David Copperfield by Charles Dickens (good novels to read in english .TXT) 📕

his chin in his shirt-collar. “She is tolerably convalescent. The twins no longer derive their sustenance from Nature’s founts⁠—in short,” said Mr. Micawber, in one of his bursts of confidence, “they are weaned⁠—and Mrs. Micawber is, at present, my travelling companion. She will be rejoiced, Copperfield, to renew her acquaintance with one who has proved himself in all respects a worthy minister at the sacred altar of friendship.”

I said I should be delighted to see her.

“You are very good,” said Mr. Micawber.

Mr. Micawber then smiled, settled his chin again, and looked about him.

“I have discovered my friend Copperfield,” said Mr. Micawber genteelly, and without addressing himself particularly to anyone, “not in solitude, but partaking of a social meal in company with a widow lady, and one who is apparently her offspring⁠—in short,” said Mr. Micawber, in another of his bursts of confidence, “her son. I shall esteem it an honour to be presented.”

I could do no less, under these circumstances, than make Mr. Micawber known to Uriah Heep and his mother; which I accordingly did. As they abased themselves before him, Mr. Micawber took a seat, and waved his hand in his most courtly manner.

“Any friend of my friend Copperfield’s,” said Mr. Micawber, “has a personal claim upon myself.”

“We are too ’umble, sir,” said Mrs. Heep, “my son and me, to be the friends of Master Copperfield. He has been so good as take his tea with us, and we are thankful to him for his company, also to you, sir, for your notice.”

“Ma’am,” returned Mr. Micawber, with a bow, “you are very obliging: and what are you doing, Copperfield? Still in the wine trade?”

I was excessively anxious to get Mr. Micawber away; and replied, with my hat in my hand, and a very red face, I have no doubt, that I was a pupil at Doctor Strong’s.

“A pupil?” said Mr. Micawber, raising his eyebrows. “I am extremely happy to hear it. Although a mind like my friend Copperfield’s”⁠—to Uriah and Mrs. Heep⁠—“does not require that cultivation which, without his knowledge of men and things, it would require, still it is a rich soil teeming with latent vegetation⁠—in short,” said Mr. Micawber, smiling, in another burst of confidence, “it is an intellect capable of getting up the classics to any extent.”

Uriah, with his long hands slowly twining over one another, made a ghastly writhe from the waist upwards, to express his concurrence in this estimation of me.

“Shall we go and see Mrs. Micawber, sir?” I said, to get Mr. Micawber away.

“If you will do her that favour, Copperfield,” replied Mr. Micawber, rising. “I have no scruple in saying, in the presence of our friends here, that I am a man who has, for some years, contended against the pressure of pecuniary difficulties.” I knew he was certain to say something of this kind; he always would be so boastful about his difficulties. “Sometimes I have risen superior to my difficulties. Sometimes my difficulties have⁠—in short, have floored me. There have been times when I have administered a succession of facers to them; there have been times when they have been too many for me, and I have given in, and said to Mrs. Micawber, in the words of Cato, ‘Plato, thou reasonest well. It’s all up now. I can show fight no more.’ But at no time of my life,” said Mr. Micawber, “have I enjoyed a higher degree of satisfaction than in pouring my griefs (if I may describe difficulties, chiefly arising out of warrants of attorney and promissory notes at two and four months, by that word) into the bosom of my friend Copperfield.”

Mr. Micawber closed this handsome tribute by saying, “Mr. Heep! Good evening. Mrs. Heep! Your servant,” and then walking out with me in his most fashionable manner, making a good deal of noise on the pavement with his shoes, and humming a tune as we went.

It was a little inn where Mr. Micawber put up, and he occupied a little room in it, partitioned off from the commercial room, and strongly flavoured with tobacco-smoke. I think it was over the kitchen, because a warm greasy smell appeared to come up through the chinks in the floor, and there was a flabby perspiration on the walls. I know it was near the bar, on account of the smell of spirits and jingling of glasses. Here, recumbent on a small sofa, underneath a picture of a racehorse, with her head close to the fire, and her feet pushing the mustard off the dumbwaiter at the other end of the room, was Mrs. Micawber, to whom Mr. Micawber entered first, saying, “My dear, allow me to introduce to you a pupil of Doctor Strong’s.”

I noticed, by the by, that although Mr. Micawber was just as much confused as ever about my age and standing, he always remembered, as a genteel thing, that I was a pupil of Doctor Strong’s.

Mrs. Micawber was amazed, but very glad to see me. I was very glad to see her too, and, after an affectionate greeting on both sides, sat down on the small sofa near her.

“My dear,” said Mr. Micawber, “if you will mention to Copperfield what our present position is, which I have no doubt he will like to know, I will go and look at the paper the while, and see whether anything turns up among the advertisements.”

“I thought you were at Plymouth, ma’am,” I said to Mrs. Micawber, as he went out.

“My dear Master Copperfield,” she replied, “we went to Plymouth.”

“To be on the spot,” I hinted.

“Just so,” said Mrs. Micawber. “To be on the spot. But, the truth is, talent is not wanted in the Custom House. The local influence of my family was quite unavailing to obtain any employment in that department, for a man of Mr. Micawber’s abilities. They would rather not have a man of Mr. Micawber’s abilities. He would only show the deficiency of the others. Apart from which,” said Mrs. Micawber, “I will not disguise from you, my dear Master Copperfield, that when that branch of my family which is settled in Plymouth, became aware that Mr. Micawber was accompanied by myself, and by little Wilkins and his