Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens (ebooks children's books free TXT) 📕

‘Yes,’ rejoined Tom, smiling, ‘if it were good advice, which, being yours, I have no doubt it will be.’

‘Very well. Then don’t be an obstinate old humbug in the outset, Tom, or I shall shut up shop and dispense none of that invaluable commodity. You are on a visit to me. I wish I had an organ for you, Tom!’

‘So do the gentlemen downstairs, and the gentlemen overhead I have no doubt,’ was Tom’s reply.

‘Let me see. In the first place, you will wish to see your sister this morning,’ pursued his friend, ‘and of course you will like to go there alone. I’ll walk part of the way with you; and see about a little business of my own, and meet you here again in the afternoon. Put that in your pocket, Tom. It’s only the key of the door. If you come home first you’ll want it.’

‘Really,’ said Tom, ‘quartering one’s self upon a friend in this way—’

‘Why, there are two keys,’ interposed John Westlock. ‘I can’t open the door with them both at once, can I? What a ridiculous fellow you are, Tom? Nothing particular you’d like for dinner, is there?’

‘Oh dear no,’ said Tom.

‘Very well, then you may as well leave it to me. Have a glass of cherry brandy, Tom?’

‘Not a drop! What remarkable chambers these are!’ said Pinch ‘there’s everything in ‘em!’

‘Bless your soul, Tom, nothing but a few little bachelor contrivances! the sort of impromptu arrangements that might have suggested themselves to Philip Quarll or Robinson Crusoe, that’s all. What do you say? Shall we walk?’

‘By all means,’ cried Tom. ‘As soon as you like.’

Accordingly John Westlock took the French rolls out of his boots, and put his boots on, and dressed himself; giving Tom the paper to read in the meanwhile. When he returned, equipped for walking, he found Tom in a brown study, with the paper in his hand.

‘Dreaming, Tom?’

‘No,’ said Mr Pinch, ‘No. I have been looking over the advertising sheet, thinking there might be something in it which would be likely to suit me. But, as I often think, the strange thing seems to be that nobody is suited. Here are all kinds of employers wanting all sorts of servants, and all sorts of servants wanting all kinds of employers, and they never seem to come together. Here is a gentleman in a public office in a position of temporary difficulty, who wants to borrow five hundred pounds; and in the very next advertisement here is another gentleman who has got exactly that sum to lend. But he’ll never lend it to him, John, you’ll find! Here is a lady possessing a moderate independence, who wants to board and lodge with a quiet, cheerful family; and here is a family describing themselves in those very words, “a quiet, cheerful family,” who want exactly such a lady to come and live with them. But she’ll never go, John! Neither do any of these single gentlemen who want an airy bedroom, with the occasional use of a parlour, ever appear to come to terms with these other people who live in a rural situation remarkable for its bracing atmosphere, within five minutes’ walk of the Royal Exchange. Even those letters of the alphabet who are always running away from their friends and being entreated at the tops of columns to come back, never DO come back, if we may judge from the number of times they are asked to do it and don’t. It really seems,’ said Tom, relinquishing the paper with a thoughtful sigh, ‘as if people had the same gratification in printing their complaints as in making them known by word of mouth; as if they found it a comfort and consolation to proclaim “I want such and such a thing, and I can’t get it, and I don’t expect I ever shall!”’

John Westlock laughed at the idea, and they went out together. So many years had passed since Tom was last in London, and he had known so little of it then, that his interest in all he saw was very great. He was particularly anxious, among other notorious localities, to have those streets pointed out to him which were appropriated to the slaughter of countrymen; and was quite disappointed to find, after half-an-hour’s walking, that he hadn’t had his pocket picked. But on John Westlock’s inventing a pickpocket for his gratification, and pointing out a highly respectable stranger as one of that fraternity, he was much delighted.

His friend accompanied him to within a short distance of Camberwell and having put him beyond the possibility of mistaking the wealthy brass-and-copper founder’s, left him to make his visit. Arriving before the great bell-handle, Tom gave it a gentle pull. The porter appeared.

‘Pray does Miss Pinch live here?’ said Tom.

‘Miss Pinch is governess here,’ replied the porter.

At the same time he looked at Tom from head to foot, as if he would have said, ‘You are a nice man, YOU are; where did YOU come from?’

‘It’s the same young lady,’ said Tom. ‘It’s quite right. Is she at home?’

‘I don’t know, I’m sure,’ rejoined the porter.

‘Do you think you could have the goodness to ascertain?’ said Tom. He had quite a delicacy in offering the suggestion, for the possibility of such a step did not appear to present itself to the porter’s mind at all.

The fact was that the porter in answering the gate-bell had, according to usage, rung the house-bell (for it is as well to do these things in the Baronial style while you are about it), and that there the functions of his office had ceased. Being hired to open and shut the gate, and not to explain himself to strangers, he left this little incident to be developed by the footman with the tags, who, at this juncture, called out from the door steps:

‘Hollo, there! wot are you up to? This way, young man!’

‘Oh!’ said Tom, hurrying towards him. ‘I didn’t observe that there was anybody else. Pray is Miss Pinch at home?’

‘She’s IN,’ replied the footman. As much as to say to Tom: ‘But if you think she has anything to do with the proprietorship of this place you had better abandon that idea.’

‘I wish to see her, if you please,’ said Tom.

The footman, being a lively young man, happened to have his attention caught at that moment by the flight of a pigeon, in which he took so warm an interest that his gaze was rivetted on the bird until it was quite out of sight. He then invited Tom to come in, and showed him into a parlour.

‘Hany neem?’ said the young man, pausing languidly at the door.

It was a good thought; because without providing the stranger, in case he should happen to be of a warm temper, with a sufficient excuse for knocking him down, it implied this young man’s estimate of his quality, and relieved his breast of the oppressive burden of rating him in secret as a nameless and obscure individual.

‘Say her brother, if you please,’ said Tom.

‘Mother?’ drawled the footman.

‘Brother,’ repeated Tom, slightly raising his voice. ‘And if you will say, in the first instance, a gentleman, and then say her brother, I shall be obliged to you, as she does not expect me or know I am in London, and I do not wish to startle her.’

The young man’s interest in Tom’s observations had ceased long before this time, but he kindly waited until now; when, shutting the door, he withdrew.

‘Dear me!’ said Tom. ‘This is very disrespectful and uncivil behaviour. I hope these are new servants here, and that Ruth is very differently treated.’

His cogitations were interrupted by the sound of voices in the adjoining room. They seemed to be engaged in high dispute, or in indignant reprimand of some offender; and gathering strength occasionally, broke out into a perfect whirlwind. It was in one of these gusts, as it appeared to Tom, that the footman announced him; for an abrupt and unnatural calm took place, and then a dead silence. He was standing before the window, wondering what domestic quarrel might have caused these sounds, and hoping Ruth had nothing to do with it, when the door opened, and his sister ran into his arms.

‘Why, bless my soul!’ said Tom, looking at her with great pride, when they had tenderly embraced each other, ‘how altered you are Ruth! I should scarcely have known you, my love, if I had seen you anywhere else, I declare! You are so improved,’ said Tom, with inexpressible delight; ‘you are so womanly; you are so—positively, you know, you are so handsome!’

‘If YOU think so Tom—’

‘Oh, but everybody must think so, you know,’ said Tom, gently smoothing down her hair. ‘It’s matter of fact; not opinion. But what’s the matter?’ said Tom, looking at her more intently, ‘how flushed you are! and you have been crying.’

‘No, I have not, Tom.’

‘Nonsense,’ said her brother stoutly. ‘That’s a story. Don’t tell me! I know better. What is it, dear? I’m not with Mr Pecksniff now. I am going to try and settle myself in London; and if you are not happy here (as I very much fear you are not, for I begin to think you have been deceiving me with the kindest and most affectionate intention) you shall not remain here.’

Oh! Tom’s blood was rising; mind that! Perhaps the Boar’s Head had something to do with it, but certainly the footman had. So had the sight of his pretty sister—a great deal to do with it. Tom could bear a good deal himself, but he was proud of her, and pride is a sensitive thing. He began to think, ‘there are more Pecksniffs than one, perhaps,’ and by all the pins and needles that run up and down in angry veins, Tom was in a most unusual tingle all at once!

‘We will talk about it, Tom,’ said Ruth, giving him another kiss to pacify him. ‘I am afraid I cannot stay here.’

‘Cannot!’ replied Tom. ‘Why then, you shall not, my love. Heyday! You are not an object of charity! Upon my word!’

Tom was stopped in these exclamations by the footman, who brought a message from his master, importing that he wished to speak with him before he went, and with Miss Pinch also.

‘Show the way,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll wait upon him at once.’

Accordingly they entered the adjoining room from which the noise of altercation had proceeded; and there they found a middle-aged gentleman, with a pompous voice and manner, and a middle-aged lady, with what may be termed an excisable face, or one in which starch and vinegar were decidedly employed. There was likewise present that eldest pupil of Miss Pinch, whom Mrs Todgers, on a previous occasion, had called a syrup, and who was now weeping and sobbing spitefully.

‘My brother, sir,’ said Ruth Pinch, timidly presenting Tom.

‘Oh!’ cried the gentleman, surveying Tom attentively. ‘You really are Miss Pinch’s brother, I presume? You will excuse my asking. I don’t observe any resemblance.’

‘Miss Pinch has a brother, I know,’ observed the lady.

‘Miss Pinch is always talking about her brother, when she ought to be engaged upon my education,’ sobbed the pupil.

‘Sophia! Hold your tongue!’ observed the gentleman. ‘Sit down, if you please,’ addressing Tom.

Tom sat down, looking from one face to another, in mute surprise.

‘Remain here, if you please, Miss Pinch,’ pursued the gentleman, looking slightly over his shoulder.

Tom interrupted him here, by rising to place a chair for his sister. Having done which he sat down again.

‘I am glad you chance to have called to see your sister to-day, sir,’ resumed the