CHAPTER TWELVE
WILL BE SEEN IN THE LONG RUN, IF NOT IN THE SHORT ONE, TO CONCERN MRPINCH AND OTHERS, NEARLY. MR PECKSNIFF ASSERTS THE DIGNITY OF OUTRAGEDVIRTUE. YOUNG MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT FORMS A DESPERATE RESOLUTION
Mr Pinch and Martin, little dreaming of the stormy weather thatimpended, made themselves very comfortable in the Pecksniffian halls,and improved their friendship daily. Martin's facility, both ofinvention and execution, being remarkable, the grammar-school proceededwith great vigour; and Tom repeatedly declared, that if there wereanything like certainty in human affairs, or impartiality in humanjudges, a design so new and full of merit could not fail to carry offthe first prize when the time of competition arrived. Without beingquite so sanguine himself, Martin had his hopeful anticipations too; andthey served to make him brisk and eager at his task.
'If I should turn out a great architect, Tom,' said the new pupil oneday, as he stood at a little distance from his drawing, and eyed it withmuch complacency, 'I'll tell you what should be one of the things I'dbuild.'
'Aye!' cried Tom. 'What?'
'Why, your fortune.'
'No!' said Tom Pinch, quite as much delighted as if the thing were done.'Would you though? How kind of you to say so.'
'I'd build it up, Tom,' returned Martin, 'on such a strong foundation,that it should last your life--aye, and your children's lives too, andtheir children's after them. I'd be your patron, Tom. I'd take you undermy protection. Let me see the man who should give the cold shoulder toanybody I chose to protect and patronise, if I were at the top of thetree, Tom!'
'Now, I don't think,' said Mr Pinch, 'upon my word, that I was ever moregratified than by this. I really don't.'
'Oh! I mean what I say,' retorted Martin, with a manner as free and easyin its condescension to, not to say in its compassion for, the other, asif he were already First Architect in ordinary to all the Crowned Headsin Europe. 'I'd do it. I'd provide for you.'
'I am afraid,' said Tom, shaking his head, 'that I should be a mightyawkward person to provide for.'
'Pooh, pooh!' rejoined Martin. 'Never mind that. If I took it in my headto say, "Pinch is a clever fellow; I approve of Pinch;" I should liketo know the man who would venture to put himself in opposition to me.Besides, confound it, Tom, you could be useful to me in a hundred ways.'
'If I were not useful in one or two, it shouldn't be for want oftrying,' said Tom.
'For instance,' pursued Martin, after a short reflection, 'you'd be acapital fellow, now, to see that my ideas were properly carried out; andto overlook the works in their progress before they were sufficientlyadvanced to be very interesting to ME; and to take all that sort ofplain sailing. Then you'd be a splendid fellow to show people over mystudio, and to talk about Art to 'em, when I couldn't be bored myself,and all that kind of thing. For it would be devilish creditable, Tom(I'm quite in earnest, I give you my word), to have a man of yourinformation about one, instead of some ordinary blockhead. Oh, I'd takecare of you. You'd be useful, rely upon it!'
To say that Tom had no idea of playing first fiddle in any socialorchestra, but was always quite satisfied to be set down for the hundredand fiftieth violin in the band, or thereabouts, is to express hismodesty in very inadequate terms. He was much delighted, therefore, bythese observations.
'I should be married to her then, Tom, of course,' said Martin.
What was that which checked Tom Pinch so suddenly, in the high flowof his gladness; bringing the blood into his honest cheeks, and aremorseful feeling to his honest heart, as if he were unworthy of hisfriend's regard?
'I should be married to her then,' said Martin, looking with a smiletowards the light; 'and we should have, I hope, children about us.They'd be very fond of you, Tom.'
But not a word said Mr Pinch. The words he would have uttered died uponhis lips, and found a life more spiritual in self-denying thoughts.
'All the children hereabouts are fond of you, Tom, and mine would be,of course,' pursued Martin. 'Perhaps I might name one of 'em afteryou. Tom, eh? Well, I don't know. Tom's not a bad name. Thomas PinchChuzzlewit. T. P. C. on his pinafores--no objection to that, I shouldsay?'
Tom cleared his throat, and smiled.
'SHE would like you, Tom, I know,' said Martin.
'Aye!' cried Tom Pinch, faintly.
'I can tell exactly what she would think of you,' said Martin leaninghis chin upon his hand, and looking through the window-glass as if heread there what he said; 'I know her so well. She would smile, Tom,often at first when you spoke to her, or when she looked at you--merrilytoo--but you wouldn't mind that. A brighter smile you never saw.'
'No, no,' said Tom. 'I wouldn't mind that.'
'She would be as tender with you, Tom,' said Martin, 'as if you were achild yourself. So you are almost, in some things, an't you, Tom?'
Mr Pinch nodded his entire assent.
'She would always be kind and good-humoured, and glad to see you,' saidMartin; 'and when she found out exactly what sort of fellow you were(which she'd do very soon), she would pretend to give you littlecommissions to execute, and to ask little services of you, which sheknew you were burning to render; so that when she really pleased youmost, she would try to make you think you most pleased her. Shewould take to you uncommonly, Tom; and would understand you far moredelicately than I ever shall; and would often say, I know, that you werea harmless, gentle, well-intentioned, good fellow.'
How silent Tom Pinch was!
'In honour of old time,' said Martin, 'and of her having heard you playthe organ in this damp little church down here--for nothing too--we willhave one in the house. I shall build an architectural music-room on aplan of my own, and it'll look rather knowing in a recess at one end.There you shall play away, Tom, till you tire yourself; and, as you liketo do so in the dark, it shall BE dark; and many's the summer eveningshe and I will sit and listen to you, Tom; be sure of that!'
It may have required a stronger effort on Tom Pinch's part to leave theseat on which he sat, and shake his friend by both hands, with nothingbut serenity and grateful feeling painted on his face; it may haverequired a stronger effort to perform this simple act with a pure heart,than to achieve many and many a deed to which the doubtful trumpet blownby Fame has lustily resounded. Doubtful, because from its long hoveringover scenes of violence, the smoke and steam of death have clogged thekeys of that brave instrument; and it is not always that its notes areeither true or tuneful.
'It's a proof of the kindness of human nature,' said Tom,characteristically putting himself quite out of sight in the matter,'that everybody who comes here, as you have done, is more considerateand affectionate to me than I should have any right to hope, if I werethe most sanguine creature in the world; or should have any power toexpress, if I were the most eloquent. It really overpowers me. But trustme,' said Tom, 'that I am not ungrateful--that I never forget--and thatif I can ever prove the truth of my words to you, I will.'
'That's all right,' observed Martin, leaning back in his chair with ahand in each pocket, and yawning drearily. 'Very fine talking, Tom;but I'm at Pecksniff's, I remember, and perhaps a mile or so out of thehigh-road to fortune just at this minute. So you've heard again thismorning from what's his name, eh?'
'Who may that be?' asked Tom, seeming to enter a mild protest on behalfof the dignity of an absent person.
'YOU know. What is it? Northkey.'
'Westlock,' rejoined Tom, in rather a louder tone than usual.
'Ah! to be sure,' said Martin, 'Westlock. I knew it was somethingconnected with a point of the compass and a door. Well! and what saysWestlock?'
'Oh! he has come into his property,' answered Tom, nodding his head, andsmiling.
'He's a lucky dog,' said Martin. 'I wish it were mine instead. Is thatall the mystery you were to tell me?'
'No,' said Tom; 'not all.'
'What's the rest?' asked Martin.
'For the matter of that,' said Tom, 'it's no mystery, and you won'tthink much of it; but it's very pleasant to
me. John always used to saywhen he was here, "Mark my words, Pinch. When my father's executors cashup"--he used strange expressions now and then, but that was his way.'
'Cash-up's a very good expression,' observed Martin, 'when other peopledon't apply it to you. Well!--What a slow fellow you are, Pinch!'
'Yes, I am I know,' said Tom; 'but you'll make me nervous if you tell meso. I'm afraid you have put me out a little now, for I forget what I wasgoing to say.'
'When John's father's executors cashed up,' said Martin impatiently.
'Oh yes, to be sure,' cried Tom; 'yes. "Then," says John, "I'll give youa dinner, Pinch, and come down to Salisbury on purpose." Now, when Johnwrote the other day--the morning Pecksniff left, you know--he said hisbusiness was on the point of being immediately settled, and as he was toreceive his money directly, when could I meet him at Salisbury? I wroteand said, any day this week; and I told him besides, that there was anew pupil here, and what a fine fellow you were, and what friends wehad become. Upon which John writes back this letter'--Tom producedit--'fixes to-morrow; sends his compliments to you; and begs that wethree may have the pleasure of dining together; not at the house whereyou and I were, either; but at the very first hotel in the town. Readwhat he says.'
'Very well,' said Martin, glancing over it with his customary coolness;'much obliged to him. I'm agreeable.'
Tom could have wished him to be a little more astonished, a little morepleased, or in some form or other a little more interested in such agreat event. But he was perfectly self-possessed; and falling into hisfavourite solace of whistling, took another turn at the grammar-school,as if nothing at all had happened.
Mr Pecksniff's horse being regarded in the light of a sacred animal,only to be driven by him, the chief priest of that temple, or by someperson distinctly nominated for the time being to that high office byhimself, the two young men agreed to walk to Salisbury; and so, when thetime came, they set off on foot; which was, after all, a better mode oftravelling than in the gig, as the weather was very cold and very dry.
Better! A rare strong, hearty, healthy walk--four statute miles anhour--preferable to that rumbling, tumbling, jolting, shaking, scraping,creaking, villanous old gig? Why, the two things will not admit ofcomparison. It is an insult to the walk, to set them side by side. Whereis an instance of a gig having ever circulated a man's blood, unlesswhen, putting him in danger of his neck, it awakened in his veins and inhis ears, and all along his spine, a tingling heat, much more peculiarthan agreeable? When did a gig ever sharpen anybody's wits and energies,unless it was when the horse bolted, and, crashing madly down a steephill with a stone wall at the bottom, his desperate circumstancessuggested to the only gentleman left inside, some novel and unheard-ofmode of dropping out behind? Better than the gig!
The air was cold, Tom; so it was, there was no denying it; but wouldit have been more genial in the gig? The blacksmith's fire burned verybright, and leaped up high, as though it wanted men to warm; but wouldit have been less tempting, looked at from the clammy cushions of a gig?The wind blew keenly, nipping the features of the hardy wight who foughthis way along; blinding him with his own hair if he had enough to it,and wintry dust if he hadn't; stopping his breath as though he had beensoused in a cold bath; tearing aside his wrappings-up, and whistling inthe very marrow of his bones; but it would have done all this a hundredtimes more fiercely to a man in a gig, wouldn't it? A fig for gigs!
Better than the gig! When were travellers by wheels and hoofs seen withsuch red-hot cheeks as those? when were they so good-humouredly andmerrily bloused? when did their laughter ring upon the air, as theyturned them round, what time the stronger gusts came sweeping up; and,facing round again as they passed by, dashed on, in such a glow ofruddy health as nothing could keep pace with, but the high spirits itengendered? Better than the gig! Why, here is a man in a gig comingthe same way now. Look at him as he passes his whip into his left hand,chafes his numbed right fingers on his granite leg, and beats thosemarble toes of his upon the foot-board. Ha, ha, ha! Who would exchangethis rapid hurry of the blood for yonder stagnant misery, though itspace were twenty miles for one?
Better than the gig! No man in a gig could have such interest in themilestones. No man in a gig could see, or feel, or think, like merryusers of their legs. How, as the wind sweeps on, upon these breezydowns, it tracks its flight in darkening ripples on the grass, andsmoothest shadows on the hills! Look round and round upon this barebleak plain, and see even here, upon a winter's day, how beautifulthe shadows are! Alas! it is the nature of their kind to be so. Theloveliest things in life, Tom, are but shadows; and they come and go,and change and fade away, as rapidly as these!
Another mile, and then begins a fall of snow, making the crow, who skimsaway so close above the ground to shirk the wind, a blot of ink upon thelandscape. But though it drives and drifts against them as they walk,stiffening on their skirts, and freezing in the lashes of their eyes,they wouldn't have it fall more sparingly, no, not so much as by asingle flake, although they had to go a score of miles. And, lo! thetowers of the Old Cathedral rise before them, even now! and by-and-byethey come into the sheltered streets, made strangely silent by theirwhite carpet; and so to the Inn for which they are bound; where theypresent such flushed and burning faces to the cold waiter, and are sobrimful of vigour, that he almost feels assaulted by their presence;and, having nothing to oppose to the attack (being fresh, or ratherstale, from the blazing fire in the coffee-room), is quite put out ofhis pale countenance.
A famous Inn! the hall a very grove of dead game, and dangling jointsof mutton; and in one corner an illustrious larder, with glass doors,developing cold fowls and noble joints, and tarts wherein the raspberryjam coyly withdrew itself, as such a precious creature should, behind alattice work of pastry. And behold, on the first floor, at the court-endof the house, in a room with all the window-curtains drawn, a fire piledhalf-way up the chimney, plates warming before it, wax candles gleamingeverywhere, and a table spread for three, with silver and glass enoughfor thirty--John Westlock; not the old John of Pecksniff's, but a propergentleman; looking another and a grander person, with the consciousnessof being his own master and having money in the bank; and yet in somerespects the old John too, for he seized Tom Pinch by both his hands theinstant he appeared, and fairly hugged him, in his cordial welcome.
'And this,' said John, 'is Mr Chuzzlewit. I am very glad to seehim!'--John had an off-hand manner of his own; so they shook handswarmly, and were friends in no time.
'Stand off a moment, Tom,' cried the old pupil, laying one hand on eachof Mr Pinch's shoulders, and holding him out at arm's length. 'Let melook at you! Just the same! Not a bit changed!'
'Why, it's not so very long ago, you know,' said Tom Pinch, 'after all.'
'It seems an age to me,' cried John, 'and so it ought to seem to you,you dog.' And then he pushed Tom down into the easiest chair, andclapped him on the back so heartily, and so like his old self in theirold bedroom at old Pecksniff's that it was a toss-up with Tom Pinchwhether he should laugh or cry. Laughter won it; and they all threelaughed together.
'I have ordered everything for dinner, that we used to say we'd have,Tom,' observed John Westlock.
'No!' said Tom Pinch. 'Have you?'
'Everything. Don't laugh, if you can help it, before the waiters. Icouldn't when I was ordering it. It's like a dream.'
John was wrong there, because nobody ever dreamed such soup as was putupon the table directly afterwards; or such fish; or such side-dishes;or such a top and bottom; or such a course of birds and sweets; orin short anything approaching the reality of that entertainment atten-and-sixpence a head, exclusive of wines. As to THEM, the man who candream such iced champagne, such claret, port, or sherry, had better goto bed and stop there.
But perhaps the finest feature of the banquet was, that nobody was halfso much amazed by everything as John himself, who in his high delightwas constantly bursting into fits of laughter, and then endeavouringto appear preternaturall
y solemn, lest the waiters should conceive hewasn't used to it. Some of the things they brought him to carve, weresuch outrageous practical jokes, though, that it was impossible to standit; and when Tom Pinch insisted, in spite of the deferential advice ofan attendant, not only on breaking down the outer wall of a raised piewith a tablespoon, but on trying to eat it afterwards, John lost alldignity, and sat behind the gorgeous dish-cover at the head of thetable, roaring to that extent that he was audible in the kitchen. Norhad he the least objection to laugh at himself, as he demonstrated whenthey had all three gathered round the fire and the dessert was onthe table; at which period the head waiter inquired with respectfulsolicitude whether that port, being a light and tawny wine, was suitedto his taste, or whether he would wish to try a fruity port with greaterbody. To this John gravely answered that he was well satisfied with whathe had, which he esteemed, as one might say, a pretty tidy vintage;for which the waiter thanked him and withdrew. And then John told hisfriends, with a broad grin, that he supposed it was all right, but hedidn't know; and went off into a perfect shout.
They were very merry and full of enjoyment the whole time, but not theleast pleasant part of the festival was when they all three sat aboutthe fire, cracking nuts, drinking wine and talking cheerfully. Ithappened that Tom Pinch had a word to say to his friend the organist'sassistant, and so deserted his warm corner for a few minutes at thisseason, lest it should grow too late; leaving the other two young mentogether.
They drank his health in his absence, of course; and John Westlock tookthat opportunity of saying, that he had never had even a peevish wordwith Tom during the whole term of their residence in Mr Pecksniff'shouse. This naturally led him to dwell upon Tom's character, and to hintthat Mr Pecksniff understood it pretty well. He only hinted this, andvery distantly; knowing that it pained Tom Pinch to have that gentlemandisparaged, and thinking it would be as well to leave the new pupil tohis own discoveries.
'Yes,' said Martin. 'It's impossible to like Pinch better than I do,or to do greater justice to his good qualities. He is the most willingfellow I ever saw.'
'He's rather too willing,' observed John, who was quick in observation.'It's quite a fault in him.'
'So it is,' said Martin. 'Very true. There was a fellow only a week orso ago--a Mr Tigg--who borrowed all the money he had, on a promise torepay it in a few days. It was but half a sovereign, to be sure; butit's well it was no more, for he'll never see it again.'
'Poor fellow!' said John, who had been very attentive to these fewwords. 'Perhaps you have not had an opportunity of observing that, inhis own pecuniary transactions, Tom's proud.'
'You don't say so! No, I haven't. What do you mean? Won't he borrow?'
John Westlock shook his head.
'That's very odd,' said Martin, setting down his empty glass. 'He's astrange compound, to be sure.'
'As to receiving money as a gift,' resumed John Westlock; 'I think he'ddie first.'
'He's made up of simplicity,' said Martin. 'Help yourself.'
'You, however,' pursued John, filling his own glass, and looking at hiscompanion with some curiosity, 'who are older than the majority of MrPecksniff's assistants, and have evidently had much more experience,understand him, I have no doubt, and see how liable he is to be imposedupon.'
'Certainly,' said Martin, stretching out his legs, and holding his winebetween his eye and the light. 'Mr Pecksniff knows that too. So do hisdaughters. Eh?'
John Westlock smiled, but made no answer.
'By the bye,' said Martin, 'that reminds me. What's your opinion ofPecksniff? How did he use you? What do you think of him now?--Coolly,you know, when it's all over?'
'Ask Pinch,' returned the old pupil. 'He knows what my sentiments usedto be upon the subject. They are not changed, I assure you.'
'No, no,' said Martin, 'I'd rather have them from you.'
'But Pinch says they are unjust,' urged John with a smile.
'Oh! well! Then I know what course they take beforehand,' said Martin;'and, therefore, you can have no delicacy in speaking plainly. Don'tmind me, I beg. I don't like him I tell you frankly. I am with himbecause it happens from particular circumstances to suit my convenience.I have some ability, I believe, in that way; and the obligation, if any,will most likely be on his side and not mine. At the lowest mark, thebalance will be even, and there'll be no obligation at all. So you maytalk to me, as if I had no connection with him.'
'If you press me to give my opinion--' returned John Westlock.
'Yes, I do,' said Martin. 'You'll oblige me.'
'--I should say,' resumed the other, 'that he is the most consummatescoundrel on the face of the earth.'
'Oh!' said Martin, as coolly as ever. 'That's rather strong.'
'Not stronger than he deserves,' said John; 'and if he called upon meto express my opinion of him to his face, I would do so in the very sameterms, without the least qualification. His treatment of Pinch is initself enough to justify them; but when I look back upon the five yearsI passed in that house, and remember the hyprocrisy, the knavery, themeannesses, the false pretences, the lip service of that fellow, andhis trading in saintly semblances for the very worst realities; whenI remember how often I was the witness of all this and how often I wasmade a kind of party to it, by the fact of being there, with him for myteacher; I swear to you that I almost despise myself.'
Martin drained his glass, and looked at the fire.
'I don't mean to say that is a right feeling,' pursued John Westlock'because it was no fault of mine; and I can quite understand--you forinstance, fully appreciating him, and yet being forced by circumstancesto remain there. I tell you simply what my feeling is; and even now,when, as you say, it's all over; and when I have the satisfaction ofknowing that he always hated me, and we always quarrelled, and I alwaystold him my mind; even now, I feel sorry that I didn't yield to animpulse I often had, as a boy, of running away from him and goingabroad.'
'Why abroad?' asked Martin, turning his eyes upon the speaker.
'In search,' replied John Westlock, shrugging his shoulders, 'ofthe livelihood I couldn't have earned at home. There would have beensomething spirited in that. But, come! Fill your glass, and let usforget him.'
'As soon as you please,' said Martin. 'In reference to myself and myconnection with him, I have only to repeat what I said before. I havetaken my own way with him so far, and shall continue to do so, even morethan ever; for the fact is, to tell you the truth, that I believe helooks to me to supply his defects, and couldn't afford to lose me. I hada notion of that in first going there. Your health!'
'Thank you,' returned young Westlock. 'Yours. And may the new pupil turnout as well as you can desire!'
'What new pupil?'
'The fortunate youth, born under an auspicious star,' returned JohnWestlock, laughing; 'whose parents, or guardians, are destined to behooked by the advertisement. What! Don't you know that he has advertisedagain?'
'No.'
'Oh, yes. I read it just before dinner in the old newspaper. I know itto be his; having some reason to remember the style. Hush! Here's Pinch.Strange, is it not, that the more he likes Pecksniff (if he can like himbetter than he does), the greater reason one has to like HIM? Not a wordmore, or we shall spoil his whole enjoyment.'
Tom entered as the words were spoken, with a radiant smile upon hisface; and rubbing his hands, more from a sense of delight than becausehe was cold (for he had been running fast), sat down in his warm corneragain, and was as happy as only Tom Pinch could be. There is no othersimile that will express his state of mind.
'And so,' he said, when he had gazed at his friend for some time insilent pleasure, 'so you really are a gentleman at last, John. Well, tobe sure!'
'Trying to be, Tom; trying to be,' he rejoined good-humouredly. 'Thereis no saying what I may turn out, in time.'
'I suppose you wouldn't carry your own box to the mail now?' said TomPinch, smiling; 'although you lost it altogether by not taking it.'
'Wouldn't I?' re
torted John. 'That's all you know about it, Pinch.It must be a very heavy box that I wouldn't carry to get away fromPecksniff's, Tom.'
'There!' cried Pinch, turning to Martin, 'I told you so. The great faultin his character is his injustice to Pecksniff. You mustn't mind a wordhe says on that subject. His prejudice is most extraordinary.'
'The absence of anything like prejudice on Tom's part, you know,' saidJohn Westlock, laughing heartily, as he laid his hand on Mr Pinch'sshoulder, 'is perfectly wonderful. If one man ever had a profoundknowledge of another, and saw him in a true light, and in his own propercolours, Tom has that knowledge of Mr Pecksniff.'
'Why, of course I have,' cried Tom. 'That's exactly what I have so oftensaid to you. If you knew him as well as I do--John, I'd give almost anymoney to bring that about--you'd admire, respect, and reverence him. Youcouldn't help it. Oh, how you wounded his feelings when you went away!'
'If I had known whereabout his feelings lay,' retorted young Westlock,'I'd have done my best, Tom, with that end in view, you may depend uponit. But as I couldn't wound him in what he has not, and in what he knowsnothing of, except in his ability to probe them to the quick in otherpeople, I am afraid I can lay no claim to your compliment.'
Mr Pinch, being unwilling to protract a discussion which might possiblycorrupt Martin, forbore to say anything in reply to this speech; butJohn Westlock, whom nothing short of an iron gag would havesilenced when Mr Pecksniff's merits were once in question, continuednotwithstanding.
'HIS feelings! Oh, he's a tender-hearted man. HIS feelings! Oh, he's aconsiderate, conscientious, self-examining, moral vagabond, he is! HISfeelings! Oh!--what's the matter, Tom?'
Mr Pinch was by this time erect upon the hearth-rug, buttoning his coatwith great energy.
'I can't bear it,' said Tom, shaking his head. 'No. I really cannot. Youmust excuse me, John. I have a great esteem and friendship for you;I love you very much; and have been perfectly charmed and overjoyedto-day, to find you just the same as ever; but I cannot listen to this.'
'Why, it's my old way, Tom; and you say yourself that you are glad tofind me unchanged.'
'Not in this respect,' said Tom Pinch. 'You must excuse me, John. Icannot, really; I will not. It's very wrong; you should be more guardedin your expressions. It was bad enough when you and I used to be alonetogether, but under existing circumstances, I can't endure it, really.No. I cannot, indeed.'
'You are quite right!' exclaimed the other, exchanging looks withMartin. 'and I am quite wrong, Tom, I don't know how the deuce we fellon this unlucky theme. I beg your pardon with all my heart.'
'You have a free and manly temper, I know,' said Pinch; 'and therefore,your being so ungenerous in this one solitary instance, only grievesme the more. It's not my pardon you have to ask, John. You have done MEnothing but kindnesses.'
'Well! Pecksniff's pardon then,' said young Westlock. 'Anything Tom,or anybody. Pecksniff's pardon--will that do? Here! let us drinkPecksniff's health!'
'Thank you,' cried Tom, shaking hands with him eagerly, and fillinga bumper. 'Thank you; I'll drink it with all my heart, John. MrPecksniff's health, and prosperity to him!'
John Westlock echoed the sentiment, or nearly so; for he drank MrPecksniff's health, and Something to him--but what, was not quiteaudible. The general unanimity being then completely restored, they drewtheir chairs closer round the fire, and conversed in perfect harmony andenjoyment until bed-time.
No slight circumstance, perhaps, could have better illustrated thedifference of character between John Westlock and Martin Chuzzlewit,than the manner in which each of the young men contemplated Tom Pinch,after the little rupture just described. There was a certain amount ofjocularity in the looks of both, no doubt, but there all resemblanceceased. The old pupil could not do enough to show Tom how cordially hefelt towards him, and his friendly regard seemed of a graver and morethoughtful kind than before. The new one, on the other hand, had noimpulse but to laugh at the recollection of Tom's extreme absurdity;and mingled with his amusement there was something slighting andcontemptuous, indicative, as it appeared, of his opinion that Mr Pinchwas much too far gone in simplicity to be admitted as the friend, onserious and equal terms, of any rational man.
John Westlock, who did nothing by halves, if he could help it, hadprovided beds for his two guests in the hotel; and after a very happyevening, they retired. Mr Pinch was sitting on the side of his bed withhis cravat and shoes off, ruminating on the manifold good qualities ofhis old friend, when he was interrupted by a knock at his chamber door,and the voice of John himself.
'You're not asleep yet, are you, Tom?'
'Bless you, no! not I. I was thinking of you,' replied Tom, opening thedoor. 'Come in.'
'I am not going to detail you,' said John; 'but I have forgotten all theevening a little commission I took upon myself; and I am afraid I mayforget it again, if I fail to discharge it at once. You know a Mr Tigg,Tom, I believe?'
'Tigg!' cried Tom. 'Tigg! The gentleman who borrowed some money of me?'
'Exactly,' said John Westlock. 'He begged me to present his compliments,and to return it with many thanks. Here it is. I suppose it's a goodone, but he is rather a doubtful kind of customer, Tom.'
Mr Pinch received the little piece of gold with a face whose brightnessmight have shamed the metal; and said he had no fear about that. Hewas glad, he added, to find Mr Tigg so prompt and honourable in hisdealings; very glad.
'Why, to tell you the truth, Tom,' replied his friend, 'he is not alwaysso. If you'll take my advice, you'll avoid him as much as you can, inthe event of your encountering him again. And by no means, Tom--praybear this in mind, for I am very serious--by no means lend him money anymore.'
'Aye, aye!' said Tom, with his eyes wide open.
'He is very far from being a reputable acquaintance,' returned youngWestlock; 'and the more you let him know you think so, the better foryou, Tom.'
'I say, John,' quoth Mr Pinch, as his countenance fell, and he shookhis head in a dejected manner. 'I hope you are not getting into badcompany.'
'No, no,' he replied laughing. 'Don't be uneasy on that score.'
'Oh, but I AM uneasy,' said Tom Pinch; 'I can't help it, when I hear youtalking in that way. If Mr Tigg is what you describe him to be, you haveno business to know him, John. You may laugh, but I don't consider it byany means a laughing matter, I assure you.'
'No, no,' returned his friend, composing his features. 'Quite right. Itis not, certainly.'
'You know, John,' said Mr Pinch, 'your very good nature and kindness ofheart make you thoughtless, and you can't be too careful on such apoint as this. Upon my word, if I thought you were falling among badcompanions, I should be quite wretched, for I know how difficult youwould find it to shake them off. I would much rather have lost thismoney, John, than I would have had it back again on such terms.'
'I tell you, my dear good old fellow,' cried his friend, shaking himto and fro with both hands, and smiling at him with a cheerful, opencountenance, that would have carried conviction to a mind much moresuspicious than Tom's; 'I tell you there is no danger.'
'Well!' cried Tom, 'I am glad to hear it; I am overjoyed to hear it. Iam sure there is not, when you say so in that manner. You won't take itill, John, that I said what I did just now!'
'Ill!' said the other, giving his hand a hearty squeeze; 'why whatdo you think I am made of? Mr Tigg and I are not on such an intimatefooting that you need be at all uneasy, I give you my solemn assuranceof that, Tom. You are quite comfortable now?'
'Quite,' said Tom.
'Then once more, good night!'
'Good night!' cried Tom; 'and such pleasant dreams to you as shouldattend the sleep of the best fellow in the world!'
'--Except Pecksniff,' said his friend, stopping at the door for amoment, and looking gayly back.
'Except Pecksniff,' answered Tom, with great gravity; 'of course.'
And thus they parted for the night; John Westlock full oflight-heartedness and good humour, and poo
r Tom Pinch quite satisfied;though still, as he turned over on his side in bed, he muttered tohimself, 'I really do wish, for all that, though, that he wasn'tacquainted with Mr Tigg.'
They breakfasted together very early next morning, for the two youngmen desired to get back again in good season; and John Westlock was toreturn to London by the coach that day. As he had some hours to spare,he bore them company for three or four miles on their walk, andonly parted from them at last in sheer necessity. The parting was anunusually hearty one, not only as between him and Tom Pinch, but on theside of Martin also, who had found in the old pupil a very differentsort of person from the milksop he had prepared himself to expect.
Young Westlock stopped upon a rising ground, when he had gone a littledistance, and looked back. They were walking at a brisk pace, and Tomappeared to be talking earnestly. Martin had taken off his greatcoat,the wind being now behind them, and carried it upon his arm. As helooked, he saw Tom relieve him of it, after a faint resistance, and,throwing it upon his own, encumber himself with the weight of both. Thistrivial incident impressed the old pupil mightily, for he stood there,gazing after them, until they were hidden from his view; when heshook his head, as if he were troubled by some uneasy reflection, andthoughtfully retraced his steps to Salisbury.
In the meantime, Martin and Tom pursued their way, until they halted,safe and sound, at Mr Pecksniff's house, where a brief epistle from thatgood gentleman to Mr Pinch announced the family's return by that night'scoach. As it would pass the corner of the lane at about six o'clock inthe morning, Mr Pecksniff requested that the gig might be in waiting atthe finger-post about that time, together with a cart for the luggage.And to the end that he might be received with the greater honour, theyoung men agreed to rise early, and be upon the spot themselves.
It was the least cheerful day they had yet passed together. Martinwas out of spirits and out of humour, and took every opportunity ofcomparing his condition and prospects with those of young Westlock;much to his own disadvantage always. This mood of his depressed Tom; andneither that morning's parting, nor yesterday's dinner, helped to mendthe matter. So the hours dragged on heavily enough; and they were gladto go to bed early.
They were not quite so glad to get up again at half-past four o'clock,in all the shivering discomfort of a dark winter's morning; but theyturned out punctually, and were at the finger-post full half-an-hourbefore the appointed time. It was not by any means a lively morning, forthe sky was black and cloudy, and it rained hard; but Martin said therewas some satisfaction in seeing that brute of a horse (by this, he meantMr Pecksniff's Arab steed) getting very wet; and that he rejoiced, onhis account, that it rained so fast. From this it may be inferred thatMartin's spirits had not improved, as indeed they had not; for while heand Mr Pinch stood waiting under a hedge, looking at the rain, the gig,the cart, and its reeking driver, he did nothing but grumble; and, butthat it is indispensable to any dispute that there should be two partiesto it, he would certainly have picked a quarrel with Tom.
At length the noise of wheels was faintly audible in the distance andpresently the coach came splashing through the mud and mire with onemiserable outside passenger crouching down among wet straw, under asaturated umbrella; and the coachman, guard, and horses, in a fellowshipof dripping wretchedness. Immediately on its stopping, Mr Pecksniff letdown the window-glass and hailed Tom Pinch.
'Dear me, Mr Pinch! Is it possible that you are out upon this veryinclement morning?'
'Yes, sir,' cried Tom, advancing eagerly, 'Mr Chuzzlewit and I, sir.'
'Oh!' said Mr Pecksniff, looking not so much at Martin as at the spot onwhich he stood. 'Oh! Indeed. Do me the favour to see to the trunks, ifyou please, Mr Pinch.'
Then Mr Pecksniff descended, and helped his daughters to alight; butneither he nor the young ladies took the slightest notice of Martin,who had advanced to offer his assistance, but was repulsed by MrPecksniff's standing immediately before his person, with his backtowards him. In the same manner, and in profound silence, Mr Pecksniffhanded his daughters into the gig; and following himself and taking thereins, drove off home.
Lost in astonishment, Martin stood staring at the coach, and when thecoach had driven away, at Mr Pinch, and the luggage, until the cartmoved off too; when he said to Tom:
'Now will you have the goodness to tell me what THIS portends?'
'What?' asked Tom.
'This fellow's behaviour. Mr Pecksniff's, I mean. You saw it?'
'No. Indeed I did not,' cried Tom. 'I was busy with the trunks.'
'It is no matter,' said Martin. 'Come! Let us make haste back!' Andwithout another word started off at such a pace, that Tom had somedifficulty in keeping up with him.
He had no care where he went, but walked through little heaps of mudand little pools of water with the utmost indifference; looking straightbefore him, and sometimes laughing in a strange manner within himself.Tom felt that anything he could say would only render him the moreobstinate, and therefore trusted to Mr Pecksniff's manner when theyreached the house, to remove the mistaken impression under which he feltconvinced so great a favourite as the new pupil must unquestionably belabouring. But he was not a little amazed himself, when they did reachit, and entered the parlour where Mr Pecksniff was sitting alonebefore the fire, drinking some hot tea, to find that instead of takingfavourable notice of his relative and keeping him, Mr Pinch, in thebackground, he did exactly the reverse, and was so lavish in hisattentions to Tom, that Tom was thoroughly confounded.
'Take some tea, Mr Pinch--take some tea,' said Pecksniff, stirring thefire. 'You must be very cold and damp. Pray take some tea, and come intoa warm place, Mr Pinch.'
Tom saw that Martin looked at Mr Pecksniff as though he could haveeasily found it in his heart to give HIM an invitation to a very warmplace; but he was quite silent, and standing opposite that gentleman atthe table, regarded him attentively.
'Take a chair, Pinch,' said Pecksniff. 'Take a chair, if you please. Howhave things gone on in our absence, Mr Pinch?'
'You--you will be very much pleased with the grammar-school, sir,' saidTom. 'It's nearly finished.'
'If you will have the goodness, Mr Pinch,' said Pecksniff, waving hishand and smiling, 'we will not discuss anything connected with thatquestion at present. What have YOU been doing, Thomas, humph?'
Mr Pinch looked from master to pupil, and from pupil to master, and wasso perplexed and dismayed that he wanted presence of mind to answerthe question. In this awkward interval, Mr Pecksniff (who was perfectlyconscious of Martin's gaze, though he had never once glanced towardshim) poked the fire very much, and when he couldn't do that any more,drank tea assiduously.
'Now, Mr Pecksniff,' said Martin at last, in a very quiet voice, 'if youhave sufficiently refreshed and recovered yourself, I shall be glad tohear what you mean by this treatment of me.'
'And what,' said Mr Pecksniff, turning his eyes on Tom Pinch, even moreplacidly and gently than before, 'what have YOU been doing, Thomas,humph?'
When he had repeated this inquiry, he looked round the walls of the roomas if he were curious to see whether any nails had been left there byaccident in former times.
Tom was almost at his wit's end what to say between the two, and hadalready made a gesture as if he would call Mr Pecksniff's attention tothe gentleman who had last addressed him, when Martin saved him furthertrouble, by doing so himself.
'Mr Pecksniff,' he said, softly rapping the table twice or thrice, andmoving a step or two nearer, so that he could have touched him with hishand; 'you heard what I said just now. Do me the favour to reply, if youplease. I ask you'--he raised his voice a little here--'what you mean bythis?'
'I will talk to you, sir,' said Mr Pecksniff in a severe voice, as helooked at him for the first time, 'presently.'
'You are very obliging,' returned Martin; 'presently will not do. I musttrouble you to talk to me at once.'
Mr Pecksniff made a feint of being deeply interested in his pocketbook,but it shook in his hands; he tremble
d so.
'Now,' retorted Martin, rapping the table again. 'Now. Presently willnot do. Now!'
'Do you threaten me, sir?' cried Mr Pecksniff.
Martin looked at him, and made no answer; but a curious observermight have detected an ominous twitching at his mouth, and perhapsan involuntary attraction of his right hand in the direction of MrPecksniff's cravat.
'I lament to be obliged to say, sir,' resumed Mr Pecksniff, 'that itwould be quite in keeping with your character if you did threaten me.You have deceived me. You have imposed upon a nature which you knew tobe confiding and unsuspicious. You have obtained admission, sir,' saidMr Pecksniff, rising, 'to this house, on perverted statements and onfalse pretences.'
'Go on,' said Martin, with a scornful smile. 'I understand you now. Whatmore?'
'Thus much more, sir,' cried Mr Pecksniff, trembling from head to foot,and trying to rub his hands, as though he were only cold. 'Thus muchmore, if you force me to publish your shame before a third party, whichI was unwilling and indisposed to do. This lowly roof, sir, must notbe contaminated by the presence of one who has deceived, and cruellydeceived, an honourable, beloved, venerated, and venerable gentleman;and who wisely suppressed that deceit from me when he sought myprotection and favour, knowing that, humble as I am, I am an honestman, seeking to do my duty in this carnal universe, and setting my faceagainst all vice and treachery. I weep for your depravity, sir,' saidMr Pecksniff; 'I mourn over your corruption, I pity your voluntarywithdrawal of yourself from the flowery paths of purity and peace;' herehe struck himself upon his breast, or moral garden; 'but I cannot havea leper and a serpent for an inmate. Go forth,' said Mr Pecksniff,stretching out his hand: 'go forth, young man! Like all who know you, Irenounce you!'
With what intention Martin made a stride forward at these words, it isimpossible to say. It is enough to know that Tom Pinch caught him inhis arms, and that, at the same moment, Mr Pecksniff stepped back sohastily, that he missed his footing, tumbled over a chair, and fell ina sitting posture on the ground; where he remained without an effortto get up again, with his head in a corner, perhaps considering it thesafest place.
'Let me go, Pinch!' cried Martin, shaking him away. 'Why do you hold me?Do you think a blow could make him a more abject creature than he is? Doyou think that if I spat upon him, I could degrade him to a lower levelthan his own? Look at him. Look at him, Pinch!'
Mr Pinch involuntarily did so. Mr Pecksniff sitting, as has beenalready mentioned, on the carpet, with his head in an acute angle of thewainscot, and all the damage and detriment of an uncomfortable journeyabout him, was not exactly a model of all that is prepossessing anddignified in man, certainly. Still he WAS Pecksniff; it was impossibleto deprive him of that unique and paramount appeal to Tom. And hereturned Tom's glance, as if he would have said, 'Aye, Mr Pinch, look atme! Here I am! You know what the Poet says about an honest man; and anhonest man is one of the few great works that can be seen for nothing!Look at me!'
'I tell you,' said Martin, 'that as he lies there, disgraced, bought,used; a cloth for dirty hands, a mat for dirty feet, a lying, fawning,servile hound, he is the very last and worst among the vermin of theworld. And mark me, Pinch! The day will come--he knows it; see itwritten on his face, while I speak!--when even you will find him out,and will know him as I do, and as he knows I do. HE renounce ME!Cast your eyes on the Renouncer, Pinch, and be the wiser for therecollection!'
He pointed at him as he spoke, with unutterable contempt, and flinginghis hat upon his head, walked from the room and from the house. He wentso rapidly that he was already clear of the village, when he heard TomPinch calling breathlessly after him in the distance.
'Well! what now?' he said, when Tom came up.
'Dear, dear!' cried Tom, 'are you going?'
'Going!' he echoed. 'Going!'
'I didn't so much mean that, as were you going now at once--in this badweather--on foot--without your clothes--with no money?' cried Tom.
'Yes,' he answered sternly, 'I am.'
'And where?' cried Tom. 'Oh where will you go?'
'I don't know,' he said. 'Yes, I do. I'll go to America!'
'No, no,' cried Tom, in a kind of agony. 'Don't go there. Pray don't.Think better of it. Don't be so dreadfully regardless of yourself. Don'tgo to America!'
'My mind is made up,' he said. 'Your friend was right. I'll go toAmerica. God bless you, Pinch!'
'Take this!' cried Tom, pressing a book upon him in great agitation.'I must make haste back, and can't say anything I would. Heaven be withyou. Look at the leaf I have turned down. Good-bye, good-bye!'
The simple fellow wrung him by the hand, with tears stealing down hischeeks; and they parted hurriedly upon their separate ways.
Martin Chuzzlewit Page 14