Чарльз Диккенс
Our Mutual Friend
‘They ought to be,’ said Bella.
‘Yes, I am aware they ought to be, my dear,’ rejoined her father, ‘but they – ain’t.’
So, the gridiron was put in requisition, and the good-tempered cherub, who was often as un-cherubically employed in his own family as if he had been in the employment of some of the Old Masters, undertook to grill the fowls. Indeed, except in respect of staring about him (a branch of the public service to which the pictorial cherub is much addicted), this domestic cherub discharged as many odd functions as his prototype; with the difference, say, that he performed with a blacking-brush on the family’s boots, instead of performing on enormous wind instruments and double-basses, and that he conducted himself with cheerful alacrity to much useful purpose, instead of foreshortening himself in the air with the vaguest intentions.
Bella helped him with his supplemental cookery, and made him very happy, but put him in mortal terror too by asking him when they sat down at table again, how he supposed they cooked fowls at the Greenwich dinners, and whether he believed they really were such pleasant dinners as people said? His secret winks and nods of remonstrance, in reply, made the mischievous Bella laugh until she choked, and then Lavinia was obliged to slap her on the back, and then she laughed the more.
But her mother was a fine corrective at the other end of the table; to whom her father, in the innocence of his good-fellowship, at intervals appealed with: ‘My dear, I am afraid you are not enjoying yourself?’
‘Why so, R. W.?’ she would sonorously reply.
‘Because, my dear, you seem a little out of sorts.’
‘Not at all,’ would be the rejoinder, in exactly the same tone.
‘Would you take a merry-thought, my dear?’
‘Thank you. I will take whatever you please, R. W.’
‘Well, but my dear, do you like it?’
‘I like it as well as I like anything, R. W.’ The stately woman would then, with a meritorious appearance of devoting herself to the general good, pursue her dinner as if she were feeding somebody else on high public grounds.
Bella had brought dessert and two bottles of wine, thus shedding unprecedented splendour on the occasion. Mrs Wilfer did the honours of the first glass by proclaiming: ‘R. W. I drink to you.
‘Thank you, my dear. And I to you.’
‘Pa and Ma!’ said Bella.
‘Permit me,’ Mrs Wilfer interposed, with outstretched glove. ‘No. I think not. I drank to your papa. If, however, you insist on including me, I can in gratitude offer no objection.’
‘Why, Lor, Ma,’ interposed Lavvy the bold, ‘isn’t it the day that made you and Pa one and the same? I have no patience!’
‘By whatever other circumstance the day may be marked, it is not the day, Lavinia, on which I will allow a child of mine to pounce upon me. I beg – nay, command! – that you will not pounce. R. W., it is appropriate to recall that it is for you to command and for me to obey. It is your house, and you are master at your own table. Both our healths!’ Drinking the toast with tremendous stiffness.
‘I really am a little afraid, my dear,’ hinted the cherub meekly, ‘that you are not enjoying yourself?’
‘On the contrary,’ returned Mrs Wilfer, ‘quite so. Why should I not?’
‘I thought, my dear, that perhaps your face might – ’
‘My face might be a martyrdom, but what would that import, or who should know it, if I smiled?’
And she did smile; manifestly freezing the blood of Mr George Sampson by so doing. For that young gentleman, catching her smiling eye, was so very much appalled by its expression as to cast about in his thoughts concerning what he had done to bring it down upon himself.
‘The mind naturally falls,’ said Mrs Wilfer, ‘shall I say into a reverie, or shall I say into a retrospect? on a day like this.’
Lavvy, sitting with defiantly folded arms, replied (but not audibly), ‘For goodness’ sake say whichever of the two you like best, Ma, and get it over.’
‘The mind,’ pursued Mrs Wilfer in an oratorical manner, ‘naturally reverts to Papa and Mamma – I here allude to my parents – at a period before the earliest dawn of this day. I was considered tall; perhaps I was. Papa and Mamma were unquestionably tall. I have rarely seen a finer women than my mother; never than my father.’
The irrepressible Lavvy remarked aloud, ‘Whatever grandpapa was, he wasn’t a female.’
‘Your grandpapa,’ retorted Mrs Wilfer, with an awful look, and in an awful tone, ‘was what I describe him to have been, and would have struck any of his grandchildren to the earth who presumed to question it. It was one of mamma’s cherished hopes that I should become united to a tall member of society. It may have been a weakness, but if so, it was equally the weakness, I believe, of King Frederick of Prussia.’ These remarks being offered to Mr George Sampson, who had not the courage to come out for single combat, but lurked with his chest under the table and his eyes cast down, Mrs Wilfer proceeded, in a voice of increasing sternness and impressiveness, until she should force that skulker to give himself up. ‘Mamma would appear to have had an indefinable foreboding of what afterwards happened, for she would frequently urge upon me, “Not a little man. Promise me, my child, not a little man. Never, never, never, marry a little man!” Papa also would remark to me (he possessed extraordinary humour), “that a family of whales must not ally themselves with sprats.” His company was eagerly sought, as may be supposed, by the wits of the day, and our house was their continual resort. I have known as many as three copper-plate engravers exchanging the most exquisite sallies and retorts there, at one time.’ (Here Mr Sampson delivered himself captive, and said, with an uneasy movement on his chair, that three was a large number, and it must have been highly entertaining.) ‘Among the most prominent members of that distinguished circle, was a gentleman measuring six feet four in height. He was not an engraver.’ (Here Mr Sampson said, with no reason whatever, Of course not.) ‘This gentleman was so obliging as to honour me with attentions which I could not fail to understand.’ (Here Mr Sampson murmured that when it came to that, you could always tell.) ‘I immediately announced to both my parents that those attentions were misplaced, and that I could not favour his suit. They inquired was he too tall? I replied it was not the stature, but the intellect was too lofty. At our house, I said, the tone was too brilliant, the pressure was too high, to be maintained by me, a mere woman, in every-day domestic life. I well remember mamma’s clasping her hands, and exclaiming “This will end in a little man!”’ (Here Mr Sampson glanced at his host and shook his head with despondency.) ‘She afterwards went so far as to predict that it would end in a little man whose mind would be below the average, but that was in what I may denominate a paroxysm of maternal disappointment. Within a month,’ said Mrs Wilfer, deepening her voice, as if she were relating a terrible ghost story, ‘within a-month, I first saw R. W. my husband. Within a year, I married him. It is natural for the mind to recall these dark coincidences on the present day.’
Mr Sampson at length released from the custody of Mrs Wilfer’s eye, now drew a long breath, and made the original and striking remark that there was no accounting for these sort of presentiments. R. W. scratched his head and looked apologetically all round the table until he came to his wife, when observing her as it were shrouded in a more sombre veil than before, he once more hinted, ‘My dear, I am really afraid you are not altogether enjoying yourself?’ To which she once more replied, ‘On the contrary, R. W. Quite so.’
The wretched Mr Sampson’s position at this agreeable entertainment was truly pitiable. For, not only was he exposed defenceless to the harangues of Mrs Wilfer, but he received the utmost contumely at the hands of Lavinia; who, partly to show Bella that she (Lavinia) could do what she liked with him, and partly to pay him off for still obviously admiring Bella’s beauty, led him the life of a dog. Illuminated on the one hand by the stately graces of Mrs Wilfer’s oratory, and shadowed on the other by the checks and frowns of the young lady to whom he had devoted himself in his destitution, the sufferings of this young gentleman were distressing to witness. If his mind for the moment reeled under them, it may be urged, in extenuation of its weakness, that it was constitutionally a knock-knee’d mind and never very strong upon its legs.
The rosy hours were thus beguiled until it was time for Bella to have Pa’s escort back. The dimples duly tied up in the bonnet-strings and the leave-taking done, they got out into the air, and the cherub drew a long breath as if he found it refreshing.
‘Well, dear Pa,’ said Bella, ‘the anniversary may be considered over.’
‘Yes, my dear,’ returned the cherub, ‘there’s another of ‘em gone.’
Bella drew his arm closer through hers as they walked along, and gave it a number of consolatory pats. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said, as if she had spoken; ‘I am all right, my dear. Well, and how do you get on, Bella?’
‘I am not at all improved, Pa.’
‘Ain’t you really though?’
‘No, Pa. On the contrary, I am worse.’
‘Lor!’ said the cherub.
‘I am worse, Pa. I make so many calculations how much a year I must have when I marry, and what is the least I can manage to do with, that I am beginning to get wrinkles over my nose. Did you notice any wrinkles over my nose this evening, Pa?’
Pa laughing at this, Bella gave him two or three shakes.
‘You won’t laugh, sir, when you see your lovely woman turning haggard. You had better be prepared in time, I can tell you. I shall not be able to keep my greediness for money out of my eyes long, and when you see it there you’ll be sorry, and serve you right for not being warned in time. Now, sir, we entered into a bond of confidence. Have you anything to impart?’
‘I thought it was you who was to impart, my love.’
‘Oh! did you indeed, sir? Then why didn’t you ask me, the moment we came out? The confidences of lovely women are not to be slighted. However, I forgive you this once, and look here, Pa; that’s’ – Bella laid the little forefinger of her right glove on her lip, and then laid it on her father’s lip – ‘that’s a kiss for you. And now I am going seriously to tell you – let me see how many – four secrets. Mind! Serious, grave, weighty secrets. Strictly between ourselves.’
‘Number one, my dear?’ said her father, settling her arm comfortably and confidentially.
‘Number one,’ said Bella, ‘will electrify you, Pa. Who do you think has’ – she was confused here in spite of her merry way of beginning ‘has made an offer to me?’
Pa looked in her face, and looked at the ground, and looked in her face again, and declared he could never guess.
‘Mr Rokesmith.’
‘You don’t tell me so, my dear!’
‘Mis – ter Roke – smith, Pa,’ said Bella separating the syllables for emphasis. ‘What do you say to that?’
Pa answered quietly with the counter-question, ‘What did you say to that, my love?’
‘I said No,’ returned Bella sharply. ‘Of course.’
‘Yes. Of course,’ said her father, meditating.
‘And I told him why I thought it a betrayal of trust on his part, and an affront to me,’ said Bella.
‘Yes. To be sure. I am astonished indeed. I wonder he committed himself without seeing more of his way first. Now I think of it, I suspect he always has admired you though, my dear.’
‘A hackney coachman may admire me,’ remarked Bella, with a touch of her mother’s loftiness.
‘It’s highly probable, my love. Number two, my dear?’
‘Number two, Pa, is much to the same purpose, though not so preposterous. Mr Lightwood would propose to me, if I would let him.’
‘Then I understand, my dear, that you don’t intend to let him?’
Bella again saying, with her former emphasis, ‘Why, of course not!’ her father felt himself bound to echo, ‘Of course not.’
‘I don’t care for him,’ said Bella.
‘That’s enough,’ her father interposed.
‘No, Pa, it’s not enough,’ rejoined Bella, giving him another shake or two. ‘Haven’t I told you what a mercenary little wretch I am? It only becomes enough when he has no money, and no clients, and no expectations, and no anything but debts.’
‘Hah!’ said the cherub, a little depressed. ‘Number three, my dear?’
‘Number three, Pa, is a better thing. A generous thing, a noble thing, a delightful thing. Mrs Boffin has herself told me, as a secret, with her own kind lips – and truer lips never opened or closed in this life, I am sure – that they wish to see me well married; and that when I marry with their consent they will portion me most handsomely.’ Here the grateful girl burst out crying very heartily.
‘Don’t cry, my darling,’ said her father, with his hand to his eyes; ‘it’s excusable in me to be a little overcome when I find that my dear favourite child is, after all disappointments, to be so provided for and so raised in the world; but don’t you cry, don’t you cry. I am very thankful. I congratulate you with all my heart, my dear.’ The good soft little fellow, drying his eyes, here, Bella put her arms round his neck and tenderly kissed him on the high road, passionately telling him he was the best of fathers and the best of friends, and that on her wedding-morning she would go down on her knees to him and beg his pardon for having ever teased him or seemed insensible to the worth of such a patient, sympathetic, genial, fresh young heart. At every one of her adjectives she redoubled her kisses, and finally kissed his hat off, and then laughed immoderately when the wind took it and he ran after it.
When he had recovered his hat and his breath, and they were going on again once more, said her father then: ‘Number four, my dear?’
Bella’s countenance fell in the midst of her mirth. ‘After all, perhaps I had better put off number four, Pa. Let me try once more, if for never so short a time, to hope that it may not really be so.’
The change in her, strengthened the cherub’s interest in number four, and he said quietly: ‘May not be so, my dear? May not be how, my dear?’
Bella looked at him pensively, and shook her head.
‘And yet I know right well it is so, Pa. I know it only too well.’
‘My love,’ returned her father, ‘you make me quite uncomfortable. Have you said No to anybody else, my dear?’
‘No, Pa.’
‘Yes to anybody?’ he suggested, lifting up his eyebrows.
‘No, Pa.’
‘Is there anybody else who would take his chance between Yes and No, if you would let him, my dear?’
‘Not that I know of, Pa.’
‘There can’t be somebody who won’t take his chance when you want him to?’ said the cherub, as a last resource.
‘Why, of course not, Pa,’ said Bella, giving him another shake or two.
‘No, of course not,’ he assented. ‘Bella, my dear, I am afraid I must either have no sleep to-night, or I must press for number four.’
‘Oh, Pa, there is no good in number four! I am so sorry for it, I am so unwilling to believe it, I have tried so earnestly not to see it, that it is very hard to tell, even to you. But Mr Boffin is being spoilt by prosperity, and is changing every day.’
‘My dear Bella, I hope and trust not.’
‘I have hoped and trusted not too, Pa; but every day he changes for the worse, and for the worse. Not to me – he is always much the same to me – but to others about him. Before my eyes he grows suspicious, capricious, hard, tyrannical, unjust. If ever a good man were ruined by good fortune, it is my benefactor. And yet, Pa, think how terrible the fascination of money is! I see this, and hate this, and dread this, and don’t know but that money might make a much worse change in me. And yet I have money always in my thoughts and my desires; and the whole life I place before myself is money, money, money, and what money can make of life!’
Chapter 5
THE GOLDEN DUSTMAN FALLS INTO BAD COMPANY
Were Bella Wilfer’s bright and ready little wits at fault, or was the Golden Dustman passing through the furnace of proof and coming out dross? Ill news travels fast. We shall know full soon.
On that very night of her return from the Happy Return, something chanced which Bella closely followed with her eyes and ears. There was an apartment at the side of the Boffin mansion, known as Mr Boffin’s room. Far less grand than the rest of the house, it was far more comfortable, being pervaded by a certain air of homely snugness, which upholstering despotism had banished to that spot when it inexorably set its face against Mr Boffin’s appeals for mercy in behalf of any other chamber. Thus, although a room of modest situation – for its windows gave on Silas Wegg’s old corner – and of no pretensions to velvet, satin, or gilding, it had got itself established in a domestic position analogous to that of an easy dressing-gown or pair of slippers; and whenever the family wanted to enjoy a particularly pleasant fireside evening, they enjoyed it, as an institution that must be, in Mr Boffin’s room.
Mr and Mrs Boffin were reported sitting in this room, when Bella got back. Entering it, she found the Secretary there too; in official attendance it would appear, for he was standing with some papers in his hand by a table with shaded candles on it, at which Mr Boffin was seated thrown back in his easy chair.
‘You are busy, sir,’ said Bella, hesitating at the door.
‘Not at all, my dear, not at all. You’re one of ourselves. We never make company of you. Come in, come in. Here’s the old lady in her usual place.’
Mrs Boffin adding her nod and smile of welcome to Mr Boffin’s words, Bella took her book to a chair in the fireside corner, by Mrs Boffin’s work-table. Mr Boffin’s station was on the opposite side.
‘Now, Rokesmith,’ said the Golden Dustman, so sharply rapping the table to bespeak his attention as Bella turned the leaves of her book, that she started; ‘where were we?’
‘You were saying, sir,’ returned the Secretary, with an air of some reluctance and a glance towards those others who were present, ‘that you considered the time had come for fixing my salary.’
‘Don’t be above calling it wages, man,’ said Mr Boffin, testily. ‘What the deuce! I never talked of any salary when I was in service.’
‘My wages,’ said the Secretary, correcting himself.
‘Rokesmith, you are not proud, I hope?’ observed Mr Boffin, eyeing him askance.
‘I hope not, sir.’
‘Because I never was, when I was poor,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Poverty and pride don’t go at all well together. Mind that. How can they go well together? Why it stands to reason. A man, being poor, has nothing to be proud of. It’s nonsense.’
With a slight inclination of his head, and a look of some surprise, the Secretary seemed to assent by forming the syllables of the word ‘nonsense’ on his lips.
‘Now, concerning these same wages,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘Sit down.’
The Secretary sat down.
‘Why didn’t you sit down before?’ asked Mr Boffin, distrustfully. ‘I hope that wasn’t pride? But about these wages. Now, I’ve gone into the matter, and I say two hundred a year. What do you think of it? Do you think it’s enough?’
‘Thank you. It is a fair proposal.’
‘I don’t say, you know,’ Mr Boffin stipulated, ‘but what it may be more than enough. And I’ll tell you why, Rokesmith. A man of property, like me, is bound to consider the market-price. At first I didn’t enter into that as much as I might have done; but I’ve got acquainted with other men of property since, and I’ve got acquainted with the duties of property. I mustn’t go putting the market-price up, because money may happen not to be an object with me. A sheep is worth so much in the market, and I ought to give it and no more. A secretary is worth so much in the market, and I ought to give it and no more. However, I don’t mind stretching a point with you.’
‘Mr Boffin, you are very good,’ replied the Secretary, with an effort.
‘Then we put the figure,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘at two hundred a year. Then the figure’s disposed of. Now, there must be no misunderstanding regarding what I buy for two hundred a year. If I pay for a sheep, I buy it out and out. Similarly, if I pay for a secretary, I buy him out and out.’
‘In other words, you purchase my whole time?’
‘Certainly I do. Look here,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘it ain’t that I want to occupy your whole time; you can take up a book for a minute or two when you’ve nothing better to do, though I think you’ll a’most always find something useful to do. But I want to keep you in attendance. It’s convenient to have you at all times ready on the premises. Therefore, betwixt your breakfast and your supper, – on the premises I expect to find you.’
The Secretary bowed.
‘In bygone days, when I was in service myself,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘I couldn’t go cutting about at my will and pleasure, and you won’t expect to go cutting about at your will and pleasure. You’ve rather got into a habit of that, lately; but perhaps it was for want of a right specification betwixt us. Now, let there be a right specification betwixt us, and let it be this. If you want leave, ask for it.’
Again the Secretary bowed. His manner was uneasy and astonished, and showed a sense of humiliation.
‘I’ll have a bell,’ said Mr Boffin, ‘hung from this room to yours, and when I want you, I’ll touch it. I don’t call to mind that I have anything more to say at the present moment.’
The Secretary rose, gathered up his papers, and withdrew. Bella’s eyes followed him to the door, lighted on Mr Boffin complacently thrown back in his easy chair, and drooped over her book.
‘I have let that chap, that young man of mine,’ said Mr Boffin, taking a trot up and down the room, ‘get above his work. It won’t do. I must have him down a peg. A man of property owes a duty to other men of property, and must look sharp after his inferiors.’
Bella felt that Mrs Boffin was not comfortable, and that the eyes of that good creature sought to discover from her face what attention she had given to this discourse, and what impression it had made upon her. For which reason Bella’s eyes drooped more engrossedly over her book, and she turned the page with an air of profound absorption in it.
‘Noddy,’ said Mrs Boffin, after thoughtfully pausing in her work.
‘My dear,’ returned the Golden Dustman, stopping short in his trot.
‘Excuse my putting it to you, Noddy, but now really! Haven’t you been a little strict with Mr Rokesmith to-night? Haven’t you been a little – just a little little – not quite like your old self?’
‘Why, old woman, I hope so,’ returned Mr Boffin, cheerfully, if not boastfully.
‘Hope so, deary?’
‘Our old selves wouldn’t do here, old lady. Haven’t you found that out yet? Our old selves would be fit for nothing here but to be robbed and imposed upon. Our old selves weren’t people of fortune; our new selves are; it’s a great difference.’
‘Ah!’ said Mrs Boffin, pausing in her work again, softly to draw a long breath and to look at the fire. ‘A great difference.’
‘And we must be up to the difference,’ pursued her husband; ‘we must be equal to the change; that’s what we must be. We’ve got to hold our own now, against everybody (for everybody’s hand is stretched out to be dipped into our pockets), and we have got to recollect that money makes money, as well as makes everything else.’
‘Mentioning recollecting,’ said Mrs Boffin, with her work abandoned, her eyes upon the fire, and her chin upon her hand, ‘do you recollect, Noddy, how you said to Mr Rokesmith when he first came to see us at the Bower, and you engaged him – how you said to him that if it had pleased Heaven to send John Harmon to his fortune safe, we could have been content with the one Mound which was our legacy, and should never have wanted the rest?’
‘Ay, I remember, old lady. But we hadn’t tried what it was to have the rest then. Our new shoes had come home, but we hadn’t put ‘em on. We’re wearing ‘em now, we’re wearing ‘em, and must step out accordingly.’
Mrs Boffin took up her work again, and plied her needle in silence.
‘As to Rokesmith, that young man of mine,’ said Mr Boffin, dropping his voice and glancing towards the door with an apprehension of being overheard by some eavesdropper there, ‘it’s the same with him as with the footmen. I have found out that you must either scrunch them, or let them scrunch you. If you ain’t imperious with ‘em, they won’t believe in your being any better than themselves, if as good, after the stories (lies mostly) that they have heard of your beginnings. There’s nothing betwixt stiffening yourself up, and throwing yourself away; take my word for that, old lady.’
Bella ventured for a moment to look stealthily towards him under her eyelashes, and she saw a dark cloud of suspicion, covetousness, and conceit, overshadowing the once open face.
‘Hows’ever,’ said he, ‘this isn’t entertaining to Miss Bella. Is it, Bella?’
A deceiving Bella she was, to look at him with that pensively abstracted air, as if her mind were full of her book, and she had not heard a single word!
‘Hah! Better employed than to attend to it,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘That’s right, that’s right. Especially as you have no call to be told how to value yourself, my dear.’
Colouring a little under this compliment, Bella returned, ‘I hope sir, you don’t think me vain?’
‘Not a bit, my dear,’ said Mr Boffin. ‘But I think it’s very creditable in you, at your age, to be so well up with the pace of the world, and to know what to go in for. You are right. Go in for money, my love. Money’s the article. You’ll make money of your good looks, and of the money Mrs Boffin and me will have the pleasure of settling upon you, and you’ll live and die rich. That’s the state to live and die in!’ said Mr Boffin, in an unctuous manner. R – r – rich!’
There was an expression of distress in Mrs Boffin’s face, as, after watching her husband’s, she turned to their adopted girl, and said:
‘Don’t mind him, Bella, my dear.’
‘Eh?’ cried Mr Boffin. ‘What! Not mind him?’
‘I don’t mean that,’ said Mrs Boffin, with a worried look, ‘but I mean, don’t believe him to be anything but good and generous, Bella, because he is the best of men. No, I must say that much, Noddy. You are always the best of men.’
She made the declaration as if he were objecting to it: which assuredly he was not in any way.
‘And as to you, my dear Bella,’ said Mrs Boffin, still with that distressed expression, ‘he is so much attached to you, whatever he says, that your own father has not a truer interest in you and can hardly like you better than he does.’
‘Says too!’ cried Mr Boffin. ‘Whatever he says! Why, I say so, openly. Give me a kiss, my dear child, in saying Good Night, and let me confirm what my old lady tells you. I am very fond of you, my dear, and I am entirely of your mind, and you and I will take care that you shall be rich. These good looks of yours (which you have some right to be vain of; my dear, though you are not, you know) are worth money, and you shall make money of ‘em. The money you will have, will be worth money, and you shall make money of that too. There’s a golden ball at your feet. Good night, my dear.’
Somehow, Bella was not so well pleased with this assurance and this prospect as she might have been. Somehow, when she put her arms round Mrs Boffin’s neck and said Good Night, she derived a sense of unworthiness from the still anxious face of that good woman and her obvious wish to excuse her husband. ‘Why, what need to excuse him?’ thought Bella, sitting down in her own room. ‘What he said was very sensible, I am sure, and very true, I am sure. It is only what I often say to myself. Don’t I like it then? No, I don’t like it, and, though he is my liberal benefactor, I disparage him for it. Then pray,’ said Bella, sternly putting the question to herself in the looking-glass as usual, ‘what do you mean by this, you inconsistent little Beast?’
The looking-glass preserving a discreet ministerial silence when thus called upon for explanation, Bella went to bed with a weariness upon her spirit which was more than the weariness of want of sleep. And again in the morning, she looked for the cloud, and for the deepening of the cloud, upon the Golden Dustman’s face.
She had begun by this time to be his frequent companion in his morning strolls about the streets, and it was at this time that he made her a party to his engaging in a curious pursuit. Having been hard at work in one dull enclosure all his life, he had a child’s delight in looking at shops. It had been one of the first novelties and pleasures of his freedom, and was equally the delight of his wife. For many years their only walks in London had been taken on Sundays when the shops were shut; and when every day in the week became their holiday, they derived an enjoyment from the variety and fancy and beauty of the display in the windows, which seemed incapable of exhaustion. As if the principal streets were a great Theatre and the play were childishly new to them, Mr and Mrs Boffin, from the beginning of Bella’s intimacy in their house, had been constantly in the front row, charmed with all they saw and applauding vigorously. But now, Mr Boffin’s interest began to centre in book-shops; and more than that – for that of itself would not have been much – in one exceptional kind of book.
‘Look in here, my dear,’ Mr Boffin would say, checking Bella’s arm at a bookseller’s window; ‘you can read at sight, and your eyes are as sharp as they’re bright. Now, look well about you, my dear, and tell me if you see any book about a Miser.’
If Bella saw such a book, Mr Boffin would instantly dart in and buy it. And still, as if they had not found it, they would seek out another book-shop, and Mr Boffin would say, ‘Now, look well all round, my dear, for a Life of a Miser, or any book of that sort; any Lives of odd characters who may have been Misers.’
Bella, thus directed, would examine the window with the greatest attention, while Mr Boffin would examine her face. The moment she pointed out any book as being entitled Lives of eccentric personages, Anecdotes of strange characters, Records of remarkable individuals, or anything to that purpose, Mr Boffin’s countenance would light up, and he would instantly dart in and buy it. Size, price, quality, were of no account. Any book that seemed to promise a chance of miserly biography, Mr Boffin purchased without a moment’s delay and carried home. Happening to be informed by a bookseller that a portion of the Annual Register was devoted to ‘Characters’, Mr Boffin at once bought a whole set of that ingenious compilation, and began to carry it home piecemeal, confiding a volume to Bella, and bearing three himself. The completion of this labour occupied them about a fortnight. When the task was done, Mr Boffin, with his appetite for Misers whetted instead of satiated, began to look out again.
