Master Humphrey's Clock

by Charles Dickens

  V

  MR. WELLER’S WATCH

  IT seems that the housekeeper and the two Mr. Wellers were no sooner lefttogether on the occasion of their first becoming acquainted, than thehousekeeper called to her assistance Mr. Slithers the barber, who hadbeen lurking in the kitchen in expectation of her summons; and with manysmiles and much sweetness introduced him as one who would assist her inthe responsible office of entertaining her distinguished visitors.

  ‘Indeed,’ said she, ‘without Mr. Slithers I should have been placed inquite an awkward situation.’

  ‘There is no call for any hock’erdness, mum,’ said Mr. Weller with theutmost politeness; ‘no call wotsumever. A lady,’ added the oldgentleman, looking about him with the air of one who establishes anincontrovertible position,—‘a lady can’t be hock’erd. Natur’ hasotherwise purwided.’

  The housekeeper inclined her head and smiled yet more sweetly. Thebarber, who had been fluttering about Mr. Weller and Sam in a state ofgreat anxiety to improve their acquaintance, rubbed his hands and cried,‘Hear, hear! Very true, sir;’ whereupon Sam turned about and steadilyregarded him for some seconds in silence.

  ‘I never knew,’ said Sam, fixing his eyes in a ruminative manner upon theblushing barber,—‘I never knew but vun o’ your trade, but _he_ wos wortha dozen, and wos indeed dewoted to his callin’!’

  ‘Was he in the easy shaving way, sir,’ inquired Mr. Slithers; ‘or in thecutting and curling line?’

  ‘Both,’ replied Sam; ‘easy shavin’ was his natur’, and cuttin’ andcurlin’ was his pride and glory. His whole delight wos in his trade. Hespent all his money in bears, and run in debt for ’em besides, and therethey wos a growling avay down in the front cellar all day long, andineffectooally gnashing their teeth, vile the grease o’ their relationsand friends wos being re-tailed in gallipots in the shop above, and thefirst-floor winder wos ornamented vith their heads; not to speak o’ thedreadful aggrawation it must have been to ’em to see a man alvays awalkin’ up and down the pavement outside, vith the portrait of a bear inhis last agonies, and underneath in large letters, “Another fine animalwos slaughtered yesterday at Jinkinson’s!” Hows’ever, there they wos,and there Jinkinson wos, till he wos took wery ill with some inn’arddisorder, lost the use of his legs, and wos confined to his bed, vere helaid a wery long time, but sich wos his pride in his profession, eventhen, that wenever he wos worse than usual the doctor used to godown-stairs and say, “Jinkinson’s wery low this mornin’; we must give thebears a stir;” and as sure as ever they stirred ’em up a bit and made ’emroar, Jinkinson opens his eyes if he wos ever so bad, calls out, “There’sthe bears!” and rewives agin.’

  ‘Astonishing!’ cried the barber.

  ‘Not a bit,’ said Sam, ‘human natur’ neat as imported. Vun day thedoctor happenin’ to say, “I shall look in as usual to-morrow mornin’,”Jinkinson catches hold of his hand and says, “Doctor,” he says, “will yougrant me one favour?” “I will, Jinkinson,” says the doctor. “Then,doctor,” says Jinkinson, “vill you come unshaved, and let me shave you?”“I will,” says the doctor. “God bless you,” says Jinkinson. Next daythe doctor came, and arter he’d been shaved all skilful and reg’lar, hesays, “Jinkinson,” he says, “it’s wery plain this does you good. Now,”he says, “I’ve got a coachman as has got a beard that it ’ud warm yourheart to work on, and though the footman,” he says, “hasn’t got much of abeard, still he’s a trying it on vith a pair o’ viskers to that extentthat razors is Christian charity. If they take it in turns to mind thecarriage when it’s a waitin’ below,” he says, “wot’s to hinder you fromoperatin’ on both of ’em ev’ry day as well as upon me? you’ve got sixchildren,” he says, “wot’s to hinder you from shavin’ all their heads andkeepin’ ’em shaved? you’ve got two assistants in the shop down-stairs,wot’s to hinder you from cuttin’ and curlin’ them as often as you like?Do this,” he says, “and you’re a man agin.” Jinkinson squeedged thedoctor’s hand and begun that wery day; he kept his tools upon the bed,and wenever he felt his-self gettin’ worse, he turned to at vun o’ thechildren who wos a runnin’ about the house vith heads like clean Dutchcheeses, and shaved him agin. Vun day the lawyer come to make his vill;all the time he wos a takin’ it down, Jinkinson was secretly a clippin’avay at his hair vith a large pair of scissors. “Wot’s that ’eresnippin’ noise?” says the lawyer every now and then; “it’s like a manhavin’ his hair cut.” “It _is_ wery like a man havin’ his hair cut,”says poor Jinkinson, hidin’ the scissors, and lookin’ quite innocent. Bythe time the lawyer found it out, he was wery nearly bald. Jinkinson woskept alive in this vay for a long time, but at last vun day he has in allthe children vun arter another, shaves each on ’em wery clean, and giveshim vun kiss on the crown o’ his head; then he has in the two assistants,and arter cuttin’ and curlin’ of ’em in the first style of elegance, sayshe should like to hear the woice o’ the greasiest bear, vich rekvest isimmediately complied with; then he says that he feels wery happy in hismind and vishes to be left alone; and then he dies, previously cuttin’his own hair and makin’ one flat curl in the wery middle of hisforehead.’

  This anecdote produced an extraordinary effect, not only upon Mr.Slithers, but upon the housekeeper also, who evinced so much anxiety toplease and be pleased, that Mr. Weller, with a manner betokening somealarm, conveyed a whispered inquiry to his son whether he had gone ‘toofur.’

  ‘Wot do you mean by too fur?’ demanded Sam.

  ‘In that ’ere little compliment respectin’ the want of hock’erdness inladies, Sammy,’ replied his father.

  ‘You don’t think she’s fallen in love with you in consekens o’ that, doyou?’ said Sam.

  ‘More unlikelier things have come to pass, my boy,’ replied Mr. Weller ina hoarse whisper; ‘I’m always afeerd of inadwertent captiwation, Sammy.If I know’d how to make myself ugly or unpleasant, I’d do it, Samivel,rayther than live in this here state of perpetival terror!’

  Mr. Weller had, at that time, no further opportunity of dwelling upon theapprehensions which beset his mind, for the immediate occasion of hisfears proceeded to lead the way down-stairs, apologising as they went forconducting him into the kitchen, which apartment, however, she wasinduced to proffer for his accommodation in preference to her own littleroom, the rather as it afforded greater facilities for smoking, and wasimmediately adjoining the ale-cellar. The preparations which werealready made sufficiently proved that these were not mere words ofcourse, for on the deal table were a sturdy ale-jug and glasses, flankedwith clean pipes and a plentiful supply of tobacco for the old gentlemanand his son, while on a dresser hard by was goodly store of cold meat andother eatables. At sight of these arrangements Mr. Weller was at firstdistracted between his love of joviality and his doubts whether they werenot to be considered as so many evidences of captivation having alreadytaken place; but he soon yielded to his natural impulse, and took hisseat at the table with a very jolly countenance.

  ‘As to imbibin’ any o’ this here flagrant veed, mum, in the presence of alady,’ said Mr. Weller, taking up a pipe and laying it down again, ‘itcouldn’t be. Samivel, total abstinence, if _you_ please.’

  ‘But I like it of all things,’ said the housekeeper.

  ‘No,’ rejoined Mr. Weller, shaking his head,—‘no.’

  ‘Upon my word I do,’ said the housekeeper. ‘Mr. Slithers knows I do.’

  Mr. Weller coughed, and notwithstanding the barber’s confirmation of thestatement, said ‘No’ again, but more feebly than before. The housekeeperlighted a piece of paper, and insisted on applying it to the bowl of thepipe with her own fair hands; Mr. Weller resisted; the housekeeper criedthat her fingers would be burnt; Mr. Weller gave way. The pipe wasignited, Mr. Weller drew a long puff of smoke, and detecting himself inthe very act of smiling on the housekeeper, put a sudden constraint uponhis countenance and looked sternly at the candle, with a determinationnot to captivate, himself, or encourage tho
ughts of captivation inothers. From this iron frame of mind he was roused by the voice of hisson.

  ‘I don’t think,’ said Sam, who was smoking with great composure andenjoyment, ‘that if the lady wos agreeable it ’ud be wery far out o’ thevay for us four to make up a club of our own like the governors doesup-stairs, and let him,’ Sam pointed with the stem of his pipe towardshis parent, ‘be the president.’

  The housekeeper affably declared that it was the very thing she had beenthinking of. The barber said the same. Mr. Weller said nothing, but helaid down his pipe as if in a fit of inspiration, and performed thefollowing manœuvres.

  Unbuttoning the three lower buttons of his waistcoat and pausing for amoment to enjoy the easy flow of breath consequent upon this process, helaid violent hands upon his watch-chain, and slowly and with extremedifficulty drew from his fob an immense double-cased silver watch, whichbrought the lining of the pocket with it, and was not to be disentangledbut by great exertions and an amazing redness of face. Having fairly gotit out at last, he detached the outer case and wound it up with a key ofcorresponding magnitude; then put the case on again, and having appliedthe watch to his ear to ascertain that it was still going, gave it somehalf-dozen hard knocks on the table to improve its performance.

  ‘That,’ said Mr. Weller, laying it on the table with its face upwards,‘is the title and emblem o’ this here society. Sammy, reach them twostools this vay for the wacant cheers. Ladies and gen’lmen, Mr. Weller’sWatch is vound up and now a-goin’. Order!’

  By way of enforcing this proclamation, Mr. Weller, using the watch afterthe manner of a president’s hammer, and remarking with great pride thatnothing hurt it, and that falls and concussions of all kinds materiallyenhanced the excellence of the works and assisted the regulator, knockedthe table a great many times, and declared the association formallyconstituted.

  ‘And don’t let’s have no grinnin’ at the cheer, Samivel,’ said Mr. Wellerto his son, ‘or I shall be committin’ you to the cellar, and then p’r’apswe may get into what the ‘Merrikins call a fix, and the English aqvestion o’ privileges.’

  Having uttered this friendly caution, the President settled himself inhis chair with great dignity, and requested that Mr. Samuel would relatean anecdote.

  ‘I’ve told one,’ said Sam.

  ‘Wery good, sir; tell another,’ returned the chair.

  ‘We wos a talking jist now, sir,’ said Sam, turning to Slithers, ‘aboutbarbers. Pursuing that ’ere fruitful theme, sir, I’ll tell you in a weryfew words a romantic little story about another barber as p’r’aps you maynever have heerd.’

  ‘Samivel!’ said Mr. Weller, again bringing his watch and the table intosmart collision, ‘address your obserwations to the cheer, sir, and not topriwate indiwiduals!’

  [Picture: A Rival Club]

  ‘And if I might rise to order,’ said the barber in a soft voice, andlooking round him with a conciliatory smile as he leant over the table,with the knuckles of his left hand resting upon it,—‘if I _might_ rise toorder, I would suggest that “barbers” is not exactly the kind of languagewhich is agreeable and soothing to our feelings. You, sir, will correctme if I’m wrong, but I believe there _is_ such a word in the dictionaryas hairdressers.’

  ‘Well, but suppose he wasn’t a hairdresser,’ suggested Sam.

  ‘Wy then, sir, be parliamentary and call him vun all the more,’ returnedhis father. ‘In the same vay as ev’ry gen’lman in another place is a_h_onourable, ev’ry barber in this place is a hairdresser. Ven you readthe speeches in the papers, and see as vun gen’lman says of another, “the_h_onourable member, if he vill allow me to call him so,” you villunderstand, sir, that that means, “if he vill allow me to keep up that’ere pleasant and uniwersal fiction.”’

  It is a common remark, confirmed by history and experience, that greatmen rise with the circumstances in which they are placed. Mr. Wellercame out so strong in his capacity of chairman, that Sam was for sometime prevented from speaking by a grin of surprise, which held hisfaculties enchained, and at last subsided in a long whistle of a singlenote. Nay, the old gentleman appeared even to have astonished himself,and that to no small extent, as was demonstrated by the vast amount ofchuckling in which he indulged, after the utterance of these lucidremarks.

  ‘Here’s the story,’ said Sam. ‘Vunce upon a time there wos a younghairdresser as opened a wery smart little shop vith four wax dummies inthe winder, two gen’lmen and two ladies—the gen’lmen vith blue dots fortheir beards, wery large viskers, oudacious heads of hair, uncommon cleareyes, and nostrils of amazin’ pinkness; the ladies vith their heads o’one side, their right forefingers on their lips, and their formsdeweloped beautiful, in vich last respect they had the adwantage over thegen’lmen, as wasn’t allowed but wery little shoulder, and terminatedrayther abrupt in fancy drapery. He had also a many hair-brushes andtooth-brushes bottled up in the winder, neat glass-cases on the counter,a floor-clothed cuttin’-room up-stairs, and a weighin’-macheen in theshop, right opposite the door. But the great attraction and ornament wosthe dummies, which this here young hairdresser wos constantly a runnin’out in the road to look at, and constantly a runnin’ in again to touch upand polish; in short, he wos so proud on ’em, that ven Sunday come, hewos always wretched and mis’rable to think they wos behind the shutters,and looked anxiously for Monday on that account. Vun o’ these dummieswos a favrite vith him beyond the others; and ven any of his acquaintanceasked him wy he didn’t get married—as the young ladies he know’d, inpartickler, often did—he used to say, “Never! I never vill enter intothe bonds of vedlock,” he says, “until I meet vith a young ’ooman asrealises my idea o’ that ’ere fairest dummy vith the light hair. Then,and not till then,” he says, “I vill approach the altar.” All the youngladies he know’d as had got dark hair told him this wos wery sinful, andthat he wos wurshippin’ a idle; but them as wos at all near the sameshade as the dummy coloured up wery much, and wos observed to think him awery nice young man.’

  ‘Samivel,’ said Mr. Weller, gravely, ‘a member o’ this associashun bein’one o’ that ’ere tender sex which is now immedetly referred to, I have torekvest that you vill make no reflections.’

  ‘I ain’t a makin’ any, am I?’ inquired Sam.

  ‘Order, sir!’ rejoined Mr. Weller, with severe dignity. Then, sinkingthe chairman in the father, he added, in his usual tone of voice:‘Samivel, drive on!’

  Sam interchanged a smile with the housekeeper, and proceeded:

  ‘The young hairdresser hadn’t been in the habit o’ makin’ this avowalabove six months, ven he en-countered a young lady as wos the wery pictero’ the fairest dummy. “Now,” he says, “it’s all up. I am a slave!” Theyoung lady wos not only the picter o’ the fairest dummy, but she was weryromantic, as the young hairdresser was, too, and he says, “O!” he says,“here’s a community o’ feelin’, here’s a flow o’ soul!” he says, “here’sa interchange o’ sentiment!” The young lady didn’t say much, o’ course,but she expressed herself agreeable, and shortly artervards vent to seehim vith a mutual friend. The hairdresser rushes out to meet her, butd’rectly she sees the dummies she changes colour and falls a tremblin’wiolently. “Look up, my love,” says the hairdresser, “behold your imigein my winder, but not correcter than in my art!” “My imige!” she says.“Yourn!” replies the hairdresser. “But whose imige is _that_?” she says,a pinting at vun o’ the gen’lmen. “No vun’s, my love,” he says, “it isbut a idea.” “A idea!” she cries: “it is a portrait, I feel it is aportrait, and that ’ere noble face must be in the millingtary!” “Wot doI hear!” says he, a crumplin’ his curls. “Villiam Gibbs,” she says,quite firm, “never renoo the subject. I respect you as a friend,” shesays, “but my affections is set upon that manly brow.” “This,” says thehairdresser, “is a reg’lar blight, and in it I perceive the hand of Fate.Farevell!” Vith these vords he rushes into the shop, breaks the du
mmy’snose vith a blow of his curlin’-irons, melts him down at the parlourfire, and never smiles artervards.’

  ‘The young lady, Mr. Weller?’ said the housekeeper.

  ‘Why, ma’am,’ said Sam, ‘finding that Fate had a spite agin her, andeverybody she come into contact vith, she never smiled neither, but reada deal o’ poetry and pined avay,—by rayther slow degrees, for she ain’tdead yet. It took a deal o’ poetry to kill the hairdresser, and somepeople say arter all that it was more the gin and water as caused him tobe run over; p’r’aps it was a little o’ both, and came o’ mixing thetwo.’

  The barber declared that Mr. Weller had related one of the mostinteresting stories that had ever come within his knowledge, in whichopinion the housekeeper entirely concurred.

  ‘Are you a married man, sir?’ inquired Sam.

  The barber replied that he had not that honour.

  ‘I s’pose you mean to be?’ said Sam.

  ‘Well,’ replied the barber, rubbing his hands smirkingly, ‘I don’t know,I don’t think it’s very likely.’

  ‘That’s a bad sign,’ said Sam; ‘if you’d said you meant to be vun o’these days, I should ha’ looked upon you as bein’ safe. You’re in a weryprecarious state.’

  ‘I am not conscious of any danger, at all events,’ returned the barber.

  ‘No more wos I, sir,’ said the elder Mr. Weller, interposing; ‘those veremy symptoms, exactly. I’ve been took that vay twice. Keep your vethereye open, my friend, or you’re gone.’

  There was something so very solemn about this admonition, both in itsmatter and manner, and also in the way in which Mr. Weller still kept hiseye fixed upon the unsuspecting victim, that nobody cared to speak forsome little time, and might not have cared to do so for some time longer,if the housekeeper had not happened to sigh, which called off the oldgentleman’s attention and gave rise to a gallant inquiry whether ‘therewos anythin’ wery piercin’ in that ’ere little heart?’

  ‘Dear me, Mr. Weller!’ said the housekeeper, laughing.

  ‘No, but is there anythin’ as agitates it?’ pursued the old gentleman.‘Has it always been obderrate, always opposed to the happiness o’ humancreeturs? Eh? Has it?’

  At this critical juncture for her blushes and confusion, the housekeeperdiscovered that more ale was wanted, and hastily withdrew into the cellarto draw the same, followed by the barber, who insisted on carrying thecandle. Having looked after her with a very complacent expression offace, and after him with some disdain, Mr. Weller caused his glance totravel slowly round the kitchen, until at length it rested on his son.

  ‘Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘I mistrust that barber.’

  ‘Wot for?’ returned Sam; ‘wot’s he got to do with you? You’re a niceman, you are, arter pretendin’ all kinds o’ terror, to go a payin’compliments and talkin’ about hearts and piercers.’

  The imputation of gallantry appeared to afford Mr. Weller the utmostdelight, for he replied in a voice choked by suppressed laughter, andwith the tears in his eyes,

  ‘Wos I a talkin’ about hearts and piercers,—wos I though, Sammy, eh?’

  ‘Wos you? of course you wos.’

  ‘She don’t know no better, Sammy, there ain’t no harm in it,—no danger,Sammy; she’s only a punster. She seemed pleased, though, didn’t she? O’course, she wos pleased, it’s nat’ral she should be, wery nat’ral.’

  ‘He’s wain of it!’ exclaimed Sam, joining in his father’s mirth. ‘He’sactually wain!’

  ‘Hush!’ replied Mr. Weller, composing his features, ‘they’re a comin’back,—the little heart’s a comin’ back. But mark these wurds o’ mineonce more, and remember ’em ven your father says he said ’em. Samivel, Imistrust that ’ere deceitful barber.’ {300}