Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens (suggested reading .TXT) 📕

sleek the horses looked, gleaming the harness looked, luscious and lasting the liveries looked. A rich, responsible turnout. An equipage for a Merdle. Early people looked after it as it rattled along the streets, and said, with awe in their breath, “There he goes!”

There he went, until Brook Street stopped him. Then, forth from its magnificent case came the jewel; not lustrous in itself, but quite the contrary.

Commotion in the office of the hotel. Merdle! The landlord, though a gentleman of a haughty spirit who had just driven a pair of thoroughbred horses into town, turned out to show him upstairs. The clerks and servants cut him off by back-passages, and were found accidentally hovering in doorways and angles, that they might look upon him. Merdle! O ye sun, moon, and stars, the great man! The rich man, who had in a manner revised the New Testament, and already entered into the kingdom of Heaven. The man who could have anyone he chose to dine with him, and who had made the money! As he went up the stairs, people were already posted on the lower stairs, that his shadow might fall upon them when he came down. So were the sick brought out and laid in the track of the Apostle⁠—who had not got into the good society, and had not made the money.

Mr. Dorrit, dressing-gowned and newspapered, was at his breakfast. The Courier, with agitation in his voice, announced “Miss Mairdale!” Mr. Dorrit’s overwrought heart bounded as he leaped up.

“Mr. Merdle, this is⁠—ha⁠—indeed an honour. Permit me to express the⁠—hum⁠—sense, the high sense, I entertain of this⁠—ha hum⁠—highly gratifying act of attention. I am well aware, sir, of the many demands upon your time, and its⁠—ha⁠—enormous value,” Mr. Dorrit could not say enormous roundly enough for his own satisfaction. “That you should⁠—ha⁠—at this early hour, bestow any of your priceless time upon me, is⁠—ha⁠—a compliment that I acknowledge with the greatest esteem.” Mr. Dorrit positively trembled in addressing the great man.

Mr. Merdle uttered, in his subdued, inward, hesitating voice, a few sounds that were to no purpose whatever; and finally said, “I am glad to see you, sir.”

“You are very kind,” said Mr. Dorrit. “Truly kind.” By this time the visitor was seated, and was passing his great hand over his exhausted forehead. “You are well, I hope, Mr. Merdle?”

“I am as well as I⁠—yes, I am as well as I usually am,” said Mr. Merdle.

“Your occupations must be immense.”

“Tolerably so. But⁠—Oh dear no, there’s not much the matter with me,” said Mr. Merdle, looking round the room.

“A little dyspeptic?” Mr. Dorrit hinted.

“Very likely. But I⁠—Oh, I am well enough,” said Mr. Merdle.

There were black traces on his lips where they met, as if a little train of gunpowder had been fired there; and he looked like a man who, if his natural temperament had been quicker, would have been very feverish that morning. This, and his heavy way of passing his hand over his forehead, had prompted Mr. Dorrit’s solicitous inquiries.

“Mrs. Merdle,” Mr. Dorrit insinuatingly pursued, “I left, as you will be prepared to hear, the⁠—ha⁠—observed of all observers, the⁠—hum⁠—admired of all admirers, the leading fascination and charm of Society in Rome. She was looking wonderfully well when I quitted it.”

“Mrs. Merdle,” said Mr. Merdle, “is generally considered a very attractive woman. And she is, no doubt. I am sensible of her being so.”

“Who can be otherwise?” responded Mr. Dorrit.

Mr. Merdle turned his tongue in his closed mouth⁠—it seemed rather a stiff and unmanageable tongue⁠—moistened his lips, passed his hand over his forehead again, and looked all round the room again, principally under the chairs.

“But,” he said, looking Mr. Dorrit in the face for the first time, and immediately afterwards dropping his eyes to the buttons of Mr. Dorrit’s waistcoat; “if we speak of attractions, your daughter ought to be the subject of our conversation. She is extremely beautiful. Both in face and figure, she is quite uncommon. When the young people arrived last night, I was really surprised to see such charms.”

Mr. Dorrit’s gratification was such that he said⁠—ha⁠—he could not refrain from telling Mr. Merdle verbally, as he had already done by letter, what honour and happiness he felt in this union of their families. And he offered his hand. Mr. Merdle looked at the hand for a little while, took it on his for a moment as if his were a yellow salver or fish-slice, and then returned it to Mr. Dorrit.

“I thought I would drive round the first thing,” said Mr. Merdle, “to offer my services, in case I can do anything for you; and to say that I hope you will at least do me the honour of dining with me today, and every day when you are not better engaged during your stay in town.”

Mr. Dorrit was enraptured by these attentions.

“Do you stay long, sir?”

“I have not at present the intention,” said Mr. Dorrit, “of⁠—ha⁠—exceeding a fortnight.”

“That’s a very short stay, after so long a journey,” returned Mr. Merdle.

“Hum. Yes,” said Mr. Dorrit. “But the truth is⁠—ha⁠—my dear Mr. Merdle, that I find a foreign life so well suited to my health and taste, that I⁠—hum⁠—have but two objects in my present visit to London. First, the⁠—ha⁠—the distinguished happiness and⁠—ha⁠—privilege which I now enjoy and appreciate; secondly, the arrangement⁠—hum⁠—the laying out, that is to say, in the best way, of⁠—ha, hum⁠—my money.”

“Well, sir,” said Mr. Merdle, after turning his tongue again, “if I can be of any use to you in that respect, you may command me.”

Mr. Dorrit’s speech had had more hesitation in it than usual, as he approached the ticklish topic, for he was not perfectly clear how so exalted a potentate might take it. He had doubts whether reference to any individual capital, or fortune, might not seem a wretchedly retail affair to so wholesale a dealer. Greatly relieved by Mr. Merdle’s affable offer of assistance, he caught at it directly, and heaped acknowledgments upon him.

“I scarcely⁠—ha⁠—dared,” said Mr. Dorrit, “I assure you, to hope for so⁠—hum⁠—vast an advantage as your direct advice and assistance. Though of course I should, under any circumstances, like the⁠—ha, hum⁠—rest of the civilised world, have followed in