Чарльз Диккенс
Martin Chuzzlewit
The old man then related how nobly Mr Pecksniff had performed the duty in which he stood indebted to society, in the matter of Tom’s dismissal; and how, having often heard disparagement of Mr Westlock from Pecksniffian lips, and knowing him to be a friend to Tom, he had used, through his confidential agent and solicitor, that little artifice which had kept him in readiness to receive his unknown friend in London. And he called on Mr Pecksniff (by the name of Scoundrel) to remember that there again he had not trapped him to do evil, but that he had done it of his own free will and agency; nay, that he had cautioned him against it. And once again he called on Mr Pecksniff (by the name of Hang-dog) to remember that when Martin coming home at last, an altered man, had sued for the forgiveness which awaited him, he, Pecksniff, had rejected him in language of his own, and had remorsely stepped in between him and the least touch of natural tenderness. ‘For which,’ said the old man, ‘if the bending of my finger would remove a halter from your neck, I wouldn’t bend it!’
‘Martin,’ he added, ‘your rival has not been a dangerous one, but Mrs Lupin here has played duenna for some weeks; not so much to watch your love as to watch her lover. For that Ghoul’ – his fertility in finding names for Mr Pecksniff was astonishing – ‘would have crawled into her daily walks otherwise, and polluted the fresh air. What’s this? Her hand is trembling strangely. See if you can hold it.’
Hold it! If he clasped it half as tightly as he did her waist. Well, well!
But it was good in him that even then, in his high fortune and happiness, with her lips nearly printed on his own, and her proud young beauty in his close embrace, he had a hand still left to stretch out to Tom Pinch.
‘Oh, Tom! Dear Tom! I saw you, accidentally, coming here. Forgive me!’
‘Forgive!’ cried Tom. ‘I’ll never forgive you as long as I live, Martin, if you say another syllable about it. Joy to you both! Joy, my dear fellow, fifty thousand times.’
Joy! There is not a blessing on earth that Tom did not wish them. There is not a blessing on earth that Tom would not have bestowed upon them, if he could.
‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Mr Tapley, stepping forward, ‘but yow was mentionin’, just now, a lady of the name of Lupin, sir.’
‘I was,’ returned old Martin
‘Yes, sir. It’s a pretty name, sir?’
‘A very good name,’ said Martin.
‘It seems a’most a pity to change such a name into Tapley. Don’t it, sir?’ said Mark.
‘That depends upon the lady. What is her opinion?’
‘Why, sir,’ said Mr Tapley, retiring, with a bow, towards the buxom hostess, ‘her opinion is as the name ain’t a change for the better, but the indiwidual may be, and, therefore, if nobody ain’t acquainted with no jest cause or impediment, et cetrer, the Blue Dragon will be con-werted into the Jolly Tapley. A sign of my own inwention, sir. Wery new, conwivial, and expressive!’
The whole of these proceedings were so agreeable to Mr Pecksniff that he stood with his eyes fixed upon the floor and his hands clasping one another alternately, as if a host of penal sentences were being passed upon him. Not only did his figure appear to have shrunk, but his discomfiture seemed to have extended itself even to his dress. His clothes seemed to have grown shabbier, his linen to have turned yellow, his hair to have become lank and frowsy; his very boots looked villanous and dim, as if their gloss had departed with his own.
Feeling, rather than seeing, that the old man now pointed to the door, he raised his eyes, picked up his hat, and thus addressed him:
‘Mr Chuzzlewit, sir! you have partaken of my hospitality.’
‘And paid for it,’ he observed.
‘Thank you. That savours,’ said Mr Pecksniff, taking out his pocket-handkerchief, ‘of your old familiar frankness. You have paid for it. I was about to make the remark. You have deceived me, sir. Thank you again. I am glad of it. To see you in the possession of your health and faculties on any terms, is, in itself, a sufficient recompense. To have been deceived implies a trusting nature. Mine is a trusting nature. I am thankful for it. I would rather have a trusting nature, do you know, sir, than a doubting one!’
Here Mr Pecksniff, with a sad smile, bowed, and wiped his eyes.
‘There is hardly any person present, Mr Chuzzlewit,’ said Pecksniff, ‘by whom I have not been deceived. I have forgiven those persons on the spot. That was my duty; and, of course, I have done it. Whether it was worthy of you to partake of my hospitality, and to act the part you did act in my house, that, sir, is a question which I leave to your own conscience. And your conscience does not acquit you. No, sir, no!’
Pronouncing these last words in a loud and solemn voice, Mr Pecksniff was not so absolutely lost in his own fervour as to be unmindful of the expediency of getting a little nearer to the door.
‘I have been struck this day,’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘with a walking stick (which I have every reason to believe has knobs upon it), on that delicate and exquisite portion of the human anatomy – the brain. Several blows have been inflicted, sir, without a walking-stick, upon that tenderer portion of my frame – my heart. You have mentioned, sir, my being bankrupt in my purse. Yes, sir, I am. By an unfortunate speculation, combined with treachery, I find myself reduced to poverty; at a time, sir, when the child of my bosom is widowed, and affliction and disgrace are in my family.’
Here Mr Pecksniff wiped his eyes again, and gave himself two or three little knocks upon the breast, as if he were answering two or three other little knocks from within, given by the tinkling hammer of his conscience, to express ‘Cheer up, my boy!’
‘I know the human mind, although I trust it. That is my weakness. Do I not know, sir’ – here he became exceedingly plaintive and was observed to glance towards Tom Pinch – ‘that my misfortunes bring this treatment on me? Do I not know, sir, that but for them I never should have heard what I have heard to-day? Do I not know that in the silence and the solitude of night, a little voice will whisper in your ear, Mr Chuzzlewit, “This was not well. This was not well, sir!” Think of this, sir (if you will have the goodness), remote from the impulses of passion, and apart from the specialities, if I may use that strong remark, of prejudice. And if you ever contemplate the silent tomb, sir, which you will excuse me for entertaining some doubt of your doing, after the conduct into which you have allowed yourself to be betrayed this day; if you ever contemplate the silent tomb sir, think of me. If you find yourself approaching to the silent tomb, sir, think of me. If you should wish to have anything inscribed upon your silent tomb, sir, let it be, that I – ah, my remorseful sir! that I – the humble individual who has now the honour of reproaching you, forgave you. That I forgave you when my injuries were fresh, and when my bosom was newly wrung. It may be bitterness to you to hear it now, sir, but you will live to seek a consolation in it. May you find a consolation in it when you want it, sir! Good morning!’
With this sublime address, Mr Pecksniff departed. But the effect of his departure was much impaired by his being immediately afterwards run against, and nearly knocked down, by a monstrously excited little man in velveteen shorts and a very tall hat; who came bursting up the stairs, and straight into the chambers of Mr Chuzzlewit, as if he were deranged.
‘Is there anybody here that knows him?’ cried the little man. ‘Is there anybody here that knows him? Oh, my stars, is there anybody here that knows him?’
They looked at each other for an explanation; but nobody knew anything more than that here was an excited little man with a very tall hat on, running in and out of the room as hard as he could go; making his single pair of bright blue stockings appear at least a dozen; and constantly repeating in a shrill voice, ‘is there anybody here that knows him?’
‘If your brains is not turned topjy turjey, Mr Sweedlepipes!’ exclaimed another voice, ‘hold that there nige of yourn, I beg you, sir.’
At the same time Mrs Gamp was seen in the doorway; out of breath from coming up so many stairs, and panting fearfully; but dropping curtseys to the last.
‘Excuge the weakness of the man,’ said Mrs Gamp, eyeing Mr Sweedlepipe with great indignation; ‘and well I might expect it, as I should have know’d, and wishin’ he was drownded in the Thames afore I had brought him here, which not a blessed hour ago he nearly shaved the noge off from the father of as lovely a family as ever, Mr Chuzzlewit, was born three sets of twins, and would have done it, only he see it a-goin’ in the glass, and dodged the rager. And never, Mr Sweedlepipes, I do assure you, sir, did I so well know what a misfortun it was to be acquainted with you, as now I do, which so I say, sir, and I don’t deceive you!’
‘I ask your pardon, ladies and gentlemen all,’ cried the little barber, taking off his hat, ‘and yours too, Mrs Gamp. But – but,’ he added this half laughing and half crying, ‘is there anybody here that knows him?’
As the barber said these words, a something in top-boots, with its head bandaged up, staggered into the room, and began going round and round and round, apparently under the impression that it was walking straight forward.
‘Look at him!’ cried the excited little barber. ‘Here he is! That’ll soon wear off, and then he’ll be all right again. He’s no more dead than I am. He’s all alive and hearty. Aint you, Bailey?’
‘R – r – reether so, Poll!’ replied that gentleman.
‘Look here!’ cried the little barber, laughing and crying in the same breath. ‘When I steady him he comes all right. There! He’s all right now. Nothing’s the matter with him now, except that he’s a little shook and rather giddy; is there, Bailey?’
‘R – r – reether shook, Poll – reether so!’ said Mr Bailey. ‘What, my lovely Sairey! There you air!’
‘What a boy he is!’ cried the tender-hearted Poll, actually sobbing over him. ‘I never see sech a boy! It’s all his fun. He’s full of it. He shall go into the business along with me. I am determined he shall. We’ll make it Sweedlepipe and Bailey. He shall have the sporting branch (what a one he’ll be for the matches!) and me the shavin’. I’ll make over the birds to him as soon as ever he’s well enough. He shall have the little bullfinch in the shop, and all. He’s sech a boy! I ask your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, but I thought there might be some one here that know’d him!’
Mrs Gamp had observed, not without jealousy and scorn, that a favourable impression appeared to exist in behalf of Mr Sweedlepipe and his young friend; and that she had fallen rather into the background in consequence. She now struggled to the front, therefore, and stated her business.
‘Which, Mr Chuzzlewit,’ she said, ‘is well beknown to Mrs Harris as has one sweet infant (though she do not wish it known) in her own family by the mother’s side, kep in spirits in a bottle; and that sweet babe she see at Greenwich Fair, a-travelling in company with a pink-eyed lady, Prooshan dwarf, and livin’ skelinton, which judge her feelings when the barrel organ played, and she was showed her own dear sister’s child, the same not bein’ expected from the outside picter, where it was painted quite contrairy in a livin’ state, a many sizes larger, and performing beautiful upon the Arp, which never did that dear child know or do; since breathe it never did, to speak on in this wale! And Mrs Harris, Mr Chuzzlewit, has knowed me many year, and can give you information that the lady which is widdered can’t do better and may do worse, than let me wait upon her, which I hope to do. Permittin’ the sweet faces as I see afore me.’
‘Oh!’ said Mr Chuzzlewit. ‘Is that your business? Was this good person paid for the trouble we gave her?’
‘I paid her, sir,’ returned Mark Tapley; ‘liberal.’
‘The young man’s words is true,’ said Mrs Gamp, ‘and thank you kindly.’
‘Then here we will close our acquaintance, Mrs Gamp,’ retorted Mr Chuzzlewit. ‘And Mr Sweedlepipe – is that your name?’
‘That is my name, sir,’ replied Poll, accepting with a profusion of gratitude, some chinking pieces which the old man slipped into his hand.
‘Mr Sweedlepipe, take as much care of your lady-lodger as you can, and give her a word or two of good advice now and then. Such,’ said old Martin, looking gravely at the astonished Mrs Gamp, ‘as hinting at the expediency of a little less liquor, and a little more humanity, and a little less regard for herself, and a little more regard for her patients, and perhaps a trifle of additional honesty. Or when Mrs Gamp gets into trouble, Mr Sweedlepipe, it had better not be at a time when I am near enough to the Old Bailey to volunteer myself as a witness to her character. Endeavour to impress that upon her at your leisure, if you please.’
Mrs Gamp clasped her hands, turned up her eyes until they were quite invisible, threw back her bonnet for the admission of fresh air to her heated brow; and in the act of saying faintly – ‘Less liquor! – Sairey Gamp – Bottle on the chimney-piece, and let me put my lips to it, when I am so dispoged!’ – fell into one of the walking swoons; in which pitiable state she was conducted forth by Mr Sweedlepipe, who, between his two patients, the swooning Mrs Gamp and the revolving Bailey, had enough to do, poor fellow.
The old man looked about him, with a smile, until his eyes rested on Tom Pinch’s sister; when he smiled the more.
‘We will all dine here together,’ he said; ‘and as you and Mary have enough to talk of, Martin, you shall keep house for us until the afternoon, with Mr and Mrs Tapley. I must see your lodgings in the meanwhile, Tom.’
Tom was quite delighted. So was Ruth. She would go with them.
‘Thank you, my love,’ said Mr Chuzzlewit. ‘But I am afraid I must take Tom a little out of the way, on business. Suppose you go on first, my dear?’
Pretty little Ruth was equally delighted to do that.
‘But not alone,’ said Martin, ‘not alone. Mr Westlock, I dare say, will escort you.’
Why, of course he would: what else had Mr Westlock in his mind? How dull these old men are!
‘You are sure you have no engagement?’ he persisted.
Engagement! As if he could have any engagement!
So they went off arm-in-arm. When Tom and Mr Chuzzlewit went off arm-in-arm a few minutes after them, the latter was still smiling; and really, for a gentleman of his habits, in rather a knowing manner.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
WHAT JOHN WESTLOCK SAID TO TOM PINCH’S SISTER; WHAT TOM PINCH’S SISTER SAID TO JOHN WESTLOCK; WHAT TOM PINCH SAID TO BOTH OF THEM; AND HOW THEY ALL PASSED THE REMAINDER OF THE DAY
Brilliantly the Temple Fountain sparkled in the sun, and laughingly its liquid music played, and merrily the idle drops of water danced and danced, and peeping out in sport among the trees, plunged lightly down to hide themselves, as little Ruth and her companion came toward it.
And why they came toward the Fountain at all is a mystery; for they had no business there. It was not in their way. It was quite out of their way. They had no more to do with the Fountain, bless you, than they had with – with Love, or any out-of-the-way thing of that sort.
It was all very well for Tom and his sister to make appointments by the Fountain, but that was quite another affair. Because, of course, when she had to wait a minute or two, it would have been very awkward for her to have had to wait in any but a tolerably quiet spot; but that was as quiet a spot, everything considered, as they could choose. But when she had John Westlock to take care of her, and was going home with her arm in his (home being in a different direction altogether), their coming anywhere near that Fountain was quite extraordinary.
However, there they found themselves. And another extraordinary part of the matter was, that they seemed to have come there, by a silent understanding. Yet when they got there, they were a little confused by being there, which was the strangest part of all; because there is nothing naturally confusing in a Fountain. We all know that.
‘What a good old place it was!’ John said. With quite an earnest affection for it.
‘A pleasant place indeed,’ said little Ruth. ‘So shady!’
Oh wicked little Ruth!
They came to a stop when John began to praise it. The day was exquisite; and stopping at all, it was quite natural – nothing could be more so – that they should glance down Garden Court; because Garden Court ends in the Garden, and the Garden ends in the River, and that glimpse is very bright and fresh and shining on a summer’s day. Then, oh, little Ruth, why not look boldly at it! Why fit that tiny, precious, blessed little foot into the cracked corner of an insensible old flagstone in the pavement; and be so very anxious to adjust it to a nicety!
If the Fiery-faced matron in the crunched bonnet could have seen them as they walked away, how many years’ purchase might Fiery Face have been disposed to take for her situation in Furnival’s Inn as laundress to Mr Westlock!
They went away, but not through London’s streets! Through some enchanted city, where the pavements were of air; where all the rough sounds of a stirring town were softened into gentle music; where everything was happy; where there was no distance, and no time. There were two good-tempered burly draymen letting down big butts of beer into a cellar, somewhere; and when John helped her – almost lifted her – the lightest, easiest, neatest thing you ever saw – across the rope, they said he owed them a good turn for giving him the chance. Celestial draymen!
Green pastures in the summer tide, deep-littered straw yards in the winter, no start of corn and clover, ever, to that noble horse who would dance on the pavement with a gig behind him, and who frightened her, and made her clasp his arm with both hands (both hands meeting one upon the another so endearingly!), and caused her to implore him to take refuge in the pastry-cook’s, and afterwards to peep out at the door so shrinkingly; and then, looking at him with those eyes, to ask him was he sure – now was he sure – they might go safely on! Oh for a string of rampant horses! For a lion, for a bear, for a mad bull, for anything to bring the little hands together on his arm again!
They talked, of course. They talked of Tom, and all these changes and the attachment Mr Chuzzlewit had conceived for him, and the bright prospects he had in such a friend, and a great deal more to the same purpose. The more they talked, the more afraid this fluttering little Ruth became of any pause; and sooner than have a pause she would say the same things over again; and if she hadn’t courage or presence of mind enough for that (to say the truth she very seldom had), she was ten thousand times more charming and irresistible than she had been before.
‘Martin will be married very soon now, I suppose?’ said John.
She supposed he would. Never did a bewitching little woman suppose anything in such a faint voice as Ruth supposed that.
But seeing that another of those alarming pauses was approaching, she remarked that he would have a beautiful wife. Didn’t Mr Westlock think so?
‘Ye – yes,’ said John, ‘oh, yes.’
She feared he was rather hard to please, he spoke so coldly.
‘Rather say already pleased,’ said John. ‘I have scarcely seen her. I had no care to see her. I had no eyes for her, this morning.’
Oh, good gracious!
It was well they had reached their destination. She never could have gone any further. It would have been impossible to walk in such a tremble.
Tom had not come in. They entered the triangular parlour together, and alone. Fiery Face, Fiery Face, how many years’ purchase now!
She sat down on the little sofa, and untied her bonnet-strings. He sat down by her side, and very near her; very, very near her. Oh rapid, swelling, bursting little heart, you knew that it would come to this, and hoped it would. Why beat so wildly, heart!
‘Dear Ruth! Sweet Ruth! If I had loved you less, I could have told you that I loved you, long ago. I have loved you from the first. There never was a creature in the world more truly loved than you, dear Ruth, by me!’
She clasped her little hands before her face. The gushing tears of joy, and pride, and hope, and innocent affection, would not be restrained. Fresh from her full young heart they came to answer him.
‘My dear love! If this is – I almost dare to hope it is, now – not painful or distressing to you, you make me happier than I can tell, or you imagine. Darling Ruth! My own good, gentle, winning Ruth! I hope I know the value of your heart, I hope I know the worth of your angel nature. Let me try and show you that I do; and you will make me happier, Ruth – ’
‘Not happier,’ she sobbed, ‘than you make me. No one can be happier, John, than you make me!’
Fiery Face, provide yourself! The usual wages or the usual warning. It’s all over, Fiery Face. We needn’t trouble you any further.
The little hands could meet each other now, without a rampant horse to urge them. There was no occasion for lions, bears, or mad bulls. It could all be done, and infinitely better, without their assistance. No burly drayman or big butts of beer, were wanted for apologies. No apology at all was wanted. The soft light touch fell coyly, but quite naturally, upon the lover’s shoulder; the delicate waist, the drooping head, the blushing cheek, the beautiful eyes, the exquisite mouth itself, were all as natural as possible. If all the horses in Araby had run away at once, they couldn’t have improved upon it.
They soon began to talk of Tom again.
‘I hope he will be glad to hear of it!’ said John, with sparkling eyes.
Ruth drew the little hands a little tighter when he said it, and looked up seriously into his face.
‘I am never to leave him, am I, dear? I could never leave Tom. I am sure you know that.’
‘Do you think I would ask you?’ he returned, with a – well! Never mind with what.
‘I am sure you never would,’ she answered, the bright tears standing in her eyes.
‘And I will swear it, Ruth, my darling, if you please. Leave Tom! That would be a strange beginning. Leave Tom, dear! If Tom and we be not inseparable, and Tom (God bless him) have not all honour and all love in our home, my little wife, may that home never be! And that’s a strong oath, Ruth.’
Shall it be recorded how she thanked him? Yes, it shall. In all simplicity and innocence and purity of heart, yet with a timid, graceful, half-determined hesitation, she set a little rosy seal upon the vow, whose colour was reflected in her face, and flashed up to the braiding of her dark brown hair.
‘Tom will be so happy, and so proud, and glad,’ she said, clasping her little hands. ‘But so surprised! I am sure he had never thought of such a thing.’
Of course John asked her immediately – because you know they were in that foolish state when great allowances must be made – when she had begun to think of such a thing, and this made a little diversion in their talk; a charming diversion to them, but not so interesting to us; at the end of which, they came back to Tom again.
‘Ah! dear Tom!’ said Ruth. ‘I suppose I ought to tell you everything now. I should have no secrets from you. Should I, John, love?’
It is of no use saying how that preposterous John answered her, because he answered in a manner which is untranslatable on paper though highly satisfactory in itself. But what he conveyed was, No no no, sweet Ruth; or something to that effect.
Then she told him Tom’s great secret; not exactly saying how she had found it out, but leaving him to understand it if he liked; and John was sadly grieved to hear it, and was full of sympathy and sorrow. But they would try, he said, only the more, on this account to make him happy, and to beguile him with his favourite pursuits. And then, in all the confidence of such a time, he told her how he had a capital opportunity of establishing himself in his old profession in the country; and how he had been thinking, in the event of that happiness coming upon him which had actually come – there was another slight diversion here – how he had been thinking that it would afford occupation to Tom, and enable them to live together in the easiest manner, without any sense of dependence on Tom’s part; and to be as happy as the day was long. And Ruth receiving this with joy, they went on catering for Tom to that extent that they had already purchased him a select library and built him an organ, on which he was performing with the greatest satisfaction, when they heard him knocking at the door.
Though she longed to tell him what had happened, poor little Ruth was greatly agitated by his arrival; the more so because she knew that Mr Chuzzlewit was with him. So she said, all in a tremble:
‘What shall I do, dear John! I can’t bear that he should hear it from any one but me, and I could not tell him, unless we were alone.’
‘Do, my love,’ said John, ‘whatever is natural to you on the impulse of the moment, and I am sure it will be right.’
He had hardly time to say thus much, and Ruth had hardly time to – just to get a little farther off – upon the sofa, when Tom and Mr Chuzzlewit came in. Mr Chuzzlewit came first, and Tom was a few seconds behind him.
Now Ruth had hastily resolved that she would beckon Tom upstairs after a short time, and would tell him in his little bedroom. But when she saw his dear old face come in, her heart was so touched that she ran into his arms, and laid her head down on his breast and sobbed out, ‘Bless me, Tom! My dearest brother!’
Tom looked up, in surprise, and saw John Westlock close beside him, holding out his hand.
‘John!’ cried Tom. ‘John!’
‘Dear Tom,’ said his friend, ‘give me your hand. We are brothers, Tom.’
Tom wrung it with all his force, embraced his sister fervently, and put her in John Westlock’s arms.
‘Don’t speak to me, John. Heaven is very good to us. I – ’ Tom could find no further utterance, but left the room; and Ruth went after him.
And when they came back, which they did by-and-bye, she looked more beautiful, and Tom more good and true (if that were possible) than ever. And though Tom could not speak upon the subject even now; being yet too newly glad, he put both his hands in both of John’s with emphasis sufficient for the best speech ever spoken.
‘I am glad you chose to-day,’ said Mr Chuzzlewit to John; with the same knowing smile as when they had left him. ‘I thought you would. I hoped Tom and I lingered behind a discreet time. It’s so long since I had any practical knowledge of these subjects, that I have been anxious, I assure you.’
‘Your knowledge is still pretty accurate, sir,’ returned John, laughing, ‘if it led you to foresee what would happen to-day.’
‘Why, I am not sure, Mr Westlock,’ said the old man, ‘that any great spirit of prophecy was needed, after seeing you and Ruth together. Come hither, pretty one. See what Tom and I purchased this morning, while you were dealing in exchange with that young merchant there.’
The old man’s way of seating her beside him, and humouring his voice as if she were a child, was whimsical enough, but full of tenderness, and not ill adapted, somehow, to little Ruth.
‘See here!’ he said, taking a case from his pocket, ‘what a beautiful necklace. Ah! How it glitters! Earrings, too, and bracelets, and a zone for your waist. This set is yours, and Mary has another like it. Tom couldn’t understand why I wanted two. What a short-sighted Tom! Earrings and bracelets, and a zone for your waist! Ah! Beautiful! Let us see how brave they look. Ask Mr Westlock to clasp them on.’
It was the prettiest thing to see her holding out her round, white arm; and John (oh deep, deep John!) pretending that the bracelet was very hard to fasten; it was the prettiest thing to see her girding on the precious little zone, and yet obliged to have assistance because her fingers were in such terrible perplexity; it was the prettiest thing to see her so confused and bashful, with the smiles and blushes playing brightly on her face, like the sparkling light upon the jewels; it was the prettiest thing that you would see, in the common experiences of a twelvemonth, rely upon it.
‘The set of jewels and the wearer are so well matched,’ said the old man, ‘that I don’t know which becomes the other most. Mr Westlock could tell me, I have no doubt, but I’ll not ask him, for he is bribed. Health to wear them, my dear, and happiness to make you forgetful of them, except as a remembrance from a loving friend!’
He patted her upon the cheek, and said to Tom:
‘I must play the part of a father here, Tom, also. There are not many fathers who marry two such daughters on the same day; but we will overlook the improbability for the gratification of an old man’s fancy. I may claim that much indulgence,’ he added, ‘for I have gratified few fancies enough in my life tending to the happiness of others, Heaven knows!’
These various proceedings had occupied so much time, and they fell into such a pleasant conversation now, that it was within a quarter of an hour of the time appointed for dinner before any of them thought about it. A hackney-coach soon carried them to the Temple, however; and there they found everything prepared for their reception.
Mr Tapley having been furnished with unlimited credentials relative to the ordering of dinner, had so exerted himself for the honour of the party, that a prodigious banquet was served, under the joint direction of himself and his Intended. Mr Chuzzlewit would have had them of the party, and Martin urgently seconded his wish, but Mark could by no means be persuaded to sit down at table; observing, that in having the honour of attending to their comforts, he felt himself, indeed, the landlord of the Jolly Tapley, and could almost delude himself into the belief that the entertainment was actually being held under the Jolly Tapley’s roof.
For the better encouragement of himself in this fable, Mr Tapley took it upon him to issue divers general directions to the waiters from the hotel, relative to the disposal of the dishes and so forth; and as they were usually in direct opposition to all precedent, and were always issued in his most facetious form of thought and speech, they occasioned great merriment among those attendants; in which Mr Tapley participated, with an infinite enjoyment of his own humour. He likewise entertained them with short anecdotes of his travels appropriate to the occasion; and now and then with some comic passage or other between himself and Mrs Lupin; so that explosive laughs were constantly issuing from the side-board, and from the backs of chairs; and the head-waiter (who wore powder, and knee-smalls, and was usually a grave man) got to be a bright scarlet in the face, and broke his waistcoat-strings audibly.
