him to Edith Granger, Ma'am? " chuckled the Major hoarsely. " Mysterious creature ! " returned Cleopatra, bringing her fan to bear upon the Major's nose. " How can loe many him ? " " Shall we marry him to Edith Granger, Ma'am, I say ? " chuckled the Major again. Mrs, Skewton retm*ned no answer in words, but smiled upon the Major with so much archness and vivacity, that that gallant officer considering himself chaRenged, would have imprinted a kiss on her exceedingly red lips, but for her interposing the fan with a very Avinning and juvenile dexterity. It might have been in modesty ; it might have been in appre- hension of some danger to their bloom. "Dombey, Ma'am," said the Major, "is a great catch." " Oh, mercenary wretch ! " cried Cleopatra, with a little shiiek, " I am shocked." " And Dombey, Ma'am," pursued the Major, thrusting forward his head, and distending his eyes, " is in earnest. Joseph says it ; Bagstock knows it ; J. B. keeps him to the mark. Leave Dombey to himself. Ma'am. Dombey is safe. Ma'am. Do as you have done j do no more ; and trust to J. B. for the end." "You really think so, my dear Major?" returned Cleopatra, who had eyed him very cautiously, and very searcliingly, in spite of her listless bearing. " Sure of it. Ma'am," rejoined the Major. " Cleopatra the peerless, and her Antony Bagstock, will often speak of this, triumphantly, when sharing the elegance and wealth of Edith Dombey's establishment. Dombey's right-hand man. Ma'am," said the Major, stopping abruptly in a chuckle, and becoming serious, " has arrived." " This morning ? " said Cleopatra. " This morning, Ma'am," retm'ned the Major. " And Dombey's anxiety for his arrival. Ma'am, is to be referred — take J. B.'s word for this ; for Joe is de-viUsh sly" — the Major tapped his nose, and screwed up one of his eyes tight : which did not enhance Ids native beauty — " to his desire that what is in the wind should become known to him, without Dombey's teUing and consulting him. Tor Dombey is as proud. Ma'am," said the Major, " as Lucifer." "A charming quaUty," lisped ]\Irs. Skewton; "reminding one of dearest Edith." " Well, Ma'am," said the Major. " I have thi-own out hints already, and the right-hand man understands 'em ; and I '11 throw out more, before the day is done. Dombey projected this morning a ride to Warwick Castle, and to Kenilworth, to-morrow, to be preceded by a breakfast with us, I under- 261- DOMBEY AND SON. took tlie delivery of this invitation. Will you honour us so far, Ma'am ?" said the Major, swelling with shortness of breath and slyness, as he produced a note, addressed to the Honourable Mrs. Skew ton, by favour of Major Bagstock, wherein her's ever faithfully, Paul Dombey, besought her and her amiable and accomplished daughter to consent to the proposed excursion ; and in a postscript unto which, the same ever faithfully Paul Dombey entreated to be recalled to the remembrance of Mrs. Granger. " Hush ! " said Cleopatra, suddenly, " Edith ! " The loving mother can scarcely be described as resuming her insipid and affected air when she made this exclamation; for she had never cast it off ; nor was it likely that she ever would or could, in any other place than in the grave. But hurriedly dismissing whatever shadow of earnestness, or faint confession of a purpose, laudable or wicked, that her face, or voice, or manner, had, for the moment, betrayed, she lounged upon the couch, her most insipid and most languid self again, as Edith entered the room. Edith, so beautiful and stately, but so cold and so repelling. Who, slightly acknowledging the presence of Major Bagstock, and directing a keen glance at her mother, drew back the curtain from a window, and sat down there, looking out. "My dearest Edith," said Mrs. Skewton, " where on earth have you been ? I have wanted you, my love, most sadly." " You said you were engaged, and I stayed away," she answered, with- out tiu-ning her head. " It was cruel to Old Joe, Ma'am," said the Major in his gallantry. " It was very cruel, I know," she said, still looking out — and said with such calm disdain, that the Major was discomfited, and could think of nothing in reply. " Major Bagstock, my darling Edith," drawled her mother, " who is generally the most useless and disagreeable creature in the world : as you know — " " It is surely not worth while. Mama," said Edith, looking round, " to observe these forms of speech. We are quite alone. We know each other." The quiet scorn that sat upon her handsome face — a scorn that evidently lighted on herself, no less than them — was so intense and deep, that her mother's simper, for the instant, though of a hardy constitution, drooped before it. " My darling girl," she began again, " Not woman yet ? " said Edith, with a smile. " Plow very odd you are to-day, my dear ! Pray let me say, my love, that Major Bagstock has brought the kindest of notes from Mi*. Dombey, proposing that we should breakfast with him to-morrow, and ride to Warwick and KenUworth. Will you go, Edith? " "Win I go ! " she repeated, tm'ning very red, and breathing quickly as she looked round at her mother. " I knew you would, my own," observed the latter, carelessly. " It is, as you say, quite a form to ask. Here is Mi*. Dombey's letter, Edith." " Thank you. I have no desire to read it," was her answer. "Then perhaps I had better answer it myself," said Mrs. Skewton ^ DOMBEY AND SON. 265 " though. I had thought of asking you to be my secretary, darling." As Edith made no movement, and no answer, Mrs. Skewton begged the' Major to wheel her little table nearer, and to set open the desk it contained, and to take out pen and paper for her ; all which congenial offices of gallantry the Major discharged, with much submission and devotion, " Your regards, Edith, my dear ? " said INIrs. Skewton, pausing, pen in hand, at the postscript. " What you will, Mama," she answered, without tmniing her head, and with supreme indifference. Mrs. Skewton wrote what she would, without seeking for any more explicit directions, and handed her letter to the Major, who receiving it as a precious charge, made a show of laying it near his heart, but was fain to put it in the pocket of his pantaloons on account of the insecurity of his waistcoat. The Major then took a very polished and chivalrous farewell of both ladies, which the elder one acknowledged in her usual manner, while the younger, sitting with her face addressed to the window, bent her head so slightly that it would have been a gi'eater compliment to the Major to have made no sign at all, and to have left him to infer that he had not been heard or thought of. " As to alteration in her, Sir," mused the Major on his way back ; on which expedition — the afternoon being sunny and hot — he ordered the Native and the light baggage to the front, and walked in the shadow of that expatriated prince : " as to alteration. Sir, and pining, and so forth, that won't go down with Joseph Bagstock. None of that. Sir. It won't do here. But as to there being something of a division between 'em — or a gulf as the mother calls it — damme. Sir, that seems true enough. And it's odd enough ! Well, Sir ! " panted the Major, " Edith Granger and Dombey are well matched ; let 'em fight it out ! Bagstock backs the winner ! " The Major, by saying these latter words aloud, in the vigour of his thoughts, caused the unhappy Native to stop, and tura round, in the belief that he was personally addressed. Exasperated to the last degree by this act of insubordination, the Major (though he was swelling with enjoy- ment of his own humour, at the moment of its occurrence) instantly thrust his cane among the Native's ribs, and continued to stir him up, at short intervals, all the way to the Hotel. Nor was the Major less exasperated as he dressed for dinner, during which operation the dark servant underwent the pelting of a shower of miscellaneous objects, varying in size from a boot to a hairbrush, and including everything that came within his master's reach. Eor the Major plumed himself on having the Native in a perfect state of drill, and visited the least departure from strict discipline with this kind of fatigue duty. Add to this, that he maintained the Native about his person as a counter- irritant against the gout, and all other vexations, mental as well as bodily ; and the Native would appear to have earned his pay — which was not large. At length, the Major having disposed of all the missiles that were con- venient to his hand, and having called the Native so many new names as must have given him great occasion to marvel at the resources of the 266 DOMBEY AND SON. Englisli language, submitted to have his cravat put on ; and being dressed, and finding himself in a brisk flow of spirits after this exercise, went down stairs to enliven "Dombey" and his right-hand man. Dombey was not yet in the room, but the right-hand man was there, and his dental treasures were, as usual, ready for the Major. " Well, Sir! " said the Major. " How have you passed the time since I had the happiness of meeting you ? Have you walked at all ?" " A saunter of barely half an hour's duration," retui'ned Carker. " We have been so much occupied." " Business, eh ? " said the Major. "A variety of little matters necessary to be gone through," replied Carker. " But do you know — tliis is quite unusual with me, educated in a distrustful school, and who am not generally disposed to be communi- cative," he said, breaking off", and speaking in a charming tone of frank- ness — "but I feel quite confidential with you. Major Bagstock." " You do me honour, Su%" returned the Major. " You may be." "Do you know then," pursued Carker, "that I have not found my friend — our friend, I ought rather to call liim — " " Meaning Dombey, Sir ? " cried the Major. " You see me, Mr. Carker, standing here ! J. B. ? " He was piiify enough to see, and blue enough ; and Mr. Carker inti- mated that he had that pleasure. " Then you see a man. Sir, who would go through fii*e and water to serve Dombey," returned Major Bagstock. IVIr. Carker smiled, and said he was sure of it. " Do you know, Major," he proceeded: " to resume where I left oft" : that I have not found our friend so attentive to business to-day, as usual ? " "No? " observed the dehghted Major. " I have found him a little abstracted, and with his attention disposed to wander," said Carker. "By Jove, Sir," cried the Major, " there 's a lady in the case." "Indeed, I begin to believe there really is," retm-ned Carker. "I thought you might be jesting when you seemed to hint at it ; for I know you military men — " The Major gave the horse's cough, and shook his head and shoulders, as much as to say, " Well ! we are gay dogs, there 's no denying." He then seized ]\Ir. Carker by the button-hole, and with starting eyes whis- pered in his ear, that she was a woman of extraordinary charms. Sir. That she was a young widow. Sir. That she was of a fine famUy, Sir. That Dombey was over head and ears in love with her, Sir, and that it would be a good match on both sides ; for she had beauty, blood, and talent, and Dombey had fortune ; and what more could any couple have t Hearing Mr. Dombey's footstep without, the Major cut himself short by saying, that Mr. Carker would see her to-morrow morning, and would judge for himself; and between his mental excitement, and the exertion of saying all this in wheezy whispers, the Major sat gurgling in the throat and watering at the eyes, until dinner was ready. The Major, like some other noble animals, exhibited himself to great advantage at feeding time. On this occasion, he shone resplendent at one end of the table, supported by the milder lustre of Mx. Dombey at the ## # ¥& ,/^^ O^ '€?// c,v./>' a^.z^6//^r/ a/v // M2// cV-/ DOMBEY AND SON. 267 other ; while Carker on one side lent his ray to either light, or suffered it to merge into both, as occasion arose. During the first course or two, the Major was usually grave ; for the Native, in obedience to general orders, secretly issued, collected every sauce and cruet round him, and gave him a great deal to do, in taking out the stoppers, and mixing up the contents in his plate. Besides which, the Native had private zests and flavours on a side-table, with which the Major daily scorched himself ; to say nothing of strange machines out of which he spirted unknown liquids into the Major's drink. But on this occasion, Major Bagstock, even amidst these many occupations, found time to be social ; and his sociality consisted in excessive slyness for the behoof of Mr. Carker, and the betrayal of Mr. Dombey's state of mind. "Dombey," said the Major, " you don't eat ; what's the matter?" " Thank you," returned that gentleman, " I am doing very well ; I have no great appetite to-day." "Why, Dombey, what's become of it?" asked the Major. "Where's it gone ? You haven't left it with our friends, I 'U swear, for I can ans^ver for their having none to-day at luncheon. I can answer for one of 'em, at least ; I won't say which." Then the Major winked at Carker, and became so frightfully sly, that his dark attendant was obliged to pat him on the back, without orders, or he would probably have disappeared under the table. In a later stage of the dinner : that is to say, when the Native stood at the IVIajor's elbow ready to serve the fii'st bottle of champagne : the Major became still slyer. " Fdl this to the brim, you scoundrel," said the Major, holding up his glass. "FiU IVIr. Carker's to the brim too. And Mr. Dombey's too. By Gad, gentlemen," said the Major, winking at his new friend, while Mr. Dombey looked into his plate with a conscious air, " we 'U consecrate this glass of wine to a Divinity whom Joe is proud to know, and at a distance humbly and reverently to admire. Edith," said the Major, " is her name ; angelic Edith ! " " To angelic Edith ! " cried the smiling Carker. " Edith, by aU means," said Mr. Dombey. The entrance of the waiters with new dishes caused the Major to be slyer yet, but in a more serious vein. " Eor though, among oui'selves, Joe Bagstock mingles jest and earnest on this subject, Sir," said the Major, laying his finger on his lips, and speaking half apart to Carker, " he holds that name too sacred to be made the property of these fellows, or of any fellows. Not a word. Sir, while they are here !" This was respectful and becoming on the Major's part, and IMr. Dombey plainly felt it so. Although embarrassed in his own frigid way, by the Major's allusions, Mr. Dombey had no objection to such rallying, it was clear, but rather courted it. Perhaps the IVIajor had been pretty near the truth, when he had divined that morning that the great man who was too haughty formally to consult with, or confide in his prime minister, on Such a matter, yet wished him to be fully possessed of it. Let this be how it may, he often glanced at Mr. Carker while the Major plied his Light artillery, and seemed watchful of its effect upon him. But the INIajor, having secured an attentive listener, and a smiler who 268 DOMBEY AND SON. had not his match in all the world — " in short, a de-vilish intelligent and agreeable fellow," as he often afterwards declared — was not going to let him off with a little slyness personal to Mr. Dombey, Therefore, on the removal of the cloth, the Major developed himself as a choice spirit in the broader and more comprehensive range of narrating regimental stories, and cracking regimental jokes, which he did with such prodigal exuberance, that Carker was (or feigned to be) quite exhausted with laughter and admiration : while Mi\ Dombey looked on over his starched cravat, hke the Major's proprietor, or like a stately shoAvman who was glad to see his bear dancing well. When the Major was too hoarse with meat and drink, and the display of his social powers, to render himself intelligible any longer, they adjourned to coffee. After which, the Major inquned of Mr. Carker the Manager, Avith little apparent hope of an answer in the affirmative, if he played picquet. " Yes, I play picquet a little," said Mr. Carker. "Backgammon, perhaps?" observed the Major, hesitating. " Yes, I play backgammon a little, too," replied the man of teeth. " Carker plays at aU games, I believe," said Mi-, Dombey, laying him- self on a sofa like a man of wood without a hinge or a joint in him ; " and plays them well." In sooth, he played the two in question, to such perfection, that the Major was astonished, and asked him, at random, if he played chess. " Yes, I play chess a little," answered Carker. " I have sometimes played, and won a game — it's a mere trick — without seeing the board." " By Gad, Sir ! " said the Major, staring, " you're a contrast to Dombey, who plays nothing." " Oh ! He ! " returned the Manager. " He has never had occasion to acquire such little arts. To men like me, they are sometimes useful. As at present, Major Bagstock, when they enable me to take a hand with you," It might be only the false mouth, so smooth and wide ; and yet there seemed to hu'k, beneath the humility and subserviency of this short speech, a something like a snarl ; and, for a moment, one might have thought that the white teeth were prone to bite the hand they fawned upon. But the Major thought nothing about it ; and Mr. Dombey lay meditating, with his eyes half shut, during the whole of the play, which lasted until bed time. By that time, Mr. Carker, though the winner, had mounted high into the Major's good opinion, insomuch that when he left the Major at his OAvn room before going to bed, the Major, as a special attention, sent the Native — who always rested on a mattress spread upon the ground at his master's door — along the gaUery, to light him to his room in state. There was a faint blur on the surface of the mirror in Mr. Carker's chamber, and its reflection was, perhaps, a false one. But it showed, that night, the image of a man, who saw, in his fancy, a crowd of people slumbering on the ground at his feet, like the poor Native at his master's door : who picked his way among them: looking down, maliciously enough : but trod upon no upturned face — as yet. DOMBEY AND SON. 269 CHAPTER XXVII. DEEPER SHADOWS. Mr. Carker the Manager rose with the lark, and went out, walking in the summer day. His meditations — and he meditated with con- tracted brows while he strolled along — hardly seemed to soar as high as the lark, or to mount in that direction ; rather they kept close to their nest upon the earth, and looked about, among the dust and worms. But there was not a bird in the air, singing unseen, farther beyond the reach of human eye than ^Ir. Carker's thoughts. He had liis face so perfectly under control, that few coidd say more, in distinct terms, of its expression, than that it smiled or that it pondered. It pondered now, intently. As the lark rose higher, he sank deeper in thought. As the lark poured out her melody clearer and stronger, he fell into a graver and profounder silence. At length, when the lark came headlong down, with an accu- nudating stream of song, and dropped among the green wheat near him, rippling in the breath of the morning like a river, he sprang up from his reverie, and looked round with a sudden smile, as courteous and as soft as if he had had numerous observers to propitiate ; nor did he relapse, after being thus awakened ; but clearing his face, Uke one who bethought himself that it might otherwise wrinkle and tell tales, went smiling on, as if for practice. Perhaps with an eye to first impressions, ]VIr. Carker was very carefully and trimly dressed, that morning. Though always somewhat formal, in his dress, in imitation of the great man whom he served, he stopped short of the extent of Mr. Dombey's stiffness : at once perhaps because he knew it to be ludicrous, and because in doing so he found another means of expressing his sense of the difference and distance between them. Some people quoted him indeed, in this respect, as a pointed commentary, and not a flattering one, on his icy patron — but the world is prone to misconstruction, and Mr. Carker was not accountable for its bad propensity. Clean and florid : with his light complexion, fading as it were, in the sun, and his dainty step enhancing the softness of the turf : Mr. Carker the Manager strolled about meadows, and green lanes, and glided among avenues of trees, until it was time to return to breakfast. Taking a nearer way back, ]\lr. Carker pursued it, airing his teeth, and said aloud as he did so, " Now to see the second Mrs. Dombey ! " He had strolled beyond the town, and re-entered it by a pleasant walk, where there was a deep shade of leafy trees, and where there were a few benches here and there for those who chose to rest. It not being a place of general resort at any hoiu*, and wearing at that time of the stiU morning the ah* of being quite deserted and retired, Mr. Carker had it, or thought he had it, all to himself. So, with the whim of an idle man, to whom 270 DOMBEY AND SON. there yet remained twenty minutes for reacliing a destination easily accessible in ten, Mr. Carker threaded tlie great boles of the trees, and went passing in and out, before this one and behind that, weaving a chain of footsteps on the dewy ground. But he found he was mistaken in supposing there was no one in the grove, for as he softly rounded the trunk of one large tree, on which the obdurate bark was knotted and overlapped like the hide of a rhinoceros or some kindred monster of the ancient days before the flood, he saw an unexpected figure sitting on a bench near at hand, about which, in another moment, he would have wound the chain he was making. It was that of a lady, elegantly dressed and very handsome, whose dai'k proud eyes were fixed upon the ground, and in whom some passion or struggle was raging. For as she sat looking down, she held a corner of her under lip within her mouth, her bosom heaved, her nostril quivered, her head trembled, indignant tears were on her cheek, and her foot was set upon the moss as though she would have crushed it into nothing. And yet ahnost the self-same glance that showed him this, showed him the self- same lady rising with a scornful air of weariness and lassitude, and tui'ning away with nothing expressed in face or figui'e but careless beauty and imperious disdain, A withered and very ugly old woman, dressed not so much like a gipsey as like any of that medley race of vagabonds who tramp about the country, begging, and stealing, and tinkering, and weaving rushes, by turns, or all together, had been observing the lady, too ; for, as she rose, this second figure strangely confronting the first, scrambled up from the ground — out of it, it almost appeai'ed — and stood in the way. "Let me tell your fortune, my pretty lady," said the old woman, munching with her jaws, as if the Death's Head beneath her yellow skin were impatient to get out. " I can tell it for myself," was the reply. " Aye, aye, pretty lady ; but not right. You didn't tell it right when you were sitting there. I see you ! Give me a piece of silver, pretty lady, and I '11 tell your fortune true. There's riches, pretty lady, in your face." " I know," returned the lady, passing her, with a dark smile, and a proud step. " I knew it before." " What ! You won't give me nothing ? " cried the old woman. " You won't give me nothing to tell your fortune, pretty lady ? How much will you give me not to tell it, then ? Give me something, or I '11 call it after you ! " croaked the old woman, passionately. Mr. Carker, whom the lady was about to pass close, slinking against his tree as she crossed to gain the path, advanced so as to meet her, and pulling off liis hat as she went by, bade the old woman hold her peace. The lady acknowledged liis interference with an inclination of the head, and went her way. " You give me something, then, or I '11 call it after her ! " screamed the old woman, throwing up lier arms, and pressing forward against his outstretched hand, " Or come," she added, di-opping her voice suddenly, looking at him earnestly, and seeming in a moment to forget the object of her wi-ath, " give me sometliing, or I '11 call it after you I " DOMBET AND SON. 271 " After vie, old lady ! " returned the Manager, putting his hand in his pocket. " Tes," said the woman, steadfast in her scrutiny, and holding out her shrivelled hand. " I know ! " " What do you know ? " demanded Carker, throwing her a shilling. " Do you know who the handsome lady is ? " Munching like that sailor's wife of yore, who had chesnuts in her lap, and scowling Hke the witch who asked for some in vain, the old woman picked the shilling up, and going backwards, like a crab, or like a heap of crabs : for her alternately expanding and contracting hands might have represented two of that species, and her creeping face, some half-a-dozen more : crouched on the veinous root of an old tree, pulled out a short black pipe from within the crown of her bonnet, lighted it with a match, and smoked in silence, looking fixedly at her questioner. Mr. Carker laughed, and turned upon his heel. " Good ! " said the old woman. " One child dead, and one child living : one wife dead, and one wife coming. Go and meet her 1" In spite of himself, the Manager looked round again, and stopped. The old woman, who had not removed her pipe, and was munching and mumbling while she smoked, as if in conversation with an invisible fami- liar, pointed with her finger in the direction he was going, and laughed. " What was that you said, Beldamite ? " he demanded. The woman mumbled, and chattered, and smoked, and still pointed before him ; but remained silent. Muttering a farewell that was not com- plimentary, Mr. Carker pursued his way ; but as he turned out of that place, and looked over his shoulder at the root of the old tree, he could yet see the finger pointing before him, and thought he heard the woman screaming, "Go and meet her ! " Preparations for a choice repast were completed, he found, at the hotel ; and Mr. Dombey, and the Major, and the breakfast, were awaiting the ladies. Individual constitution has much to do with the development of such facts, no doubt ; but in this case, appetite carried it hoUow over the tender passion ; Mr. Dombey being very cool and collected, and the Major fretting and fuming in a state of violent heat and irritation. At length the door was thrown open by the Native, and, after a pause, occupied by her languishing along the gallery, a very blooming, but not very youthfid lady, appeared. " My dear Mr. Dombey," said the lady, " I am afraid we are late, but Edith has been out already looking for a favourable point of view for a sketch, and kept me waiting for her. Falsest of Majors," giving him her little finger, " how do you do ? " "Mrs. Skewton," said Mr. Dombey, "let me gi'atify my friend Carker : " Mr. Dombey unconsciously emphasised the word friend, as saying * no really ; I do allow him to take credit for that distinction : ' " by presenting him to you. You have heard me mention Mr. Carker.'* " I am charmed, I am sure," said Mrs. Skewton, graciously. Mr. Carker was charmed, of course. Woidd he have been more charmed on Mr. Dombey's behalf, if Mrs. Skewton had been (as he at first supposed her) the Edith whom they had toasted over night ? " Why, where, for Heaven's sake, is Edith ? " exclaimed Mrs. Skewton, looking round. "Still at the door, giving Withers orders about the 273 DOMBEY AND SON. mounting of tliose drawings ! My dear Mr. Donabey, will you have the kindness — " Mr. Dombey was abeady gone to seek her. Next moment he returned, bearing on his arm the same elegantly dressed and very handsome lady whom Mr. Carker had encountered underneath the trees. " Carker — " began Mr. Dombey. But their recognition of each other was so manifest, that Mr. Dombey stopped surprised. " I am obliged to the gentleman," said Edith, with a stately bend, " for sparing me some annoyance from an importunate beggar just now." "lam obliged to my good fortune," said Mr. Carker, bowing low, " for the opportunity of rendering so shght a service to one whose servant I am proud to be." As her eye rested on him for an instant, and then lighted on the ground, he saw in its bright and searching glance a suspicion that he had not come up at the moment of his interference, but had secretly observed her sooner. As he saw that, she saw in his eye that her distrust was not without foundation. " Eeally," cried Mrs. Skewton, who had taken this opportunity of inspecting Mr. Carker through her glass, and satisfying herself (as she lisped audibly to the Major) that he was all heart ; " really now, this is one of the most enchanting coincidences that I ever heard of. The idea ! My dearest Edith, there is such an obvious destiny in it, that really one might almost be induced to cross one's arm upon one's frock, and say, like those wicked Turks, there is no What's-his-name but Thingummy, and What-you-may-call-it is liis prophet ! " Edith deigned no revision of this extraordinary quotation from the Koran, but IVIr. Dombey felt it necessary to offer a few polite remarks. " It gives me great pleasure," said Mr. Dombey, with cumbrous gallantry, " that a gentleman so nearly connected with myself as Carker is should have had the honour and happiness of rendering the least assist- ance to Mrs. Granger." Mr. Dombey bowed to her. " But it gives me some pain, and it occasions me to be really envious of Carker ; " he unconsciously laid stress on these words, as sensible that they must appear to involve a very surprising proposition ; " envious of Carker, that I had not that honour and that happiness myself." Mr. Dombey bowed again. Edith, saving for a ciu'l of her lip, was motionless. " By the Lord, Su*," cried the Major, bursting into speech at sight of the waiter, who was come to announce breakfast, " it's an extraordinary thing to me that no one can have the honour and happiness of shooting all such beggars tlu'ough the head ^^'ithout being brought to book for it. But here 's an arm for Mrs. Granger if she '11 do J. B. the honour to accept it ; and the greatest service Joe can render you, Ma'am, just now, is, to lead you in to table ! " With this, the Major gave his arm to Edith ; Mr. Dombey led the way with Mrs. Skewton ; Mr. Cai-ker went last, smiling on the party. "I am quite rejoiced, Mr. Carker," said the lady-mother, at breakfast, after another approving survey of him through her glass, " that you have timed yom- visit so happily, as to go with us to-day. It is the most enchanting expedition !" " Any expedition w^ould be enchanting in such society," retm-ned Car- ker ; " but I believe it is, in itself, fuU of interest." DOMBEY AND SON. 273 " Oh !" cried Mrs. Skewton, with a faded little scream of rapture, " the Castle is charming ! — associations of the IMiddle ages — and all that — which is so truly exquisite. Don't you dote upon the Middle ages, Mr. Carker?" "Very much, indeed," said Mr. Carker. " Such charming times !" cried Cleopatra. " So full of Paith ! So vigor- ous and forcible ! So picturesque ! So perfectly removed from common- place ! Oh dear ! If they would only leave us a little more of the poetry of existence in these terrible days 1 " Mrs. Skewton was looking sharp after Mr. Dombey all the time she said this, who was looking at Edith : who was listening, but who never lifted up her eyes. " We are dreadfully real, Mr. Carker," said Mi-s, Skewton ; "are we not ?" Few people had less reason to complain of their reality than Cleopatra, who had as much that was false about her as could well go to the composi- tion of anybody with a real individual existence. But Mr. Carker com- miserated our reality nevertheless, and agreed that we were very hardly used in that regard. "Pictures at the Castle, quite divine!" said Cleopatra. "I hope you dote upon pictures ? " "I assure you, Mrs. Skewton," said Mr. Dombey, with solemn encou- ragement of his Manager, " that Carker has a very good taste for pictures ; quite a natural power of appreciating them. He is avery creditable artist him- self. He win be delighted, I am sure, with Mrs. Granger's taste and skill." "Damme, Sir!" cried Major Bagstock, "my opinion is, that you're the admirable Carker, and can do anything." "Oh!" smiled Carker, with humility, "you are much too sanguine, Major Bagstock. I can do very little. But Mr. Dombey is so generous in his estimation of any trivial accomplishment a man like myself may find it almost necessary to acquire, and to which, in his very different sphere, he is far superior, that — •" Mr. Carker shrugged his shoulders, deprecating further praise, and said no more. All this time, Edith never raised her eyes, unless to glance towards her mother when that lady's fervent spirit shone forth in words. But as Carker ceased, she looked at Mr. Dombey for a moment. Eor a moment only ; but with a transient gleam of scornful wonder on her face, not lost on one observer, who was smiling round the board. Mr. Dombey caught the dark eye-lash in its descent, and took the op- portunity of arresting it. " You have been to Warwick often, unfortunately?" said Mr. Dombey. " Several times." " The visit will be tedious to you, I am afraid." " Oh no ; not at all." " Ah ! You are like your cousin Feenix, my dearest Edith," said Mrs. Skewton. " He has been to Warwick Castle fifty times, if he has been there once ; yet if he came to Leamington to-morrow — I wish he would, dear angel! — he would make his fifty-second visit next day." "We are all enthusiastic, are we not. Mama?" said Edith, with a cold smile. " Too much so, for our peace, perhaps, my dear," returned her mother ; " but we won't complain. Our own emotions are our recompense. If, as your cousin Eeenix says, the sword wetirs out the what's-its-name— " X 274 DOMBEY AND SON. " The scabbard, perhaps," said Edith. " Exactly — a little too fast, it is because it is bright and glowing, you know, nay dearest love," Mrs. Skewton heaved a gentle sigh, supposed to cast a shadow on the surface of that dagger of lath, whereof her susceptible bosom was the sheath : and leaning her head on one side, in the Cleopatra manner, looked with pensive aifection on her darling child. Edith had turned her face towards Mr. Dombey when he first addressed her, and had remained in that attitude, while speaking to her mother,. and while her mother spoke to her, as though offering him her attention, if he had anything more to say. There Avas something in the manner of this simple courtesy : almost defiant, and giving it the character of being rendered on compulsion, or as a matter of traffic to which she was a reluctant party : again not lost upon that same observer who was smiling round the board. It set him thinking of her as he had fii'st seen her, when she had believed herself to be alone among the trees. Mr. Dombey, having nothing else to say, proposed — ^the breakfast being now finished, and the Major gorged, like any Boa Constrictor — that they should start. A barouche being in waiting, according to the orders of that gentleman, the two ladies, the Major and himself, took their seats in it ; the Native and the wan page mounted the box, 'Mr. Towlinson being left behind ; and Mr. Carker, on horseback, brought up the rear. Mr. Carker cantered behind the carriage, at the distance of a hundred yards or so, and watched it, during all the ride, as if he were a cat, indeed, and its four occupants, mice. Whether he looked to one side of the road, or to the other — over distant landscape, with its smooth undulations, wind-mills, corn, grass, bean fields, wild-flowers, farm-yards, hayricks, and the spire among the wood — or upwards in the sunny air, where butterfhes were sporting round his head, and birds were pouring out their songs — or downward, where the shadows of the branches interlaced, and made a trembling carpet on the road — or onward, where the overhanging trees formed aisles and arches, dim with the softened light that steeped through leaves — one corner of his eye was ever on the formal head of Mr. Dombey, addressed towards him, and the feather in the bonnet, drooping so neglectfully and scornfully between them : much as he had seen the haughty eyelids droop ; not least so, when the face met that now fronting it. Once, and once only, did his wary glance release these objects; and that was, when a leap over a low hedge, and a gallop across a field, enabled him to anticipate the carriage coming by the road, and to be standing ready, at the journey's end, to hand the ladies out. Then, and but then, he met her glance for an instant in her first surprise ; but when he touched her, in alighting, with his soft white hand, it overlooked him altogether as before. Mi-s. Skewton was bent on taking charge of Mr. Carker herself, and showing him the beauties of the Castle. She was determined to have his arm, and the Major's too. It would do that incorrigible creature : who was the most barbarous infidel in point of poetry : good to be in such company. This chance arrangement left Mr. Dombey at liberty to escort Edith : which he did : stalking before them through the apartments with a gentlemanly solemnity. " Those darling byegone times, Mr. Carker," said Cleopatra, "with DOMBEY AND SON. 275 - their delicious fortresses, and their dear old dungeons, and their delightful places of torture, and their romantic vengeances, and their picturesque assaults and sieges, and everything that makes life truly charmhig ! How dreadfully we have degenerated ! " " Yes, we have fallen oif deplorably," said Mr. Carker. The peculiarity of their conversation was, that Mrs. Skewton, in spite of hear ecstacies, and Mr. Carker, in spite of his m-banity, were both intent on watching Mr. Dombey and Edith. With all then- conversational endow- ments, they spoke somewhat distractedly, and at random, in consequence. " We have no Faith left, positively," said Mrs. Skewton, advancing her shrivelled ear ; for Mr. Dombey was saying something to Edith. " We have no Faith in the dear old Barons, who were the most delightful crea- tures — or in the dear old Priests, who were the most warlike of men — or even in the days of that inestimable Queen Bess, upon the wall there, which were so extremely golden. Dear creatiixe ! She was all Heart 1 And that charming father of hers ! I hope you dote on Harry the Eighth ! " "I admire him very much," said Carker. "So bluff! " cried Airs. Ske^vton, " wasn't he? So burly. So truly Enghsh. Such a picture, too, he makes, with his dear little peepy eyes, and his benevolent chin ! " "All, Ma'am ! " said Carker, stopping short ; " but if you speak of pic- tures, there 's a composition ! What gallery in the world can produce the counterpart of that ! " As the smiling gentleman thus spake, he pointed through a doorway to where Mr. Dombey and Edith were standing alone in the centre of another room. They were not interchanging a word or a look. Standing together, arm in arm, they had the appearance of being more divided than if seas had Tolled betAveen them. There was a dift'erence even in the pride of the two, that removed them farther from each other, than if one had been the proudest and the other the humblest specimen of humanity in all creation. He, self-important, unbending, formal, austeie. She, lovely and graceful, in an uncommon degree, but totally regardless of herself and him and everything around, and spurning her own attractions Tsith her haughty brow and bp, as if they were a badge or livery she hated. So unmatched were they, and opposed, so forced and linked together by a chain wliich adverse hazard and mischance had forged : that fancy might have imagined the pictures on the walls around them, startled by the unnatm-al con- junction, and observant of it in then- several expressions. Grim knights and warriors looked scowling on them. A churchman, with his hand upraised, denounced the mockery of such a couple coming to God's altar. Quiet waters in landscapes, with the sun reflected in their depths, asked, if better means of escape were not at hand, was there no di'owning left ? Euins cried, ' Look here, and see what We are, wedded to uncongenial Time ! ' Animals, opposed by nature, worried one another, as a moral to them. Loves and Cupids took to flight afraid, and Martyrdom had no such torment in its painted history of suffering. Nevertheless, Mrs. Skewton was so charmed by the sight to which Mi: Carker invoked her attention, that she could not refrain from saying, half aloud, how sweet, how very full of soul it was 1 Edith, overhearing, looked round, and flushed indignant scarlet to her hair. T 2 276 DOMBEY AND SON. _ " My dearest Edith knows I was admiring her ! " said Cleopatra, tap- ping her, almost timidly, on the back with her parasol. " Sweet pet ! " Again Mr. Carker saw the strife he had witnessed so unexpectedly among the trees. Again he saw the haughty languor and indifference come over it, and hide it like a cloud. She did not raise her eyes to him; but with a slight peremptoiy motion of them, seemed to bid her mother come near. Mrs. Skewton thought it expedient to understand the hint, and advancing quickly, with her two cavaliers, kept near her daughter from that time. Mr. Carker now, having nothing to distract his attention, began to dis- course upon the pictures, and to select the best, and point them out to Mr. Dombey : speaking with his usual familiar recognition of Mr. Dom- bey's greatness, and rendering homage by adjusting his eye-glass for him, or finding out the right place in his catalogue, or holding his stick, or the like. These services did not so much originate with Mr. Carker, in truth, as with Mr. Dombey himself, who was apt to assert his chieftainship by saying, with subdued authority, and in an easy way — for him — " Here, Carker, have the goodness to assist me, vnR you ! " which the smiling gentleman always did, with pleasure. They made the tour of the pictures, the walls, crow's nest, and so forth ; and as they were still one little party, and the Major was rather in the shade : being sleepy during the process of digestion : Mr. Carker became communicative and agreeable. At first, he addressed himself for the most part to Mrs. Skewton ; but as that sensitive lady was in such ecstacies \vith the works of art, after the first quarter of an hour, that she could do nothing but yawn (they were such perfect inspirations, she observed as a reason for that mark of rapture), he transferred his attentions to Mr. Dombey. Mr. Dombey said little beyond an occasional "Very true, Carker," or "Indeed, Carker," but he tacitly encouraged Carker to proceed, and inwardly approved of his behaviour very much : deeming it as well that somebody should talk, and thinking that his remarks, which were, as one might say, a branch of the parent establishment, might amuse Mrs. Granger. Mr. Carker, who possessed an excellent discretion, never took the liberty of addressing that lady, direct ; but she seemed to listen, though she never looked at him ; and once or twice, when he was emphatic in his pecidiar humility, the twilight smile stole over her face, not as a light, but as a deep black shadow. Warwick Castle being at length pretty weU exhausted, and the Major very much so : to say nothing of Mrs. Skewton, whose peculiar demon- strations of delight had become very frequent indeed : the carriage was again put in requisition, and they rode to several admired points of view in the neighbourhood. Mr. Dombey ceremoniously observed of one of these, that a sketch, however slight, from the fair hand of Mrs. Granger, would be a remembrance to him of that agreeable day : though he wanted no artificial remembrance, he was sure (liere Mr. Dombey made another of his bows), which he must always higlily value. Withers the lean having Edith's sketch-book under his arm, was immediately called upon by Mrs. Skewton to produce the same : and the carriage stopped, that Edith might make the drawing, which Mr. Dombey was to put away among his treasures. " But I am afraid I trouble you too much," said Mr. Dombey. DOMBEY AND SON. 277 "By no means. Where would you wisli it taken from ? " she answered, turning to him with the same enforced attention as before. Mr. Dombey, with another bow, which cracked the starch in his cravat, woidd beg to leave that to the Artist. " I would rather you chose for yom'self," said Edith. " Suppose then," said Mi-. Dombey, " we say from here. It appears a good spot for the purpose, or — Carker, what do you think ? " There happened to be in the foreground, at some little distance, a grove of trees, not unlike that in which Mr. Carker had made his chain of footsteps in the morning, and with a seat under one tree, greatly resem- bling, in the general character of its situation, the point where his chain had broken. "Might I venture to suggest to Mrs. Granger," said Carker, "that that is an interesting — almost a curious — point of view ? " She followed the direction of his riding-whip with her eyes, and raised them quickly to his face. It was the second glance they had exchanged since their introduction ; and would have been exactly like the first, but that its expression was plainer. " Will you like that ? " said Edith to Mr. Dombey. "I shall be charmed," said Mr. Dombey to Edith, Therefore the carriage was driven to the spot where Mr. Dombey was to be charmed ; and Edith, without moving from her seat, and opening her sketch-book with her usual proud indift'erence, began to sketch. " My pencils are all pointless," she said, stopping and turning them over. " Pray allow me," said Mr. Dombey. " Or Carker wiU do it better, as he understands these things. Carker, have the goodness to see to these pencils for Mrs. Granger." Mr. Carker rode up close to the carriage-door on Mrs. Granger's side, and letting the rein fall on his horse's neck, took the pencils from her hand with a smile and a bow, and sat in the saddle leisurely mending them. Having done so, he begged to be allowed to hold them, and to hand them to her as they were required ; and thus Mr. Carker, with many commendations of Mrs. Granger's extraordinary skill — especially in trees — ^remained close at her side, looking over the drawing as she made it. Mr. Dombey in the meantime stood bolt upright in the can-iage like a highly respectable ghost, looking on too ; while Cleopatra and the Major dallied as two ancient doves might do. " Are you satisfied with that, or shall I finish it a little more? " said Edith, showing the sketch to Mr. Dombey. Mr. Dombey begged that it might not be touched ; it was perfection. " It is most extraordinary," said Carker, bringing every one of his red gums to bear upon his praise. " I was not prepared for anything so beautiful, and so unusual altogether." This might have applied to the sketcher no less than to the sketch ; but Mr. Carker's manner was openness itself — not as to his mouth alone, but as to his whole spirit. So it continued to be while the drawing was laid aside for Mr. Dombey, and while the sketching materials were put up ; then he handed in the pencils (which were received with a distant acknow- ledgment of his help, but without a look), and tightening his rein, fell back, and followed the carriage again. Thinking, perhaps, as he rode, that even this trivial sketch had been made 278 DOMBEY AND SON. and delivered to its owner, as if it had been bargained for and bought. Thinking, perhaps, that although she had assented with such perfect readi- ness to his request, her haughty face, bent over the drawing, or glancing at the distant objects represented in it, had been the face of a proud woman, engaged in a sordid and miserable transaction. Thinking, per- haps, of such things : but smiling certainly, and wliile he seemed to look about him freely, in enjoyment of the air and exercise, keeping always that sharp corner of his eye upon the carriage. A stroll among the haunted ruins of Kenilworth, and more rides to more points of view : most of which, Mrs. Skewton reminded IVIr. Dom- bey, Edith had already sketched, as he had seen in looking over her drawings : brought the day's expedition to a close. Mrs. Skewton and Edith were driven to their own lodgings ; Mr. Carker was graciously invited by Cleopatra to return thither with Mr. Dombey and the Major, in the evening, to hear some of Edith's music ; and the three gentlemen repaired to their hotel to dinner. The dinner was the counterpart of yesterday's, except that the Major was twenty-four hours more triumphant and less mysterious. Edith was toasted again. Mr. Dombey was again agreeably embarrassed. And Mr. Carker was fuU of interest and praise. There were no other visitors at Mrs. Skewton's. Edith's drawings were strewn about the room, a little more abundantly than usual perhaps ; and Withers, the wan page, handed round a little stronger tea. The harp was there ; the piano was there ; and Edith sang and played. But even the music was paid by Edith to Mi-. Dombey's order, as it were, in the same uncompromising way. As thus. " Edith, my dearest love," said Mrs. Skewton, half an hour after tea, "Mr. Dombey is dying to hear you, I know." " Mr. Dombey has life enough left to say so for himself, Mama, I have no doubt." " I shall be immensely obliged," said IVIi*. Dombey. "What do you wish?" " Piano ? " hesitated Mr. Dombey. " Whatever you please. You have only to choose." Accordingly, she began with the piano. It was the same with the harp ; the same with her singing ; the same with the selection of the pieces that she sang and played. Such frigid and constrained, yet prompt and pointed acquiescence with the wishes he imposed upon her, and on no one else, was sufficiently remarkable to penetrate through all the mys- teries of picquet, and impress itself on Mr. Carker's keen attention. Nor did he lose sight of the fact that Mr. Dombey was evidently proud of his power, and liked to show it. Nevertheless, Mr. Carker played so well — some games with the Major, and some with Cleopatra, whose vigilance of eye in respect of Mr. Dombey and Edith no lynx could have surpassed — that he even heightened his po- sition in the lady-mother's good graces ; and when on taking leave he regretted that he would be obliged to retm-n to London next morning, Cleopatra trusted : community of feeling not being met with every day : that it was far from being the last time they would meet. " I hope so," said Mr. Carker, with an expressive look at the couple in the distance, as hedrew towards the door, following the Major. "I think so." DOMBEY AND SON. 279 Mr. Dombey, who had taken a stately leave of Edith, bent, or made some approach to a bend, over Cleopatra's couch, and said, in a low voice: " I have requested Mrs, Granger's permission to call on her to-morrow morning — for a pui-pose — and she has appointed twelve o'clock. May I hope to have the pleasure of finding you at home, Madam, afterwards ?" Cleopatra was so much fluttered and moved, by hearing this, of course, incomprehensible speech, that she could only shut her eyes, and shake her head, and give Mr. Dombey her hand ; which Mr. Dombey, not exactly knowing what to do Avith, dropped. " Dombey, come along ! " cried the Major, looking in at the door. *' Damme, Sir, old Joe has a great mind to propose an alteration in the name of the Royal Hotel, and that it shoidd be called the Tlu-ee Jolly Bachelors, in honour of ourselves and Carker." With this, the Major slapped Mr. Dombey on the back, and winking over liis shoulder at the ladies, with a frightful tendency of blood to the head, carried him oif. Mrs. Skewton reposed on her sofa, and Edith sat apart, by her harp, in «ilence. The mother, trifling with her fan, looked stealthily at the daughter more than once, but the daughter, brooding gloomily with down- cast eyes, was not to be disturbed. Thus they remained for a long hour, without a word, until Mrs. Skewton's maid appeared, according to custom, to prepare her gradually for night. At night, she should have been a skeleton, with dart and hom'-glass, rather than a woman, this attendant ; for her touch was as the touch of Death. The painted object shrivelled underneath her hand ; the form collapsed, the hail* dropped off, the arched dark eye-brows changed to scanty tufts of grey; the pale lips shrunk, the skin became cadaverous and loose ; an old, worn, yellow nodding woman, with red eyes, alone remained in Cleopatra's place, huddled up, like a slovenly bundle, in a greasy flannel gown. The very voice was changed, as it addressed Edith, when they were alone again. " Why don't you tell me," it said, sharply, " that he is coming heie to-morrow by appointment ? " " Because you know it," returned Edith, " Mother." The mocking emphasis she laid on that one word ! " You know he has bought me," she resumed. " Or that he will, to-morrow. He has considered of his bargain ; he has shown it to his friend ; he is even rather proud of it ; he thinks that it will suit him, and may be had sufficiently cheap ; and he will buy to-morrow. God, that I have lived for this, and that T feel it 1 " Compress into one handsome face the conscious self-abasement, and the burning indignation of a hundred women, strong in passion and iu pride ; and there it hid itself with two white shuddering arms. " What do you mean ? " retiurned the angry mother. " Haven't you from a child — " " A child ! " said Edith, looking at her, " when was I a child ! What childhood did you ever leave to me ? I was a woman — artfid, designing mercenary, laying snares for men — before I knew myself, or you, or even understood the base and wretched aim of every new display I learnt. You gave birth to a woman. Look upon her. She is in her pride to-night." 280 DOMBEY AND SON. And as slie spoke, she struck her hand upon her beautiful bosom, as though she would have beaten down herself. " Look at me," she said, " who have never known what it is to have an honest heart, and love. Look at me, taught to scheme and plot when children play ; and married in my youth — an old age of design — to one for whom I had no feeling but indifterence. Look at me, Avhom he left a widow, dying before his inheritance descended to him — a judgment on you ! well deserved ! — and tell me what has been my life for ten years since." " We have been making every effort to endeavour to secure to you a good establishment," rejoined her mother. " That has been your life. And now you have got it." " There is no slave in a market : there is no horse in a fair : so shown and offered and examined and paraded, Mother, as I have been, for ten shameful years," cried Edith, with a burning brow, and the same bitter emphasis on the one word. " Is it not so ? Have I been made the bye- word of all kinds of men ? Have fools, have profligates, have boys, have dotards, dangled after me, and one by one rejected me, and fallen off, because you. were too plain with aU your cunning : yes, and too true, with all those false pretences : until we have almost come to be notorious ? The licence of look and touch," she said, with flashing eyes, "have I submitted to it, in half the places of resort upon the map of England ? Have I been hawked and vended here and there, until the last grain of self-respect is dead within me, and I loathe myself? Has tins been my late chddhood? I had none before. Do not tell me that I had, to-night, of aU nights in my life ! " " You might have been well married," said her mother, " twenty times at least, Edith, if you had given encoiu-agement enough." " No! Who takes me, refuse that I am, and as I well deserve to be," she answered, raising her head, and trembling in her energy of shame and stormy pride, " shall take me, as this man does, with no art of mine put forth to lure him. He sees me at the auction, and he thinks it well to buy me. Let him ! When he came to view me — perhaps to bid— he required to see the roll of my accomplishments. I gave it to him. When he would have me show one of them, to justify Ids purchase to his men, I require of him to say which he demands, and I exhibit it. I will do no more. He makes the purchase of his own will, and with his own sense of its worth, and the power of his money ; and I hope it may never dis- appoint him. I have not vaunted and pressed the bargain ; neither have you, so far as I have been able to prevent you." " You talk strangely to-night, Edith, to yom* own mother." "It seems so to me; stranger to me than you," said Edith. "But my education was completed long ago. I am too old now, and have fallen too low, by degrees, to take a new course, and to stop yom's, and to help myself. The germ of all that purifies a woman's breast, and'makes it true and good, has never stirred in mine, and I have nothing else to sustain me when I despise myself." There had been a touching sadness in her voice, but it was gone, when she went on to say, with a cuided lip, " So, as we are genteel and poor, I am content that we should be made rich by these means ; aU I say, is, I have kept the only purpose I have had the strength to form — I had almost said the power, with you at my side. Mother — and have not tempted this man on." DOMBEY AND SON. 281 " This man ! You speak," said her mother, " as if you hated him." "And you thought I loved him, did you not?" she answered, stopping on her way across the room, and looking round. " Shall I tell you," she continued, with her eyes fixed on her mother, "who ah'eady knows us 'thoroughly, and reads us right, and before whom I have even less of self-respect or confidence than before my own inward self: being so much degraded by his knowledge of me ? " " This is an attack, I suppose," returned her mother, coldly, " on poor, unfortunate what's-his-name — ^Mr. Carker ! Your want of self- respect and confidence, my dear, in reference to that person (who is very agreeable, it strikes me), is not likely to have much effect on yom* esta- blishment. Why do you look at me so hard ? Ai'eyouill?" Edith suddenly let fall her face, as if it had been stung, and while she pressed her hands upon it, a terrible tremble crept over her whole frame. It was quickly gone ; and with her usual step, she passed out of the room. The maid who should have been a skeleton, then re-appeared, and giving one arm to her mistress, who appeared to have taken ofi:" her manner with her charms, and to have put on paralysis with her flannel gown, collected the ashes of Cleopatra and carried them away in the other, ready for to-morrow's revivification. CHAPTER XXVIII. ALTEUATIONS. " So the day has come at length, Susan," said Florence to the excellent Nipper, "when we are going back to our quiet home ! " Susan drew in her breath with an amount of expression not easily described, and further relieving her feelings with a smart cough, answered, "Very quiet indeed. Miss Floy, no doubt. Excessive so." " When I was a child," said Florence, thoughtfully, and after musing for some moments, " did you ever see that gentleman who has taken the trouble to ride down here to speak to me, now tlu'ee times — three times, I think, Susan?" " Three times. Miss," returned the Nipper. " Once was you was out a walking with them Sket — " Florence gently looked at her, and Miss Nipper checked herself. " With Sir Bamet and his lady, I mean to say, Miss, and the young gentleman. And two evenings since then." " When I was a child, and when company used to come to visit Papa, did you ever see that gentleman at home, Susan ? " asked Florence. " Well, Miss," returned her maid, after considering, " I reaUy couldn't say I ever did. When yom* poor dear Ma died, Miss Floy, I was very new in the family, you see, and my element : " the Nipper bridled, as opining that her merits had been always designedly extinguished by Mr. Dombey : " was the floor below the attics." "To be sure," said Florence, still thoughtfully; "you ajre not likely to have known who came to the house. I quite forgot." "Not, Miss, but what we talked about the family and visitors," said 3^8^ DOMBEY AND SON. Susan, " and but what I lieard much said, although the nurse before Mrs. Eichards did make unpleasant remarks when I was in company, and hint at little Pitchers, but that could only be attributed, poor thing," observed Susan with composed forbearance, " to habits of intoxication, for which she was reqmred to leave, and did." Florence, who was seated at her chamber window, with her face resting on her hand, sat looking out, and hai'dly seemed to hear what Susan said, she was so lost in thought. " At all events, Miss," said Susan, " I remember very well that this same gentleman, Mr. Carker, was almost, if not quite, as great a gentle- man with your Papa then, as he is now. It used to be said in the house then, Miss, that he was at the head of all your Pa's affairs in the city, and managed the whole, and that your Pa minded him more than anybody, which, begging your pardon Miss Ploy he might easy do, for he never minded anybody else. I knew that. Pitcher as I might have been." Susan Nipper, with an injured remembrance of the nurse before Mrs. Eichards, emphasised ' Pitcher ' strongly. " And that Mr. Carker has not fallen off. Miss," she pursued, "but has stood his ground, and kept his credit with your Pa, I know from what is always said among oui* people by that Perch, whenever he comes to the house, and though he 's the weakest weed in tlie world, IVIiss Ploy, and no one can have a moment's patience with the man, he knows what goes on in the city tolerable well, and says that your Pa does nothing without Mr. Carker, and leaves all to Mr. Carker, and acts according to Ma*. Carker, and has Mr. Carker always at his elbow, and I do believe that he believes (that washiest of Perches) that after your Pa, the Emperor of India is the child unborn to Mr. Carker." Not a word of this was lost on Florence, who, with an awakened interest in Susan's speech, no longer gazed abstractedly on the prospect without, but looked at her, and listened with attention. " Yes, Susan," she said, when that young lady had concluded. " He is in Papa's confidence, and is his friend, I am sure." Florence's mind ];an high on this theme, and had done for some days. Mr. Carker, in the two visits with which he had followed up his first one, had assumed a confidence between himself and her — a right on his part to be mysterious and stealthy, in telHng her that the ship was stiU miheard of — a kind of mildly restrained power and authority over her — that made her wonder, and caused her gi'cat uneasiness. She had no means of repelling it, or of freeing herself from the web he was gradually winding about her ; for that would have required some art and knowledge of the world, opposed to such address as his ; and Florence had none. True, he had said no more to her than that there was no news of the ship, and that he feared the worst ; but how he came to know that she was interested in the ship, and why he had the right to signify his knowledge to her, so insidiously and darkly, troubled Florence very much. This conduct on the part of Mr. Carker, and her habit of often con- sidering it with wonder and uneasiness, began to invest him with an uncomfortable fascination in Florence's thoughts. A more distinct remem- brance of his features, voice, and manner : which she sometimes corn-ted, as a means of reducing him to the level of a real personage, capable of exerting no greater charm over her than another : did not remove the DOMBEY AND SON. 283 vague impression. And yet lie never frowned, or looked upon her withi an aic of dislike or animosity, but was always smiling and serene. Again, Florence, in pursuit of her strong pui'pose with reference to her father, and her steady resolution to believe that she was herself unwittingly to blame for their so cold and distant relations, would recall to mind that this gentleman was his confidential friend, and would think, with an anxious heart, could her strugghng tendency to dislike and fear him be a part of that misfortune in her, which had turned her father's love adrift, and left her so alone ? She dreaded that it might be ; sometimes beUeved it was : then she resolved that she would try to conquer this wrong feeling ; persuaded herself that she was honoured and encouraged by the notice of her father's friend ; and hoped that patient observation of him and trust in him would lead her bleeding feet along that stony road which ended in her father's, heart. Thus, with no one to advise her — for she could advise with no one without seeming to complain against him — gentle Florence tossed on an uneasy sea of doubt and hope ; and Mi*. Carker, Uke a scaly monster of the deep, swam down below, and kept his shining eye upon her. Florence had a new reason in all this for wishing to be at home again. Her lonely life was better suited to her course of timid hope and doubt : and she feared sometimes, that in her absence she might miss some hopeful chance of testifying her affection for her father. Heaven knows, she might have set her mind at rest, poor child ! on this last point ; but her slighted love was fluttering within her, and, even in her sleep, it flew away in dreams, and nestled, Uke a wandering bird come home, upon her father's neck. Of Walter she thought often. Ah ! how often, when the night was gloomy, and the wind was blowing round the house ! But hope was strong in her breast. It is so diflftcult for the young and ardent, even with such experience as hers, to imagine youth and ardour quenched like a weak flame, and the bright day of life merging into night, at noon, that hope was strong yet. Her tears fell frequently for Walter's sufferings ; but rarely for his supposed death, and never long. She had written to the old Instrument -maker, but had received no answer to her note : which indeed required none. Thus matters stood with Florence on the morning when she was going home, gladly, to her old secluded hfe. Doctor and Mrs. Blimber, accompanied (much against his will) by their valued charge, Master Barnet, were already gone back to Brighton, where that young gentleman and his fellow pilgrims to Parnassus were then, no doubt, in the continual resumption of their studies. The holiday time was past and over; most of the juvenile guests at the villa had taken their departure ; and Florence's long visit was come to an end. There was one guest, however, albeit not resident within the house, who had been very constant in his attentions to the family, and who still remained devoted to them. This was Mr. Toots, who after renewing, some weeks ago, the acquaintance he had had the happiness of Jforming with Skettles Junior, on the night when he burst the Bhmberian bonds and soared into freedom with his ring on, called regularly every other day, and left a perfect pack of cards at the haU-door ; so many indeed, that the ceremony was quite a deal on the part of Mx: Toots, and. a hand at whist on the part of the servant. 284 DOMBEY AND SON. Mr. Toots, likewise, witli tlie bold and happy idea of preventing the family from forgetting him (but there is reason to suppose that tliis expedient originated in the teeming brain of the Chicken), had established a six-oared cutter, manned by aquatic friends of the Chicken's and steered by that illustrious character in person, who wore a bright red fireman's coat for the purpose, and concealed the perpetual black eye with which he was afflicted, beneath a green shade. Previous to the institution of this equipage, Mr. Toots sounded the Chicken on a hypothetical case, as, sup- posing the Chicken to be enamoured of a young lady named Mary, and to have conceived the intention of starting a boat of his own, what would he caU that boat ? The Chicken replied, with divers strong asseverations, that he would either christen it Poll or The Chicken's Delight. Improving on tliis idea, Mr. Toots, after deep study and the exercise of much invention, resolved to call his boat The Toots's Joy, as a delicate compliment to Florence, of which no man knowing the parties, could possibly miss the appreciation. Stretched on a crimson cushion in his gallant bark, with his shoes in the air, ]\Ir. Toots, in the exercise of his project, had come up the river, day after day, and week after week, and had flitted to and fro, near Sir Barnet's garden, and had caused his crew to cut across and across the river at sharp angles, for his better exhibition to any lookers-out from Sir Barnet's windows, and had had such evolutions performed by the Toot's Dehght as had filled all the neighbouring part of the water-side with astonishment. But whenever he saw any one in Sir Barnet's garden on the brink of the river, Mr. Toots always feigned to be passing there, by a combination of coincidences of the most singular and unlikely description. *' How are you. Toots ! " Sir Barnet would say, waving his hand from the lawn, while the artful Chicken steered close in shore. " How de do. Sir Barnet ! " Mr, Toots would answer. " What a sur- prising thing that I shoidd see you here ! " Mr. Toots, in his sagacity, always said this, as if, instead of that being Sir Barnet's house, it were some deserted edifice on the banks of the Nile, or Ganges. "I never was so surprised!" Mr. Toots would exclaim. — "Is Miss Dombey there? " Whereupon Florence would appear, perhaps. " Oh, Diogenes is quite well. Miss Dombey," Mr. Toots would cry. " I called to ask this morning." " Thank you very much ! " the pleasant voice of Florence would reply. " Won't you come ashore. Toots ? " Sir Barnet would say then. " Come ! You 're in no hm-ry. Come and see us." " Oh it 's of no consequence, thank you ! " Mr. Toots would blush- ingly rejoin. " I thought Miss Dombey might like to know, that 's all. Good bye ! " And poor Mr. Toots, who was dying to accept the invitation, but hadn't the courage to do it, signed to the Chicken, with an aching heart and away went the Delight, cleaving the water like an arrow. The Delight was lying in a state of extraordinary splendour, at the garden steps, on the morning of Florence's departure. When she went down-stairs to take leave, after her talk with Susan, she found Mi-. Toots awaiting her in the drawing-room. "Oh, how de do, Miss Dombey?" said the stricken Toots, always DOMBEY AND SOX. 285 dreadfully disconcerted when the desire of his heart was gained, and he was speaking to her ; " thank you I'm very well indeed, I hope you're the same, so was Diogenes yesterday." " You are very kind," said Florence. " Thank you, it 's of no consequence," retorted IVIi-. Toots. " I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind, in this fine weather, coming home by Avater, Miss Dombey. There's plenty of room in the boat for your maid." " I am very much obliged to you," said Florence, hesitating. " I reaUy am — but I would rather not." " Oh, it 's of no consequence," retorted !Mr. Toots, " Good morning ! " " Won't you wait and see Lady Skettles ? " asked Florence, kindly. "Oh no, thank you," returned Mr. Toots, "it's of no consequence at all." So shy was Mr. Toots on such occasions, and so flurried ! But Lady Skettles entering at the moment, Mr. Toots was suddenly seized with a passion for asking her how she did, and hoping she was very well ; nor could Mr. Toots by any possibility leave off shaking hands with her, until Sir Barnet appeared : to whom he immediately clung with the tenacity of desperation. "We are losing, to-day, Toots," said Sir Barnet, turning towards Florence, " the light of our house, I assure you." " Oh, it's of no conseq 1 mean yes, to be sure," faltered the embarrassed Toots. " Good morning ! " Notwithstanding the emphatic nature of this farewell, Mr. Toots, instead of going away, stood leering about him, vacantly. Florence, to relieve him, bade adieu, with many thanks, to Lady Skettles, and gave her arm to Sir Barnet. " May I beg of you, my dear Miss Dombey," said her host, as he conducted her to the carriage, " to present my best compliments to your dear Papa ? " It Avas distressing to Florence to receive the commission, for she felt as if she were imposing on Sir Barnet, by allowing him to believe that a kindness rendered to her, was rendered to her father. As she could not explain, however, she bowed her head, and thanked him ; and again she thought that the duU home, free from such embarrassments, and such reminders of her sorrow, was her natural and best retreat. Such of her late friends and companions as were yet remaining at the villa, came running from within, and from the garden, to say good bye. They were all attached to her, and very earnest in taking leave of her. Even the household were sorry for her going, and the servants came nodding and curtseying round the carriage door. As Florence looked round on the kind faces, and saw among them those of Sir Barnet and his lady, and of Mr. Toots, who was chuckling and staring at her from a distance, she was reminded of the night when Paul and she had come from Doctor Blimber's : and when the carriage drove away, her face was wet with tears. Sorrowful tears, but tears of consolation, too ; for all the softer memories connected with the duU old house to which she was returning made it dear to her, as they rose up. How long it seemed since she had wandered through the silent rooms : since she had last crept, softly and afraid, into those her father occupied : since she had felt the solemn but yet 286 DOMBEY AND SON. sootlimg influence of tlie beloved dead in every action of her daily life ! This new farewell reminded her, besides, of her parting with poor Walter : of his looks and words that night : and of the gracious blending she had noticed in him, of tenderness for those he left behind, with courage and liigh spirit. His little history was associated with the old house too, and gave it a new claim and hold upon her heart. Even Susan Nipper softened towards the home of so many years, as they were on their way towards it. Gloomy as it was, and rigid justice as she rendered to its gloom, she forgave it a great deal. " I shall be glad to see it again, I don't deny. Miss," said the Nipper. " There aint much in it to boast of, but I wouldn't have it burnt or pulled down, neither ! " "Tou'U be glad to go through the old rooms, won't you, Susan? " said Florence, smUing. "Well Miss," returned the Nipper, softening more and more towards the house, as they approached it nearer, " I won't deny but what I shall, though I shall hate 'em again, to-morrow, very likely." Florence felt that, for her, there was greater peace within it than else- where. It was better and easier to keep her secret shut up there, among the tall dark walls, than to carry it abroad into the light, and try to hide it from a crowd of happy eyes. It was better to pursue the study of her loving heart, alone, and find no new discoiuragements in loving hearts about her. It was easier to hope, and pray, and love on, all uncared for, yet with constancy and patience, in the tranquil sanctuary of such remem- brances : although it mouldered, rusted, and decayed about her : than in a new scene, let its gaiety be what it would. She welcomed back her old enchanted dream of life, and longed for the old dark door to close upon h.er, once again. Full of such thoughts, they turned into the long and sombre street. Florence was not on that side of the carriage which was neai-est to her home, and as the distance lessened between them and it, she looked out of her window for the children over the way. She was thus engaged, when an exclamation from Susan caused her to turn quickly round. " Why Gracious me ! " cried Susan, breathless, "where 's our house ! " " Our house ! " said Florence. Susan, drawing in her head from the window, thrust it out again, drew it in again as the carriage stopped, and stared at her mistress in amazement. There was a labyrinth of scaffolding raised all round the house, from the basement to the roof. Loads of bricks and stones, and heaps of mortar, and piles of wood, blocked up half the width and length of the broad street at the side. Ladders were raised against the walls ; labourers were chmbing up and down ; men were at work upon the steps of the scaffolding ; painters and decorators were busy inside ; great rolls of ornamental paper were being delivered from a cart at the door ; an upholsterer's waggon also stopped the way ; no furniture was to be seen through the gaping and broken windows in any of the rooms ; nothing but workmen, and the implements of their several trades, swarming from the kitchens to the garrets. Inside and outside alike : bricklayers, painters, carpenters, masons : hammer, hod, brush, pickaxe, saw, and trowel : aU at work together, infuH chorus! >s DOMBEY AND SON. 287 Florence descended from the coacli, half doubting if it were, or could be the right house, until she recognised Towlinson, with a sun-buxnt face, standing at the door to receive her. " There is nothing the matter ? " inquired Florence. " Oh no, IVIiss." " There are great alterations going on "Yes, Miss, great alterations," said Towlinson. Florence passed him as if she were in a dream, and hunied up-stairs. The garish light was in the long-darkened drawing-rooms, and there were steps and platforms, and men in paper caps, in the high places. Her mother's picture was gone with the rest of the moveables, and on the mark where it had been, was scrawled in chalk, " this room in panel. Green and gold." The staircase was a labyrinth of posts and planks like the outside of the house, and a whole Olympus of plumbers and glaziers was reclining in various attitudes, on the skylight. Her own room was not yet touched within, but there were beams and boards raised against it without, baulk- ing the daylight. She went up swiftly to that other bed-room, where the little bed was ; and a dark giant of a man with a pipe in his mouth, and his head tied up in a pocket-handkerchief, was staring in at the window. It was here that Susan Nipper, who had been in quest of Florence, found her, and said, would she go down stairs to her Papa, who wished to speak to her. " At home ! and wishing to speak to me ! " cried Florence, trembling. Susan, who was infinitely more distraught than Florence herself, re- peated her errand ; and Florence, pale and agitated, hurried down again, without a moment's hesitation. She thought upon the way down, would she dare to kiss him ? The longing of her heart resolved her, and she thought she would. Her father might have heard that heart beat, when it came into his pre- sence. One instant, and it would have beat against his breast — But he was not alone. There were two ladies there ; and Florence stopped. Striving so hard with her emotion, that if her brute friend Di had not burst in and overwhelmed her with his caresses as a welcome home — at which one of the ladies gave a little scream, and that diverted her atten- tion from herself — she would have swooned upon the floor. " Florence," said her father, putting out his hand : so stiffly that it held her off : " how do you do ? " Florence took the hand between her own, and putting it timidly to her lips, yielded to its withdrawal. It touched the door in shutting it, with quite as much endearment as it had touched her. "What dog is that ? " said Mr. Dombey, displeased. " It is a dog, papa from Brighton." " Well ! " said Mr. Dombey ; and a cloud passed over his face, for he understood her. " He is very good-tempered," said Florence, addressing herself with her natm-al grace and sweetness to the two lady strangers. " He is only glad to see me. Pray forgive him." She saw in the glance they interchanged, that the lady who had screamed, and who was seated, was old; and that the other lady, who stood near her papa, was very beautiful, and of an elegant figure. 288 DOMBEY AND SON. "Mrs. Skewton," said her fatlier, turning to the fost, and holding out his hand, " this is my daughter Florence." " Charming, I am sure," observed the lady, putting up her glass. " So natural ! My darling Florence, you mast kiss me, if you please." Florence having done so, turned towards the other lady, by whom her father stood waiting. "Edith," said Mr. Dombey, "this is my daughter Florence. Florence, this lady will soon be your mama." Florence started, and looked up at the beautiful face in a conflict of emotions, among which the tears that name awakened, struggled for a moment with surprise, interest, admiration, and an indefinable sort of fear. Then she cried out, " Oh, papa, may you be happy ! may you be very, very happy all your life ! " and then fell weeping on the lady's bosom. There was a short silence. The beautiful lady, who at first had seemed to hesitate whether or no she should advance to Florence, held her to her breast, and pressed the hand with which she clasped her, close about her waist, as if to reassure and comfort her. Not one word passed the lady's lips. She bent her head down over Florence, and she kissed her on the cheek, but she said no word. " Shall we go on through the rooms," said Mr. Dombey, "and see how our workmen are doing ? Pray allow me, my dear madam." He said this, in oft'ering his arm to Mrs. Skewton, who had been look- ing at Florence tlu'ough her glass, as though picturing to herself what she might be made, by the infusion — from her own copious storehouse, no doubt — of a little more Heart and Natm-e. Florence was still sobbing on the lady's breast, and holding to her, when Mr. Dombey was heard to say from the Conservatory : " Let us ask Edith. Dear me, where is she ? " "Edith, my dear!" cried Mrs. Skewton, "where are you? Looking for Mr. Dombey somewhere, I know. We are here, my love." The beautiful lady released her hold of Florence, and pressing her lips once more upon her face, withdrew hurriedly, and joined them. Florence remained standing in the same place : happy, sorry, joyful, and in tears, she knew not how, or how long, but all at once : when her new Mama came back, and took her in her arms again. "Florence," said the lady, hurriedly, and looking into her face with great earnestness. "You will not begin by hating me? " "By hating you, Mama!" cried Florence, winding her arm round her neck, and returning the look. " Hush ! Begin by thinking weU of me," said the beautiful lady. " Begin by believing that I will try to make you happy, and that I am prepared to love you, Florence. Good bye. We shall meet again, soon. Good bye ! Don't stay here, now." Again she pressed her to her breast — she had spoken in a rapid manner, but firmly — and Florence saw her rejoin them in the other room. And now Florence began to hope that she would learn, from her new and beautiful Mama, how to gain her father's love ; and in her sleep that night, in her lost old home, her own Mama smiled radiantly upon the hope, and blessed it. Dreaming Florence ! ^ (CZf i/i^'WM/:^^:^^' //y^j ,