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'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 gallantry,
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
directing a stately look towards her, which was instantaneous in its
duration, but inclusive (if anyone 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 game, sat down to watch them for his edification
until Edith should return.
'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.
You 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 recollections 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 with his heels
uppermost, 'that if anything could tempt me to put a period to my life, it
would be curiosity 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, would
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 down to her harp, and Mr Dombey rose and
stood beside her, listening. He had little taste for music, and no knowledge
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 Mr
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 handsome,
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,
rigid man! Sleep, lonely Florence, sleep! Peace in thy dreams, although the
night has turned dark, and the clouds are gathering, and threaten to
discharge themselves in hail!
A Trifle of Management by Mr Carker the Manager
Mr Carker 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 parcelling 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 Mr 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 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 would 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 wild 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 off 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 steadfastness 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
for a particular audience. Having locked the more confidential
correspondence in a drawer, 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 turned 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.
'Well?' he repeated sharply.
'I am uneasy about Harriet.'
'Harriet who? what Harriet? 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 -
'Why 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 tell 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 offence in my intention.'
'There is offence 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:
'When 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 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, 'Remarkable indeed! You quite surprise me!' And again he uttered never
a word.
'May I go on?' said John Carker, mildly.
'On your way?' replied his smiling brother. 'If you will 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 tell her that I go as cheerfully on mine. If she has never
once looked back, you may tell her that I have, sometimes, to recall her
taking part with you, and that my resolution is no easier to wear away;' he
smiled very sweetly here; 'than marble.'
'I tell 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,' returned the other, 'to yourself. You
can't repeat it too often, as a lesson to you to avoid the subject in
speaking to me. I know no Harriet Carker. There is no such person. You 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 aiter 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 all 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 through 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 still 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-rubber: 'for he's
far away.'
Still that passage, which was in a postscript, attracted his attention
and his teeth, once more.
'I think,' he said, 'my good friend Captain Cuttle mentioned something
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 tiptoe,
bending his body at every step as if it were the delight of his 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 Gills the Ship's Instrument-maker, Sir, 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 waited for further orders.
'Anybody else?'
'Well, Sir,' said Mr Perch, 'I wouldn't of my 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,
'dreadful 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 - ' Mr Perch shook his head very dubiously
indeed.
'What does he say when he comes?' asked Mr Carker.
'Indeed, Sir,' said Mr Perch, coughing another cough behind his hand,
which was always his resource as an expression of humility when nothing else
occurred to him, 'his 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,
Sir,' 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 already, 'it's
hardly to be bore, Sir, that a common lad like that should 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 nursing
as thriving a little girl, Sir, as we'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 never so!'
Mr Carker grinned at him like a shark, but in an absent, thoughtful
manner.
'Whether,' submitted Mr Perch, after a short silence, and another
cough, 'it mightn't be best for me to tell him, that if he was seen here any
more he would 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 Mrs Perch's state, that I could take my affidavit
easy.'
'Let me see this fellow, Perch,' said Mr Carker. 'Bring him in!'
'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'll see Mr Gills directly.
Ask him to wait.'
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 favourite attitude
before the fire-place, and stood looking at the door; presenting, with his
under lip tucked into the smile that showed his whole row of upper teeth, a
singularly crouching apace.
The messenger was not long in returning, followed by a pair of heavy
boots that came bumping along the passage like boxes. With the unceremonious
words 'Come along with you!' - a very unusual form of introduction 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 his
appearance, had a round 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 shoulders.
The boy, who in the midst of his astonishment could not help staring
wildly at the gentleman with so many white teeth who was choking him, and at
the office walls, as though determined, if he were choked, that his last
look should 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'll strangle you!'
Biler whimpered, would he though? oh no he wouldn't - and what was he
doing of - and why didn't he strangle some- body of his own size and not
him: but Biler was quelled by the extraordinary nature of his reception,
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 Rob,
otherwise Grinder, and always Toodle.
'You young scoundrel!' replied 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 Rob, putting one hand to his
throat, and the knuckles of the other to his eyes. 'I'll never come again,
Sir. I only wanted work.'
'Work, young Cain that you are!' repeated Mr Carker, eyeing him
narrowly. 'Ain'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
fascinated by Mr Carker, and never took his round eyes off him for an
instant.
'Ain't you a thief?' said Mr Carker, with his hands behind him in his
pockets.
'No, sir,' pleaded Rob.
'You are!' said Mr Carker.
'I ain't indeed, Sir,' whimpered Rob. 'I never did such a thing as
thieve, Sir, if you'll 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 ain't been home twenty times since them birds got their will of me,'
said Rob, 'and that's ten months. How can I go home when everybody's
miserable to see me! I wonder,' said Biler, blubbering outright, and
smearing his eyes with his coat-cuff, 'that I haven't been and drownded
myself over and over again.'
All of which, including his 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 ofhim, and he had no power of concealing anything with
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 sure, Sir,' returned the wretched Biler, blubbering again, and
again having recourse to his coat-cuff: 'I shouldn't care, sometimes, if it
was growed too. My misfortunes all began in wagging, Sir; but what could I
do, exceptin' wag?'
'Excepting what?' said Mr Carker.
'Wag, Sir. 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 his
eyes from his face - and rang the bell.
'Tell Mr Gills to come here.'
Mr Perch was too deferential to express surprise or recognition of the
figure in the corner: and Uncle Sol appeared immediately.
'Mr Gills!' said Carker, with a smile, 'sit down. 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, Mr Gills,' replied the smiling Manager,
taking a paper from one of his many drawers, 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,' returned 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 voiceless
manner of his: which made the observant young Toodle trernble again. 'Mr
Gills,' he added aloud, throwing himself back in his chair, 'you must miss
your nephew very much?'
Uncle Sol, standing by him, shook his head and heaved a deep sigh.
'Mr 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 Gills 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 Mr Carker, without the
least reference to his proposed master.
'Will you give him house-room, Mr Gills?' said the Manager.
Old Sol, without being quite enthusiastic on the subject, replied that
he was glad of any opportunity, however slight, 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 Carker'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'll 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 Rob, who shook before it: 'I shall be
glad if you'll look sharply after him, and report his behaviour to me. I'll
ask a question or two of his parents as I ride home this afternoon -
respectable people - to confirm some particulars in his own account of
himself; and that done, Mr Gills, I'll send him round to you to-morrow
morning. Goodbye!'
His smile at parting was so full of teeth, that it confused old Sol,
and made him vaguely uncomfortable. He went home, thinking of raging seas,
foundering ships, drowning men, an ancient bottle of Madeira never brought
to light, and other dismal matters.
'Now, boy!' said Mr Carker, putting his hand on young Toodle's
shoulder, and bringing him out into the middle of the room. 'You have heard
me?'
Rob said, 'Yes, Sir.'
'Perhaps you understand,' pursued his patron, 'that if you ever deceive
or play tricks with me, you had better have drowned yourself, indeed, once
for all, before you came here?'
There was nothing in any branch of mental acquisition that Rob 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 somewhere near
your mother's house this afternoon. I shall leave this at five o'clock, and
ride there on horseback. Now, give me the address.'
Rob repeated it slowly, as Mr Carker wrote it down. Rob even spelt it
over a second time, letter by letter, as if he thought that the omission of
a dot or scratch would lead to his destruction. Mr Carker then handed him
out of the room; and Rob, 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 business in the course of the
day, and stowed 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. Five 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 throng of the City at that hour, and as Mr Carker was not
inclined, he went leisurely 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 passersby while he was thus ambling on his way,
he suddenly encountered the round eyes of the sleek-headed Rob intently
fixed upon his face as if they had never been taken off, 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, Mr Carker took advantage
of a clearer thoroughfare and a cleaner road, and broke into a trot. Rob
immediately did the same. Mr Carker presently tried a canter; Rob 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 still saw Toodle Junior
holding his course, apparently without distress, and working himself along
by the elbows after the most approved manner of professional gentlemen who
get over the ground for wagers.
Ridiculous as this attendance was, it was a sign of an influence
established over the boy, and therefore Mr Carker, affecting not to notice
it, rode away into the neighbourhood of Mr Toodle's house. On his slackening
his pace here, Rob appeared before him to point out the turnings; and when
he called to a man at a neighbouring gateway to hold his horse, pending his
visit to the buildings that had succeeded Staggs's Gardens, Rob dutifully
held the stirrup, while the Manager dismounted.
'Now, Sir,' said Mr Carker, taking him by the shoulder, 'come along!'
The prodigal son was evidently nervous of visiting the parental abode;
but Mr Carker pushing him on before, he 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 grasp 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 Mr Ketch' in person, was
one of that company, the whole of the young 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 like
young birds when terrified by a hawk, and kicked violently. At length, poor
Polly making herself audible, said, with quivering lips, 'Oh Rob, my poor
boy, what have you done at last!'
'Nothing, mother,' cried Rob, in a piteous voice, 'ask the gentleman!'
'Don't be alarmed,' said Mr Carker, '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 with 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,' returned Polly.
'To whom then?' demanded Mr Carker.
'He has been a little wild, Sir,' returned Polly, checking the baby,
who was making convulsive efforts with his arms and legs to launch himself
on Biler, 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 achieved
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 was afraid he
took a rash step in doing anything for the boy, and one that might expose
him to the censure of the prudent; but that he did it of himself and for
himself, and risked the consequences single-handed; and that his mother's
past connexion with Mr Dombey's family had nothing to do with it, and that
Mr Dombey had nothing to do with it, but that he, Mr Carker, was the be-all
and the end-all of this business. Taking great credit to himself for his
goodness, and receiving no less from all the family then present, Mr Carker
signified, indirectly but still pretty plainly, that Rob's implicit
fidelity, attachment, and devotion, were for evermore his due, and the least
homage he could receive. And with this great truth Rob 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.
Polly, who had passed Heaven knows how many sleepless nights on account
of this her dissipated firstborn, and had not seen him for weeks and weeks,
could have almost kneeled to Mr Carker the Manager, as to a Good Spirit - 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 rendered, 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,
Rob retreated on his mother, and took her and the baby in the same repentant
hug.
'I'll try hard, dear mother, now. Upon my soul I will!' said Rob.
'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.' Rob hesitated, and looked down. 'Father -
when's he coming home?'
'Not till two o'clock to-morrow morning.'
'I'll come back, mother dear!' cried Rob. And passing through the
shrill cry of his brothers and sisters in reception of this promise, he
followed Mr Carker out.
'What!' said Mr Carker, who had heard this. 'You have a bad father,
have you?'
'No, Sir!' returned Rob, amazed. 'There ain't a better 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
Rob, after faltering for a moment. 'He couldn't hardly believe yet that I
was doing to do better - though I know he'd try to but a mother - she always
believes what's,' good, Sir; at least I know my mother does, God bless her!'
Mr 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, looking down from
the saddle steadily into the attentive and watchful face of the boy, he
said:
'You'll come to me tomorrow morning, and you shall be shown where that
old gentleman lives; that old gentleman who was with me this morning; where
you are going, as you heard me say.'
'Yes, Sir,' returned Rob.
'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, for he
saw his round face brighten when he was told that: 'I see you do. I want 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 steadfast face, and said 'Yes, 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 her.'
'I'll take care, Sir,' said the boy.
'And take care,' returned his 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 Rob, shaking his head.
'Neither there,' said Mr CarHer, pointing to the place they had just
left, 'nor anywhere else. I'll try how true and grateful you can be. I'll
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 Rob'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 distance, 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
off. To ensure his obedience, he turned in the saddle and watched him as he
retired. It was curious to see that even then Rob could not keep his eyes
wholly averted from his patron's face, but, constantly turning and turning
again to look after him' involved himself in a tempest of buffetings 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 ofhis
regards?
'A very young lady!' thought Mr Carker the Manager, through his song.
'Ay! 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 daresay she's pretty.'
More affable and pleasant yet, and humming his song until his many
teeth vibrated to it, Mr 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, until, glancing down the
cold perspective of tall houses, he reined in his 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 small surprise, a few digressive words are
necessary.
Mr Toots, emancipated from the Blimber thraldom and coming into the
possession of a certain portion of his wordly wealth, 'which,' as he had
been wont, during his last half-year's probation, to communicate to Mr
Feeder every evening as a new discovery, 'the executors couldn't keep him
out of' 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 furnished a choice set of apartments; had established 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 Mr Toots's Pantheon, had
introduced to him a marker who taught billiards, a Life Guard who taught
fencing, a jobmaster who taught riding, a Cornish gentleman who was up to
anything in the athletic line, and two or three other friends connected 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 gentlemen
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. Nothing seemed to do Mr Toots so much good as
incessantly leaving cards at Mr Dombey's door. No taxgatherer 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 calls than Mr Toots.
Mr Toots never went upstairs; and always performed the same ceremonies,
richly dressed for the purpose, at the hall door.
'Oh! Good morning!' would 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 Miss 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 would look up the staircase, and
would say, yes, she was at home, and was coming down. Then Miss Nipper would
appear, and the man would retire.
'Oh! How 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 interrogation.
Very well indeed. Miss Florence was fonder and fonder of him every day.
Mr Toots was sure to hail this with a burst of chuckles, like the opening of
a bottle of some effervescent beverage.
'Miss Florence is quite well, Sir,' Susan would add.
Oh, it's of no consequence, thank'ee,' was the invariable reply of Mr
Toots; and when he had said so, he always went away very fast.
Now it is certain that Mr Toots had a filmy something in his mind,
which led him to conclude that if he could aspire successfully in the
fulness of time, to the hand of Florence, he would be fortunate and blest.
It is certain that Mr Toots, by some remote and roundabout road, had got to
that point, and that there he made a stand. His heart was wounded; he was
touched; he was in love. He had made a desperate attempt, one night, and had
sat up all night for the purpose, to write an acrostic on Florence, which
affected him to tears in the conception. But he never proceeded in the
execution further than the words 'For when I gaze,' - the flow of
imagination in which he had previously written down the initial letters of
the other seven lines, deserting him at that point.
Beyond devising that very artful and politic measure of leaving a card
for Mr Dombey daily, the brain of Mr Toots had not worked much in reference
to the subject that held his feelings prisoner. But deep consideration at
length assured Mr Toots that an important step to gain, was, the
conciliation of Miss Susan Nipper, preparatory to giving her some inkling of
his state of mind.
A little light and playful gallantry towards this lady seemed the means
to employ in that early chapter of the history, for winning her to his
interests. Not being able quite to make up his mind about it, he consulted
the Chicken - without taking that gentleman into his confidence; merely
informing him that a friend in Yorkshire had written to him (Mr Toots) for
his opinion on such a question. The Chicken replying that his opinion always
was, 'Go in and win,' and further, 'When your man's before you and your work
cut out, go in and do it,' Mr Toots considered this a figurative way of
supporting his own view of the case, and heroically resolved to kiss Miss
Nipper next day.
Upon the next day, therefore, Mr Toots, putting into requisition some
of the greatest marvels that Burgess and Co. had ever turned out, went off
to Mr Dotnbey's upon this design. But his heart failed him so much as he
approached the scene of action, that, although he arrived on the ground at
three o'clock in the afternoon, it was six before he knocked at the door.
Everything happened as usual, down to the point where Susan said her
now. I have no more.
'May I hope to prove them all?' said Mr Dombey, with solemn gallantry,
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
directing a stately look towards her, which was instantaneous in its
duration, but inclusive (if anyone 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 game, sat down to watch them for his edification
until Edith should return.
'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.
You 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 recollections 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 with his heels
uppermost, 'that if anything could tempt me to put a period to my life, it
would be curiosity 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, would
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 down to her harp, and Mr Dombey rose and
stood beside her, listening. He had little taste for music, and no knowledge
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 Mr
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 handsome,
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,
rigid man! Sleep, lonely Florence, sleep! Peace in thy dreams, although the
night has turned dark, and the clouds are gathering, and threaten to
discharge themselves in hail!
A Trifle of Management by Mr Carker the Manager
Mr Carker 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 parcelling 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 Mr 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 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 would 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 wild 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 off 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 steadfastness 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
for a particular audience. Having locked the more confidential
correspondence in a drawer, 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 turned 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.
'Well?' he repeated sharply.
'I am uneasy about Harriet.'
'Harriet who? what Harriet? 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 -
'Why 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 tell 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 offence in my intention.'
'There is offence 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:
'When 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 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, 'Remarkable indeed! You quite surprise me!' And again he uttered never
a word.
'May I go on?' said John Carker, mildly.
'On your way?' replied his smiling brother. 'If you will 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 tell her that I go as cheerfully on mine. If she has never
once looked back, you may tell her that I have, sometimes, to recall her
taking part with you, and that my resolution is no easier to wear away;' he
smiled very sweetly here; 'than marble.'
'I tell 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,' returned the other, 'to yourself. You
can't repeat it too often, as a lesson to you to avoid the subject in
speaking to me. I know no Harriet Carker. There is no such person. You 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 aiter 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 all 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 through 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 still 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-rubber: 'for he's
far away.'
Still that passage, which was in a postscript, attracted his attention
and his teeth, once more.
'I think,' he said, 'my good friend Captain Cuttle mentioned something
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 tiptoe,
bending his body at every step as if it were the delight of his 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 Gills the Ship's Instrument-maker, Sir, 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 waited for further orders.
'Anybody else?'
'Well, Sir,' said Mr Perch, 'I wouldn't of my 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,
'dreadful 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 - ' Mr Perch shook his head very dubiously
indeed.
'What does he say when he comes?' asked Mr Carker.
'Indeed, Sir,' said Mr Perch, coughing another cough behind his hand,
which was always his resource as an expression of humility when nothing else
occurred to him, 'his 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,
Sir,' 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 already, 'it's
hardly to be bore, Sir, that a common lad like that should 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 nursing
as thriving a little girl, Sir, as we'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 never so!'
Mr Carker grinned at him like a shark, but in an absent, thoughtful
manner.
'Whether,' submitted Mr Perch, after a short silence, and another
cough, 'it mightn't be best for me to tell him, that if he was seen here any
more he would 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 Mrs Perch's state, that I could take my affidavit
easy.'
'Let me see this fellow, Perch,' said Mr Carker. 'Bring him in!'
'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'll see Mr Gills directly.
Ask him to wait.'
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 favourite attitude
before the fire-place, and stood looking at the door; presenting, with his
under lip tucked into the smile that showed his whole row of upper teeth, a
singularly crouching apace.
The messenger was not long in returning, followed by a pair of heavy
boots that came bumping along the passage like boxes. With the unceremonious
words 'Come along with you!' - a very unusual form of introduction 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 his
appearance, had a round 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 shoulders.
The boy, who in the midst of his astonishment could not help staring
wildly at the gentleman with so many white teeth who was choking him, and at
the office walls, as though determined, if he were choked, that his last
look should 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'll strangle you!'
Biler whimpered, would he though? oh no he wouldn't - and what was he
doing of - and why didn't he strangle some- body of his own size and not
him: but Biler was quelled by the extraordinary nature of his reception,
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 Rob,
otherwise Grinder, and always Toodle.
'You young scoundrel!' replied 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 Rob, putting one hand to his
throat, and the knuckles of the other to his eyes. 'I'll never come again,
Sir. I only wanted work.'
'Work, young Cain that you are!' repeated Mr Carker, eyeing him
narrowly. 'Ain'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
fascinated by Mr Carker, and never took his round eyes off him for an
instant.
'Ain't you a thief?' said Mr Carker, with his hands behind him in his
pockets.
'No, sir,' pleaded Rob.
'You are!' said Mr Carker.
'I ain't indeed, Sir,' whimpered Rob. 'I never did such a thing as
thieve, Sir, if you'll 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 ain't been home twenty times since them birds got their will of me,'
said Rob, 'and that's ten months. How can I go home when everybody's
miserable to see me! I wonder,' said Biler, blubbering outright, and
smearing his eyes with his coat-cuff, 'that I haven't been and drownded
myself over and over again.'
All of which, including his 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 ofhim, and he had no power of concealing anything with
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 sure, Sir,' returned the wretched Biler, blubbering again, and
again having recourse to his coat-cuff: 'I shouldn't care, sometimes, if it
was growed too. My misfortunes all began in wagging, Sir; but what could I
do, exceptin' wag?'
'Excepting what?' said Mr Carker.
'Wag, Sir. 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 his
eyes from his face - and rang the bell.
'Tell Mr Gills to come here.'
Mr Perch was too deferential to express surprise or recognition of the
figure in the corner: and Uncle Sol appeared immediately.
'Mr Gills!' said Carker, with a smile, 'sit down. 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, Mr Gills,' replied the smiling Manager,
taking a paper from one of his many drawers, 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,' returned 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 voiceless
manner of his: which made the observant young Toodle trernble again. 'Mr
Gills,' he added aloud, throwing himself back in his chair, 'you must miss
your nephew very much?'
Uncle Sol, standing by him, shook his head and heaved a deep sigh.
'Mr 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 Gills 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 Mr Carker, without the
least reference to his proposed master.
'Will you give him house-room, Mr Gills?' said the Manager.
Old Sol, without being quite enthusiastic on the subject, replied that
he was glad of any opportunity, however slight, 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 Carker'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'll 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 Rob, who shook before it: 'I shall be
glad if you'll look sharply after him, and report his behaviour to me. I'll
ask a question or two of his parents as I ride home this afternoon -
respectable people - to confirm some particulars in his own account of
himself; and that done, Mr Gills, I'll send him round to you to-morrow
morning. Goodbye!'
His smile at parting was so full of teeth, that it confused old Sol,
and made him vaguely uncomfortable. He went home, thinking of raging seas,
foundering ships, drowning men, an ancient bottle of Madeira never brought
to light, and other dismal matters.
'Now, boy!' said Mr Carker, putting his hand on young Toodle's
shoulder, and bringing him out into the middle of the room. 'You have heard
me?'
Rob said, 'Yes, Sir.'
'Perhaps you understand,' pursued his patron, 'that if you ever deceive
or play tricks with me, you had better have drowned yourself, indeed, once
for all, before you came here?'
There was nothing in any branch of mental acquisition that Rob 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 somewhere near
your mother's house this afternoon. I shall leave this at five o'clock, and
ride there on horseback. Now, give me the address.'
Rob repeated it slowly, as Mr Carker wrote it down. Rob even spelt it
over a second time, letter by letter, as if he thought that the omission of
a dot or scratch would lead to his destruction. Mr Carker then handed him
out of the room; and Rob, 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 business in the course of the
day, and stowed 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. Five 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 throng of the City at that hour, and as Mr Carker was not
inclined, he went leisurely 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 passersby while he was thus ambling on his way,
he suddenly encountered the round eyes of the sleek-headed Rob intently
fixed upon his face as if they had never been taken off, 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, Mr Carker took advantage
of a clearer thoroughfare and a cleaner road, and broke into a trot. Rob
immediately did the same. Mr Carker presently tried a canter; Rob 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 still saw Toodle Junior
holding his course, apparently without distress, and working himself along
by the elbows after the most approved manner of professional gentlemen who
get over the ground for wagers.
Ridiculous as this attendance was, it was a sign of an influence
established over the boy, and therefore Mr Carker, affecting not to notice
it, rode away into the neighbourhood of Mr Toodle's house. On his slackening
his pace here, Rob appeared before him to point out the turnings; and when
he called to a man at a neighbouring gateway to hold his horse, pending his
visit to the buildings that had succeeded Staggs's Gardens, Rob dutifully
held the stirrup, while the Manager dismounted.
'Now, Sir,' said Mr Carker, taking him by the shoulder, 'come along!'
The prodigal son was evidently nervous of visiting the parental abode;
but Mr Carker pushing him on before, he 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 grasp 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 Mr Ketch' in person, was
one of that company, the whole of the young 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 like
young birds when terrified by a hawk, and kicked violently. At length, poor
Polly making herself audible, said, with quivering lips, 'Oh Rob, my poor
boy, what have you done at last!'
'Nothing, mother,' cried Rob, in a piteous voice, 'ask the gentleman!'
'Don't be alarmed,' said Mr Carker, '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 with 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,' returned Polly.
'To whom then?' demanded Mr Carker.
'He has been a little wild, Sir,' returned Polly, checking the baby,
who was making convulsive efforts with his arms and legs to launch himself
on Biler, 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 achieved
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 was afraid he
took a rash step in doing anything for the boy, and one that might expose
him to the censure of the prudent; but that he did it of himself and for
himself, and risked the consequences single-handed; and that his mother's
past connexion with Mr Dombey's family had nothing to do with it, and that
Mr Dombey had nothing to do with it, but that he, Mr Carker, was the be-all
and the end-all of this business. Taking great credit to himself for his
goodness, and receiving no less from all the family then present, Mr Carker
signified, indirectly but still pretty plainly, that Rob's implicit
fidelity, attachment, and devotion, were for evermore his due, and the least
homage he could receive. And with this great truth Rob 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.
Polly, who had passed Heaven knows how many sleepless nights on account
of this her dissipated firstborn, and had not seen him for weeks and weeks,
could have almost kneeled to Mr Carker the Manager, as to a Good Spirit - 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 rendered, 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,
Rob retreated on his mother, and took her and the baby in the same repentant
hug.
'I'll try hard, dear mother, now. Upon my soul I will!' said Rob.
'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.' Rob hesitated, and looked down. 'Father -
when's he coming home?'
'Not till two o'clock to-morrow morning.'
'I'll come back, mother dear!' cried Rob. And passing through the
shrill cry of his brothers and sisters in reception of this promise, he
followed Mr Carker out.
'What!' said Mr Carker, who had heard this. 'You have a bad father,
have you?'
'No, Sir!' returned Rob, amazed. 'There ain't a better 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
Rob, after faltering for a moment. 'He couldn't hardly believe yet that I
was doing to do better - though I know he'd try to but a mother - she always
believes what's,' good, Sir; at least I know my mother does, God bless her!'
Mr 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, looking down from
the saddle steadily into the attentive and watchful face of the boy, he
said:
'You'll come to me tomorrow morning, and you shall be shown where that
old gentleman lives; that old gentleman who was with me this morning; where
you are going, as you heard me say.'
'Yes, Sir,' returned Rob.
'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, for he
saw his round face brighten when he was told that: 'I see you do. I want 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 steadfast face, and said 'Yes, 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 her.'
'I'll take care, Sir,' said the boy.
'And take care,' returned his 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 Rob, shaking his head.
'Neither there,' said Mr CarHer, pointing to the place they had just
left, 'nor anywhere else. I'll try how true and grateful you can be. I'll
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 Rob'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 distance, 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
off. To ensure his obedience, he turned in the saddle and watched him as he
retired. It was curious to see that even then Rob could not keep his eyes
wholly averted from his patron's face, but, constantly turning and turning
again to look after him' involved himself in a tempest of buffetings 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 ofhis
regards?
'A very young lady!' thought Mr Carker the Manager, through his song.
'Ay! 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 daresay she's pretty.'
More affable and pleasant yet, and humming his song until his many
teeth vibrated to it, Mr 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, until, glancing down the
cold perspective of tall houses, he reined in his 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 small surprise, a few digressive words are
necessary.
Mr Toots, emancipated from the Blimber thraldom and coming into the
possession of a certain portion of his wordly wealth, 'which,' as he had
been wont, during his last half-year's probation, to communicate to Mr
Feeder every evening as a new discovery, 'the executors couldn't keep him
out of' 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 furnished a choice set of apartments; had established 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 Mr Toots's Pantheon, had
introduced to him a marker who taught billiards, a Life Guard who taught
fencing, a jobmaster who taught riding, a Cornish gentleman who was up to
anything in the athletic line, and two or three other friends connected 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 gentlemen
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. Nothing seemed to do Mr Toots so much good as
incessantly leaving cards at Mr Dombey's door. No taxgatherer 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 calls than Mr Toots.
Mr Toots never went upstairs; and always performed the same ceremonies,
richly dressed for the purpose, at the hall door.
'Oh! Good morning!' would 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 Miss 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 would look up the staircase, and
would say, yes, she was at home, and was coming down. Then Miss Nipper would
appear, and the man would retire.
'Oh! How 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 interrogation.
Very well indeed. Miss Florence was fonder and fonder of him every day.
Mr Toots was sure to hail this with a burst of chuckles, like the opening of
a bottle of some effervescent beverage.
'Miss Florence is quite well, Sir,' Susan would add.
Oh, it's of no consequence, thank'ee,' was the invariable reply of Mr
Toots; and when he had said so, he always went away very fast.
Now it is certain that Mr Toots had a filmy something in his mind,
which led him to conclude that if he could aspire successfully in the
fulness of time, to the hand of Florence, he would be fortunate and blest.
It is certain that Mr Toots, by some remote and roundabout road, had got to
that point, and that there he made a stand. His heart was wounded; he was
touched; he was in love. He had made a desperate attempt, one night, and had
sat up all night for the purpose, to write an acrostic on Florence, which
affected him to tears in the conception. But he never proceeded in the
execution further than the words 'For when I gaze,' - the flow of
imagination in which he had previously written down the initial letters of
the other seven lines, deserting him at that point.
Beyond devising that very artful and politic measure of leaving a card
for Mr Dombey daily, the brain of Mr Toots had not worked much in reference
to the subject that held his feelings prisoner. But deep consideration at
length assured Mr Toots that an important step to gain, was, the
conciliation of Miss Susan Nipper, preparatory to giving her some inkling of
his state of mind.
A little light and playful gallantry towards this lady seemed the means
to employ in that early chapter of the history, for winning her to his
interests. Not being able quite to make up his mind about it, he consulted
the Chicken - without taking that gentleman into his confidence; merely
informing him that a friend in Yorkshire had written to him (Mr Toots) for
his opinion on such a question. The Chicken replying that his opinion always
was, 'Go in and win,' and further, 'When your man's before you and your work
cut out, go in and do it,' Mr Toots considered this a figurative way of
supporting his own view of the case, and heroically resolved to kiss Miss
Nipper next day.
Upon the next day, therefore, Mr Toots, putting into requisition some
of the greatest marvels that Burgess and Co. had ever turned out, went off
to Mr Dotnbey's upon this design. But his heart failed him so much as he
approached the scene of action, that, although he arrived on the ground at
three o'clock in the afternoon, it was six before he knocked at the door.
Everything happened as usual, down to the point where Susan said her