CHAPTER SIX
COMPRISES, AMONG OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS, PECKSNIFFIAN AND
ARCHITECTURAL, AND EXACT RELATION OF THE PROGRESS MADE BY MR PINCH
IN THE CONFIDENCE AND FRIENDSHIP OF THE NEW PUPIL
It was morning; and the beautiful Aurora, of whom so much hath been
written, said, and sung, did, with her rosy fingers, nip and tweak
Miss Pecksniff's nose. It was the frolicsome custom of the Goddess,
in her intercourse with the fair Cherry, so to do; or in more
prosaic phrase, the tip of that feature in the sweet girl's
countenance was always very red at breakfast-time. For the most
part, indeed, it wore, at that season of the day, a scraped and
frosty look, as if it had been rasped; while a similar phenomenon
developed itself in her humour, which was then observed to be of a
sharp and acid quality, as though an extra lemon (figuratively
speaking) had been squeezed into the nectar of her disposition, and
had rather damaged its flavour.
This additional pungency on the part of the fair young creature led,
on ordinary occasions, to such slight consequences as the copious
dilution of Mr Pinch's tea, or to his coming off uncommonly short in
respect of butter, or to other the like results. But on the morning
after the Installation Banquet, she suffered him to wander to and
fro among the eatables and drinkables, a perfectly free and
unchecked man; so utterly to Mr Pinch's wonder and confusion, that
like the wretched captive who recovered his liberty in his old age,
he could make but little use of his enlargement, and fell into a
strange kind of flutter for want of some kind hand to scrape his
bread, and cut him off in the article of sugar with a lump, and pay
him those other little attentions to which he was accustomed. There
was something almost awful, too, about the self-possession of the
new pupil; who 'troubled' Mr Pecksniff for the loaf, and helped
himself to a rasher of that gentleman's own particular and private
bacon, with all the coolness in life. He even seemed to think that
he was doing quite a regular thing, and to expect that Mr Pinch
would follow his example, since he took occasion to observe of that
young man 'that he didn't get on'; a speech of so tremendous a
character, that Tom cast down his eyes involuntarily, and felt as if
he himself had committed some horrible deed and heinous breach of Mr
Pecksniff's confidence. Indeed, the agony of having such an
indiscreet remark addressed to him before the assembled family, was
breakfast enough in itself, and would, without any other matter of
reflection, have settled Mr Pinch's business and quenched his
appetite, for one meal, though he had been never so hungry.
The young ladies, however, and Mr Pecksniff likewise, remained in
the very best of spirits in spite of these severe trials, though
with something of a mysterious understanding among themselves. When
the meal was nearly over, Mr Pecksniff smilingly explained the cause
of their common satisfaction.
'It is not often,' he said, 'Martin, that my daughters and I desert
our quiet home to pursue the giddy round of pleasures that revolves
abroad. But we think of doing so to-day.'
'Indeed, sir!' cried the new pupil.
'Yes,' said Mr Pecksniff, tapping his left hand with a letter which
he held in his right. 'I have a summons here to repair to London;
on professional business, my dear Martin; strictly on professional
business; and I promised my girls, long ago, that whenever that
happened again, they should accompany me. We shall go forth to-
night by the heavy coach--like the dove of old, my dear Martin--and
it will be a week before we again deposit our olive-branches in the
passage. When I say olive-branches,' observed Mr Pecksniff, in
explanation, 'I mean, our unpretending luggage.'
'I hope the young ladies will enjoy their trip,' said Martin.
'Oh! that I'm sure we shall!' cried Mercy, clapping her hands.
'Good gracious, Cherry, my darling, the idea of London!'
'Ardent child!' said Mr Pecksniff, gazing on her in a dreamy way.
'And yet there is a melancholy sweetness in these youthful hopes!
It is pleasant to know that they never can be realised. I remember
thinking once myself, in the days of my childhood, that pickled
onions grew on trees, and that every elephant was born with an
impregnable castle on his back. I have not found the fact to be so;
far from it; and yet those visions have comforted me under
circumstances of trial. Even when I have had the anguish of
discovering that I have nourished in my breast on ostrich, and not a
human pupil--even in that hour of agony, they have soothed me.'
At this dread allusion to John Westlock, Mr Pinch precipitately
choked in his tea; for he had that very morning received a letter
from him, as Mr Pecksniff very well knew.
'You will take care, my dear Martin,' said Mr Pecksniff, resuming
his former cheerfulness, 'that the house does not run away in our
absence. We leave you in charge of everything. There is no
mystery; all is free and open. Unlike the young man in the Eastern
tale--who is described as a one-eyed almanac, if I am not mistaken,
Mr Pinch?--'
'A one-eyed calender, I think, sir,' faltered Tom.
'They are pretty nearly the same thing, I believe,' said Mr
Pecksniff, smiling compassionately; 'or they used to be in my time.
Unlike that young man, my dear Martin, you are forbidden to enter no
corner of this house; but are requested to make yourself perfectly
at home in every part of it. You will be jovial, my dear Martin,
and will kill the fatted calf if you please!'
There was not the least objection, doubtless, to the young man's
slaughtering and appropriating to his own use any calf, fat or lean,
that he might happen to find upon the premises; but as no such
animal chanced at that time to be grazing on Mr Pecksniff's estate,
this request must be considered rather as a polite compliment that a
substantial hospitality. It was the finishing ornament of the
conversation; for when he had delivered it, Mr Pecksniff rose and
led the way to that hotbed of architectural genius, the two-pair
front.
'Let me see,' he said, searching among the papers, 'how you can best
employ yourself, Martin, while I am absent. Suppose you were to
give me your idea of a monument to a Lord Mayor of London; or a tomb
for a sheriff; or your notion of a cow-house to be erected in a
nobleman's park. Do you know, now,' said Mr Pecksniff, folding his
hands, and looking at his young relation with an air of pensive
interest, 'that I should very much like to see your notion of a
cow-house?'
But Martin by no means appeared to relish this suggestion.
'A pump,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'is very chaste practice. I have found
that a lamp post is calculated to refine the mind and give it a
classical tendency. An ornamental turnpike has a remarkable effect
upon the imagination. What do you say to beginning with an
ornamental turnpike?'
'Whatever Mr Pecksniff pleased,' said Martin, doubtfully.
'Stay,' said that gentleman. 'Come! as you're ambitious, and are a
very neat draughtsman, you shall--ha ha!--you shall try your hand on
these proposals for a grammar-school; regulating your plan, of
course, by the printed particulars. Upon my word, now,' said Mr
Pecksniff, merrily, 'I shall be very curious to see what you make of
the grammar-school. Who knows but a young man of your taste might
hit upon something, impracticable and unlikely in itself, but which
I could put into shape? For it really is, my dear Martin, it really
is in the finishing touches alone, that great experience and long
study in these matters tell. Ha, ha, ha! Now it really will be,'
continued Mr Pecksniff, clapping his young friend on the back in his
droll humour, 'an amusement to me, to see what you make of the
grammar-school.'
Martin readily undertook this task, and Mr Pecksniff forthwith
proceeded to entrust him with the materials necessary for its
execution; dwelling meanwhile on the magical effect of a few
finishing touches from the hand of a master; which, indeed, as some
people said (and these were the old enemies again!) was
unquestionably very surprising, and almost miraculous; as there were
cases on record in which the masterly introduction of an additional
back window, or a kitchen door, or half-a-dozen steps, or even a
water spout, had made the design of a pupil Mr Pecksniff's own work,
and had brought substantial rewards into that gentleman's pocket.
But such is the magic of genius, which changes all it handles into
gold!
'When your mind requires to be refreshed by change of occupation,'
said Mr Pecksniff, 'Thomas Pinch will instruct you in the art of
surveying the back garden, or in ascertaining the dead level of the
road between this house and the finger-post, or in any other
practical and pleasing pursuit. There are a cart-load of loose
bricks, and a score or two of old flower-pots, in the back yard. If
you could pile them up my dear Martin, into any form which would
remind me on my return say of St. Peter's at Rome, or the Mosque of
St. Sophia at Constantinople, it would be at once improving to you
and agreeable to my feelings. And now,' said Mr Pecksniff, in
conclusion, 'to drop, for the present, our professional relations
and advert to private matters, I shall be glad to talk with you in
my own room, while I pack up my portmanteau.'
Martin attended him; and they remained in secret conference
together for an hour or more; leaving Tom Pinch alone. When the
young man returned, he was very taciturn and dull, in which state he
remained all day; so that Tom, after trying him once or twice with
indifferent conversation, felt a delicacy in obtruding himself upon
his thoughts, and said no more.
He would not have had leisure to say much, had his new friend been
ever so loquacious; for first of all Mr Pecksniff called him down to
stand upon the top of his portmanteau and represent ancient statues
there, until such time as it would consent to be locked; and then
Miss Charity called him to come and cord her trunk; and then Miss
Mercy sent for him to come and mend her box; and then he wrote the
fullest possible cards for all the luggage; and then he volunteered
to carry it all downstairs; and after that to see it safely carried
on a couple of barrows to the old finger-post at the end of the
lane; and then to mind it till the coach came up. In short, his
day's work would have been a pretty heavy one for a porter, but his
thorough good-will made nothing of it; and as he sat upon the
luggage at last, waiting for the Pecksniffs, escorted by the new
pupil, to come down the lane, his heart was light with the hope of
having pleased his benefactor.
'I was almost afraid,' said Tom, taking a letter from his pocket and
wiping his face, for he was hot with bustling about though it was a
cold day, 'that I shouldn't have had time to write it, and that
would have been a thousand pities; postage from such a distance
being a serious consideration, when one's not rich. She will be
glad to see my hand, poor girl, and to hear that Pecksniff is as
kind as ever. I would have asked John Westlock to call and see her,
and tell her all about me by word of mouth, but I was afraid he
might speak against Pecksniff to her, and make her uneasy. Besides,
they are particular people where she is, and it might have rendered
her situation uncomfortable if she had had a visit from a young man
like John. Poor Ruth!'
Tom Pinch seemed a little disposed to be melancholy for half a
minute or so, but he found comfort very soon, and pursued his
ruminations thus:
'I'm a nice man, I don't think, as John used to say (John was a
kind, merry-hearted fellow; I wish he had liked Pecksniff better),
to be feeling low, on account of the distance between us, when I
ought to be thinking, instead, of my extraordinary good luck in
having ever got here. I must have been born with a silver spoon in
my mouth, I am sure, to have ever come across Pecksniff. And here
have I fallen again into my usual good luck with the new pupil! Such
an affable, generous, free fellow, as he is, I never saw. Why, we
were companions directly! and he a relation of Pecksniff's too, and
a clever, dashing youth who might cut his way through the world as
if it were a cheese! Here he comes while the words are on my lips'
said Tom; 'walking down the lane as if the lane belonged to him.'
In truth, the new pupil, not at all disconcerted by the honour of
having Miss Mercy Pecksniff on his arm, or by the affectionate
adieux of that young lady, approached as Mr Pinch spoke, followed by
Miss Charity and Mr Pecksniff. As the coach appeared at the same
moment, Tom lost no time in entreating the gentleman last mentioned,
to undertake the delivery of his letter.
'Oh!' said Mr Pecksniff, glancing at the superscription. 'For your
sister, Thomas. Yes, oh yes, it shall be delivered, Mr Pinch. Make
your mind easy upon that score. She shall certainly have it, Mr
Pinch.'
He made the promise with so much condescension and patronage, that
Tom felt he had asked a great deal (this had not occurred to his
mind before), and thanked him earnestly. The Miss Pecksniffs,
according to a custom they had, were amused beyond description at
the mention of Mr Pinch's sister. Oh the fright! The bare idea
of a Miss Pinch! Good heavens!
Tom was greatly pleased to see them so merry, for he took it as a
token of their favour, and good-humoured regard. Therefore he
laughed too and rubbed his hands and wished them a pleasant journey
and safe return, and was quite brisk. Even when the coach had
rolled away with the olive-branches in the boot and the family of
doves inside, he stood waving his hand and bowing; so much gratified
by the unusually courteous demeanour of the young ladies, that he
was quite regardless, for the moment, of Martin Chuzzlewit, who
stood leaning thoughtfully against the finger-post, and who after
disposing of his fair charge had hardly lifted his eyes from the
ground.
The perfect silence which ensued upon the bustle and departure of
the coach, together with the sharp air of the wintry afternoon,
roused them both at the same time. They turned, as by mutual
consent, and moved off arm-in-arm.
'How melancholy you are!' said Tom; 'what is the matter?'
'Nothing worth speaking of,' said Martin. 'Very little more than
was the matter yesterday, and much more, I hope, than will be the
matter to-morrow. I'm out of spirits, Pinch.'
'Well,' cried Tom, 'now do you know I am in capital spirits today,
and scarcely ever felt more disposed to be good company. It was a
very kind thing in your predecessor, John, to write to me, was it
not?'
'Why, yes,' said Martin carelessly; 'I should have thought he would
have had enough to do to enjoy himself, without thinking of you,
Pinch.'
'Just what I felt to be so very likely,' Tom rejoined; 'but no, he
keeps his word, and says, "My dear Pinch, I often think of you," and
all sorts of kind and considerate things of that description.'
'He must be a devilish good-natured fellow,' said Martin, somewhat
peevishly: 'because he can't mean that, you know.'
'I don't suppose he can, eh?' said Tom, looking wistfully in his
companion's face. 'He says so to please me, you think?'
'Why, is it likely,' rejoined Martin, with greater earnestness,
'that a young man newly escaped from this kennel of a place, and
fresh to all the delights of being his own master in London, can
have much leisure or inclination to think favourably of anything or
anybody he has left behind him here? I put it to you, Pinch, is it
natural?'
After a short reflection, Mr Pinch replied, in a more subdued tone,
that to be sure it was unreasonable to expect any such thing, and
that he had no doubt Martin knew best.
'Of course I know best,' Martin observed.
'Yes, I feel that,' said Mr Pinch mildly. 'I said so.' And when he
had made this rejoinder, they fell into a blank silence again, which
lasted until they reached home; by which time it was dark.
Now, Miss Charity Pecksniff, in consideration of the inconvenience
of carrying them with her in the coach, and the impossibility of
preserving them by artificial means until the family's return, had
set forth, in a couple of plates, the fragments of yesterday's
feast. In virtue of which liberal arrangement, they had the
happiness to find awaiting them in the parlour two chaotic heaps of
the remains of last night's pleasure, consisting of certain filmy
bits of oranges, some mummied sandwiches, various disrupted masses
of the geological cake, and several entire captain's biscuits. That
choice liquor in which to steep these dainties might not be wanting,
the remains of the two bottles of currant wine had been poured
together and corked with a curl-paper; so that every material was at
hand for making quite a heavy night of it.
Martin Chuzzlewit beheld these roystering preparations with infinite
contempt, and stirring the fire into a blaze (to the great
destruction of Mr Pecksniff's coals), sat moodily down before it, in
the most comfortable chair he could find. That he might the better
squeeze himself into the small corner that was left for him, Mr
Pinch took up his position on Miss Mercy Pecksniff's stool, and
setting his glass down upon the hearthrug and putting his plate
upon his knees, began to enjoy himself.
If Diogenes coming to life again could have rolled himself, tub and
all, into Mr Pecksniff's parlour and could have seen Tom Pinch as he
sat on Mercy Pecksniff's stool with his plate and glass before him
he could not have faced it out, though in his surliest mood, but
must have smiled good-temperedly. The perfect and entire
satisfaction of Tom; his surpassing appreciation of the husky
sandwiches, which crumbled in his mouth like saw-dust; the
unspeakable relish with which he swallowed the thin wine by drops,
and smacked his lips, as though it were so rich and generous that to
lose an atom of its fruity flavour were a sin; the look with which
he paused sometimes, with his glass in his hand, proposing silent
toasts to himself; and the anxious shade that came upon his
contented face when, after wandering round the room, exulting in its
uninvaded snugness, his glance encountered the dull brow of his
companion; no cynic in the world, though in his hatred of its men a
very griffin, could have withstood these things in Thomas Pinch.
Some men would have slapped him on the back, and pledged him in a
bumper of the currant wine, though it had been the sharpest vinegar
--aye, and liked its flavour too; some would have seized him by his
honest hand, and thanked him for the lesson that his simple nature
taught them. Some would have laughed with, and others would have
laughed at him; of which last class was Martin Chuzzlewit, who,
unable to restrain himself, at last laughed loud and long.
'That's right,' said Tom, nodding approvingly. 'Cheer up! That's
capital!'
At which encouragement young Martin laughed again; and said, as soon
as he had breath and gravity enough:
'I never saw such a fellow as you are, Pinch.'
'Didn't you though?' said Tom. 'Well, it's very likely you do find
me strange, because I have hardly seen anything of the world, and
you have seen a good deal I dare say?'
'Pretty well for my time of life,' rejoined Martin, drawing his
chair still nearer to the fire, and spreading his feet out on the
fender. 'Deuce take it, I must talk openly to somebody. I'll talk
openly to you, Pinch.'
'Do!' said Tom. 'I shall take it as being very friendly of you,'
'I'm not in your way, am I?' inquired Martin, glancing down at Mr
Pinch, who was by this time looking at the fire over his leg.
'Not at all!' cried Tom.
'You must know then, to make short of a long story,' said Martin,
beginning with a kind of effort, as if the revelation were not
agreeable to him; 'that I have been bred up from childhood with
great expectations, and have always been taught to believe that I
should be, one day, very rich. So I should have been, but for
certain brief reasons which I am going to tell you, and which have
led to my being disinherited.'
'By your father?' inquired Mr Pinch, with open eyes.
'By my grandfather. I have had no parents these many years.
Scarcely within my remembrance.'
'Neither have I,' said Tom, touching the young man's hand with his
own and timidly withdrawing it again. 'Dear me!'
'Why, as to that, you know, Pinch,' pursued the other, stirring the
fire again, and speaking in his rapid, off-hand way; 'it's all very
right and proper to be fond of parents when we have them, and to
bear them in remembrance after they're dead, if you have ever known
anything of them. But as I never did know anything about mine
personally, you know, why, I can't be expected to be very
sentimental about 'em. And I am not; that's the truth.'
Mr Pinch was just then looking thoughtfully at the bars. But on his
companion pausing in this place, he started, and said 'Oh! of
course'--and composed himself to listen again.
'In a word,' said Martin, 'I have been bred and reared all my life
by this grandfather of whom I have just spoken. Now, he has a great
many good points--there is no doubt about that; I'll not disguise
the fact from you--but he has two very great faults, which are the
staple of his bad side. In the first place, he has the most
confirmed obstinacy of character you ever met with in any human
creature. In the second, he is most abominably selfish.'
'Is he indeed?' cried Tom.
'In those two respects,' returned the other, 'there never was such a
man. I have often heard from those who know, that they have been,
time out of mind, the failings of our family; and I believe there's
some truth in it. But I can't say of my own knowledge. All I have
to do, you know, is to be very thankful that they haven't descended
to me, and, to be very careful that I don't contract 'em.'
'To be sure,' said Mr Pinch. 'Very proper.'
'Well, sir,' resumed Martin, stirring the fire once more, and
drawing his chair still closer to it, 'his selfishness makes him
exacting, you see; and his obstinacy makes him resolute in his
exactions. The consequence is that he has always exacted a great
deal from me in the way of respect, and submission, and self-denial
when his wishes were in question, and so forth. I have borne a
great deal from him, because I have been under obligations to him
(if one can ever be said to be under obligations to one's own
grandfather), and because I have been really attached to him; but we
have had a great many quarrels for all that, for I could not
accommodate myself to his ways very often--not out of the least
reference to myself, you understand, but because--' he stammered
here, and was rather at a loss.
Mr Pinch being about the worst man in the world to help anybody out
of a difficulty of this sort, said nothing.
'Well! as you understand me,' resumed Martin, quickly, 'I needn't
hunt for the precise expression I want. Now I come to the cream of
my story, and the occasion of my being here. I am in love, Pinch.'
Mr Pinch looked up into his face with increased interest.
'I say I am in love. I am in love with one of the most beautiful
girls the sun ever shone upon. But she is wholly and entirely
dependent upon the pleasure of my grandfather; and if he were to
know that she favoured my passion, she would lose her home and
everything she possesses in the world. There is nothing very
selfish in THAT love, I think?'
'Selfish!' cried Tom. 'You have acted nobly. To love her as I am
sure you do, and yet in consideration for her state of dependence,
not even to disclose--'
'What are you talking about, Pinch?' said Martin pettishly: 'don't
make yourself ridiculous, my good fellow! What do you mean by not
disclosing?'
'I beg your pardon,' answered Tom. 'I thought you meant that, or I
wouldn't have said it.'
'If I didn't tell her I loved her, where would be the use of my
being in love?' said Martin: 'unless to keep myself in a perpetual
state of worry and vexation?'
'That's true,' Tom answered. 'Well! I can guess what SHE said when
you told her,' he added, glancing at Martin's handsome face.
'Why, not exactly, Pinch,' he rejoined, with a slight frown;
'because she has some girlish notions about duty and gratitude, and
all the rest of it, which are rather hard to fathom; but in the main
you are right. Her heart was mine, I found.'
'Just what I supposed,' said Tom. 'Quite natural!' and, in his
great satisfaction, he took a long sip out of his wine-glass.
'Although I had conducted myself from the first with the utmost
circumspection,' pursued Martin, 'I had not managed matters so well
but that my grandfather, who is full of jealousy and distrust,
suspected me of loving her. He said nothing to her, but straightway
attacked me in private, and charged me with designing to corrupt the
fidelity to himself (there you observe his selfishness), of a young
creature whom he had trained and educated to be his only
disinterested and faithful companion, when he should have disposed
of me in marriage to his heart's content. Upon that, I took fire
immediately, and told him that with his good leave I would dispose
of myself in marriage, and would rather not be knocked down by him
or any other auctioneer to any bidder whomsoever.'
Mr Pinch opened his eyes wider, and looked at the fire harder than
he had done yet.
'You may be sure,' said Martin, 'that this nettled him, and that he
began to be the very reverse of complimentary to myself. Interview
succeeded interview; words engendered words, as they always do; and
the upshot of it was, that I was to renounce her, or be renounced by
him. Now you must bear in mind, Pinch, that I am not only
desperately fond of her (for though she is poor, her beauty and
intellect would reflect great credit on anybody, I don't care of
what pretensions who might become her husband), but that a chief
ingredient in my composition is a most determined--'
'Obstinacy,' suggested Tom in perfect good faith. But the
suggestion was not so well received as he had expected; for the
young man immediately rejoined, with some irritation,
'What a fellow you are, Pinch!'
'I beg your pardon,' said Tom, 'I thought you wanted a word.'
'I didn't want that word,' he rejoined. 'I told you obstinacy was
no part of my character, did I not? I was going to say, if you had
given me leave, that a chief ingredient in my composition is a most
determined firmness.'
'Oh!' cried Tom, screwing up his mouth, and nodding. 'Yes, yes; I
see!'
'And being firm,' pursued Martin, 'of course I was not going to
yield to him, or give way by so much as the thousandth part of an
inch.'
'No, no,' said Tom.
'On the contrary, the more he urged, the more I was determined to
oppose him.'
'To be sure!' said Tom.
'Very well,' rejoined Martin, throwing himself back in his chair,
with a careless wave of both hands, as if the subject were quite
settled, and nothing more could be said about it--'There is an end
of the matter, and here am I!'
Mr Pinch sat staring at the fire for some minutes with a puzzled
look, such as he might have assumed if some uncommonly difficult
conundrum had been proposed, which he found it impossible to guess.
At length he said:
'Pecksniff, of course, you had known before?'
'Only by name. No, I had never seen him, for my grandfather kept
not only himself but me, aloof from all his relations. But our
separation took place in a town in the adjoining country. From that
place I came to Salisbury, and there I saw Pecksniff's
advertisement, which I answered, having always had some natural
taste, I believe, in the matters to which it referred, and thinking
it might suit me. As soon as I found it to be his, I was doubly
bent on coming to him if possible, on account of his being--'
'Such an excellent man,' interposed Tom, rubbing his hands: 'so he
is. You were quite right.'
'Why, not so much on that account, if the truth must be spoken,'
returned Martin, 'as because my grandfather has an inveterate
dislike to him, and after the old man's arbitrary treatment of me, I
had a natural desire to run as directly counter to all his opinions
as I could. Well! As I said before, here I am. My engagement with
the young lady I have been telling you about is likely to be a
tolerably long one; for neither her prospects nor mine are very
bright; and of course I shall not think of marrying until I am well
able to do so. It would never do, you know, for me to be plunging
myself into poverty and shabbiness and love in one room up three
pair of stairs, and all that sort of thing.'
'To say nothing of her,' remarked Tom Pinch, in a low voice.
'Exactly so,' rejoined Martin, rising to warm his back, and leaning
against the chimney-piece. 'To say nothing of her. At the same
time, of course it's not very hard upon her to be obliged to yield
to the necessity of the case; first, because she loves me very much;
and secondly, because I have sacrificed a great deal on her account,
and might have done much better, you know.'
It was a very long time before Tom said 'Certainly;' so long, that
he might have taken a nap in the interval, but he did say it at
last.
'Now, there is one odd coincidence connected with this love-story,'
said Martin, 'which brings it to an end. You remember what you told
me last night as we were coming here, about your pretty visitor in
the church?'
'Surely I do,' said Tom, rising from his stool, and seating himself
in the chair from which the other had lately risen, that he might
see his face. 'Undoubtedly.'
'That was she.'
'I knew what you were going to say,' cried Tom, looking fixedly at
him, and speaking very softly. 'You don't tell me so?'
'That was she,' repeated the young man. 'After what I have heard
from Pecksniff, I have no doubt that she came and went with my
grandfather.--Don't you drink too much of that sour wine, or you'll
have a fit of some sort, Pinch, I see.'
'It is not very wholesome, I am afraid,' said Tom, setting down the
empty glass he had for some time held. 'So that was she, was it?'
Martin nodded assent; and adding, with a restless impatience, that
if he had been a few days earlier he would have seen her; and that
now she might be, for anything he knew, hundreds of miles away;
threw himself, after a few turns across the room, into a chair, and
chafed like a spoilt child.
Tom Pinch's heart was very tender, and he could not bear to see the
most indifferent person in distress; still less one who had awakened
an interest in him, and who regarded him (either in fact, or as he
supposed) with kindness, and in a spirit of lenient construction.
Whatever his own thoughts had been a few moments before--and to
judge from his face they must have been pretty serious--he dismissed
them instantly, and gave his young friend the best counsel and
comfort that occurred to him.
'All will be well in time,' said Tom, 'I have no doubt; and some
trial and adversity just now will only serve to make you more
attached to each other in better days. I have always read that the
truth is so, and I have a feeling within me, which tells me how
natural and right it is that it should be. That never ran smooth
yet,' said Tom, with a smile which, despite the homeliness of his
face, was pleasanter to see than many a proud beauty's brightest
glance; 'what never ran smooth yet, can hardly be expected to change
its character for us; so we must take it as we find it, and fashion
it into the very best shape we can, by patience and good-humour. I
have no power at all; I needn't tell you that; but I have an
excellent will; and if I could ever be of use to you, in any way
whatever, how very glad I should be!'
'Thank you,' said Martin, shaking his hand. 'You're a good fellow,
upon my word, and speak very kindly. Of course you know,' he added,
after a moment's pause, as he drew his chair towards the fire again,
'I should not hesitate to avail myself of your services if you could
help me at all; but mercy on us!'--Here he rumpled his hair
impatiently with his hand, and looked at Tom as if he took it rather
ill that he was not somebody else--'you might as well be a toasting-
fork or a frying-pan, Pinch, for any help you can render me.'
'Except in the inclination,' said Tom, gently.
'Oh! to be sure. I meant that, of course. If inclination went for
anything, I shouldn't want help. I tell you what you may do,
though, if you will, and at the present moment too.'
'What is that?' demanded Tom.
'Read to me.'
'I shall be delighted,' cried Tom, catching up the candle with
enthusiasm. 'Excuse my leaving you in the dark a moment, and I'll
fetch a book directly. What will you like? Shakespeare?'
'Aye!' replied his friend, yawning and stretching himself. 'He'll
do. I am tired with the bustle of to-day, and the novelty of
everything about me; and in such a case, there's no greater
luxury in the world, I think, than being read to sleep. You
won't mind my going to sleep, if I can?'
'Not at all!' cried Tom.
'Then begin as soon as you like. You needn't leave off when you see
me getting drowsy (unless you feel tired), for it's pleasant to wake
gradually to the sounds again. Did you ever try that?'
'No, I never tried that,' said Tom
'Well! You can, you know, one of these days when we're both in the
right humour. Don't mind leaving me in the dark. Look sharp!'
Mr Pinch lost no time in moving away; and in a minute or two
returned with one of the precious volumes from the shelf beside his
bed. Martin had in the meantime made himself as comfortable as
circumstances would permit, by constructing before the fire a
temporary sofa of three chairs with Mercy's stool for a pillow, and
lying down at full-length upon it.
'Don't be too loud, please,' he said to Pinch.
'No, no,' said Tom.
'You're sure you're not cold'
'Not at all!' cried Tom.
'I am quite ready, then.'
Mr Pinch accordingly, after turning over the leaves of his book with
as much care as if they were living and highly cherished creatures,
made his own selection, and began to read. Before he had completed
fifty lines his friend was snoring.
'Poor fellow!' said Tom, softly, as he stretched out his head to
peep at him over the backs of the chairs. 'He is very young to have
so much trouble. How trustful and generous in him to bestow all
this confidence in me. And that was she, was it?'
But suddenly remembering their compact, he took up the poem at the
place where he had left off, and went on reading; always forgetting
to snuff the candle, until its wick looked like a mushroom. He
gradually became so much interested, that he quite forgot to
replenish the fire; and was only reminded of his neglect by Martin
Chuzzlewit starting up after the lapse of an hour or so, and crying
with a shiver.
'Why, it's nearly out, I declare! No wonder I dreamed of being
frozen. Do call for some coals. What a fellow you are, Pinch!'
