It is but for a moment, and he hides it from the observation of his friend—very carefully—by a somewhat elaborate use of his pockethandkerchief, in fact; for he would not have his weakness known.
“Pleasant,” he murmured, “pleasant to a father's feelings! My dear girl! Shall we let her know we are here, Mr Jonas?”
“Why, I suppose you don't mean to spend the evening in the stable, or the coach-house,” he returned.
“That, indeed, is not such hospitality as I would show to YOU, my friend,” cried Mr Pecksniff, pressing his hand. And then he took a long breath, and tapping at the window, shouted with stentorian blandness:
“Boh!”
Cherry dropped her pen and screamed. But innocence is ever bold, or should be. As they opened the door, the valiant girl exclaimed in a firm voice, and with a presence of mind which even in that trying moment did not desert her, “Who are you? What do you want? Speak! or I will call my Pa. ”
Mr Pecksniff held out his arms. She knew him instantly, and rushed into his fond embrace.
“It was thoughtless of us, Mr Jonas, it was very thoughtless,” said Pecksniff, smoothing his daugther's hair. “My darling, do you see that I am not alone!”
Not she. She had seen nothing but her father until now. She saw Mr Jonas now, though; and blushed, and hung her head down, as she gave him welcome.
But where was Merry? Mr Pecksniff didn't ask the question in reproach, but in a vein of mildness touched with a gentle sorrow. She was upstairs, reading on the parlour couch. Ah! Domestic details had no charms for HER. “But call her down,” said Mr Pecksniff, with a placid resignation. “Call her down, my love.”
She was called and came, all flushed and tumbled from reposing on the sofa; but none the worse for that. No, not at all. Rather the better, if anything.
“Oh my goodness me!” cried the arch girl, turning to her cousin when she had kissed her father on both cheeks, and in her frolicsome nature had bestowed a supernumerary salute upon the tip of his nose, “YOU here, fright! Well, I'm very thankful that you won't trouble ME much!”
“What! you're as lively as ever, are you?” said Jonas. “Oh! You're a wicked one!”
“There, go along!” retorted Merry, pushing him away. “I'm sure I don't know what I shall ever do, if I have to see much of you. Go along, for gracious” sake!”
Mr Pecksniff striking in here, with a request that Mr Jonas would immediately walk upstairs, he so far complied with the young lady's adjuration as to go at once. But though he had the fair Cherry on his arm, he could not help looking back at her sister, and exchanging some further dialogue of the same bantering description, as they all four ascended to the parlour; where—for the young ladies happened, by good fortune, to be a little later than usual that night—the tea-board was at that moment being set out.
Mr Pinch was not at home, so they had it all to themselves, and were very snug and talkative, Jonas sitting between the two sisters, and displaying his gallantry in that engaging manner which was peculiar to him. It was a hard thing, Mr Pecksniff said, when tea was done, and cleared away, to leave so pleasant a little party, but having some important papers to examine in his own apartment, he must beg them to excuse him for half an hour. With this apology he withdrew, singing a careless strain as he went. He had not been gone five minutes, when Merry, who had been sitting in the window, apart from Jonas and her sister, burst into a half-smothered laugh, and skipped towards the door.
“Hallo!” cried Jonas. “Don't go.”
“Oh, I dare say!” rejoined Merry, looking back. “You're very anxious I should stay, fright, ain't you?”
“Yes, I am,” said Jonas. “Upon my word I am. I want to speak to you.”But as she left the room notwithstanding, he ran out after her, and brought her back, after a short struggle in the passage which scandalized Miss Cherry very much.
“Upon my word, Merry,” urged that young lady, “I wonder at you! There are bounds even to absurdity, my dear.”
“Thank you, my sweet,” said Merry, pursing up her rosy Lips. “Much obliged to it for its advice. Oh! do leave me alone, you monster, do!” This entreaty was wrung from her by a new proceeding on the part of Mr Jonas, who pulled her down, all breathless as she was, into a seat beside him on the sofa, having at the same time Miss Cherry upon the other side.
“Now,” said Jonas, clasping the waist of each; “I have got both arms full, haven't I?”
“One of them will be black and blue to-morrow, if you don't let me go,” cried the playful Merry.
“Ah! I don't mind YOUR pinching,” grinned Jonas, “a bit.”
“Pinch him for me, Cherry, pray,” said Mercy. “I never did hate anybody so much as I hate this creature, I declare!”
“No, no, don't say that,” urged Jonas, “and don't pinch either, because I want to be serious. I say—Cousin Charity—”
“Well! what?” she answered sharply.
“I want to have some sober talk,” said Jonas; “I want to prevent any mistakes, you know, and to put everything upon a pleasant understanding. That's desirable and proper, ain't it?”
Neither of the sisters spoke a word. Mr Jonas paused and cleared his throat, which was very dry.
“She'll not believe what I am going to say, will she, cousin?” said Jonas, timidly squeezing Miss Charity.
“Really, Mr Jonas, I don't know, until I hear what it is. It's quite impossible!”
“Why, you see,” said Jonas, “her way always being to make game of people, I know she'll laugh, or pretend to—I know that, beforehand. But you can tell her I'm in earnest, cousin; can't you? You'll confess you know, won't you? You'll be honourable, I'm sure,” he added persuasively.
No answer. His throat seemed to grow hotter and hotter, and to be more and more difficult of control.
“You see, Cousin Charity,” said Jonas, “nobody but you can tell her what pains I took to get into her company when you were both at the boarding-house in the city, because nobody's so well aware of it, you know. Nobody else can tell her how hard I tried to get to know you better, in order that I might get to know her without seeming to wish it; can they? I always asked you about her, and said where had she gone, and when would she come, and how lively she was, and all that; didn't I, cousin? I know you'll tell her so, if you haven't told her so already, and—and—I dare say you have, because I'm sure you're honourable, ain't you?”
Still not a word. The right arm of Mr Jonas—the elder sister sat upon his right—may have been sensible of some tumultuous throbbing which was not within itself; but nothing else apprised him that his words had had the least effect.
“Even if you kept it to yourself, and haven't told her,” resumed Jonas, “it don't much matter, because you'll bear honest witness now; won't you? We've been very good friends from the first; haven't we? and of course we shall be quite friends in future, and so I don't mind speaking before you a bit. Cousin Mercy, you've heard what I've been saying. She'll confirm it, every word; she must. Will you have me for your husband? Eh?”
As he released his hold of Charity, to put this question with better effect, she started up and hurried away to her own room, marking her progress as she went by such a train of passionate and incoherent sound, as nothing but a slighted woman in her anger could produce.
“Let me go away. Let me go after her,” said Merry, pushing him off, and giving him—to tell the truth—more than one sounding slap upon his outstretched face.
“Not till you say yes. You haven't told me. Will you have me for your husband?”
“No, I won't. I can't bear the sight of you. I have told you so a hundred times. You are a fright. Besides, I always thought you liked my sister best. We all thought so.”
“But that wasn't my fault,” said Jonas.
“Yes it was; you know it was.”
“Any trick is fair in love,” said Jonas. “She may have thought I liked her best, but you didn't.”
“I did!”
“No, you didn't. You never cou
ld have thought I liked her best, when you were by.”
“There's no accounting for tastes,” said Merry; “at least I didn't mean to say that. I don't know what I mean. Let me go to her.”
“Say “Yes,” and then I will.”
“If I ever brought myself to say so, it should only be that I might hate and tease you all my life.”
“That's as good,” cried Jonas, “as saying it right out. It's a bargain, cousin. We're a pair, if ever there was one.”
This gallant speech was succeeded by a confused noise of kissing and slapping; and then the fair but much dishevelled Merry broke away, and followed in the footsteps of her sister.
Now whether Mr Pecksniff had been listening—which in one of his character appears impossible; or divined almost by inspiration what the matter was—which, in a man of his sagacity is far more probable; or happened by sheer good fortune to find himself in exactly the right place, at precisely the right time—which, under the special guardianship in which he lived might very reasonably happen; it is quite certain that at the moment when the sisters came together in their own room, he appeared at the chamber door. And a marvellous contrast it was—they so heated, noisy, and vehement; he so calm, so self-possessed, so cool and full of peace, that not a hair upon his head was stirred.
“Children!” said Mr Pecksniff, spreading out his hands in wonder, but not before he had shut the door, and set his back against it. “Girls! Daughters! What is this?”
“The wretch; the apostate; the false, mean, odious villain; has before my very face proposed to Mercy!” was his eldest daughter's answer.
“Who has proposed to Mercy!” asked Mr Pecksniff.
“HE has. That thing, Jonas, downstairs.”
“Jonas proposed to Mercy?” said Mr Pecksniff. “Aye, aye! Indeed!”
“Have you nothing else to say?” cried Charity. “Am I to be driven mad, papa? He has proposed to Mercy, not to me.”
“Oh, fie! For shame!” said Mr Pecksniff, gravely. “Oh, for shame! Can the triumph of a sister move you to this terrible display, my child? Oh, really this is very sad! I am sorry; I am surprised and hurt to see you so. Mercy, my girl, bless you! See to her. Ah, envy, envy, what a passion you are!”
Uttering this apostrophe in a tone full of grief and lamentation, Mr Pecksniff left the room (taking care to shut the door behind him), and walked downstairs into the parlour. There he found his intended son-in-law, whom he seized by both hands.
“Jonas!” cried Mr Pecksniff. “Jonas! the dearest wish of my heart is now fulfilled!”
“Very well; I'm glad to hear it,” said Jonas. “That'll do. I say! As it ain't the one you're so fond of, you must come down with another thousand, Pecksniff. You must make it up five. It's worth that, to keep your treasure to yourself, you know. You get off very cheap that way, and haven't a sacrifice to make.”
The grin with which he accompanied this, set off his other attractions to such unspeakable advantage, that even Mr Pecksniff lost his presence of mind for a moment, and looked at the young man as if he were quite stupefied with wonder and admiration. But he quickly regained his composure, and was in the very act of changing the subject, when a hasty step was heard without, and Tom Pinch, in a state of great excitement, came darting into the room.
On seeing a stranger there, apparently engaged with Mr Pecksniff in private conversation, Tom was very much abashed, though he still looked as if he had something of great importance to communicate, which would be a sufficient apology for his intrusion.
“Mr Pinch,” said Pecksniff, “this is hardly decent. You will excuse my saying that I think your conduct scarcely decent, Mr Pinch.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” replied Tom, “for not knocking at the door.”
“Rather beg this gentleman's pardon, Mr Pinch,” said Pecksniff. “I know you; he does not. —My young man, Mr Jonas.”
The son-in-law that was to be gave him a slight nod—not actively disdainful or contemptuous, only passively; for he was in a good humour.
“Could I speak a word with you, sir, if you please?” said Tom. “It's rather pressing.”
“It should be very pressing to justify this strange behaviour, Mr Pinch,” returned his master. “Excuse me for one moment, my dear friend. Now, sir, what is the reason of this rough intrusion?”
“I am very sorry, sir, I am sure,” said Tom, standing, cap in hand, before his patron in the passage; “and I know it must have a very rude appearance—”
“It HAS a very rude appearance, Mr Pinch.”
“Yes, I feel that, sir; but the truth is, I was so surprised to see them, and knew you would be too, that I ran home very fast indeed, and really hadn't enough command over myself to know what I was doing very well. I was in the church just now, sir, touching the organ for my own amusement, when I happened to look round, and saw a gentleman and lady standing in the aisle listening. They seemed to be strangers, sir, as well as I could make out in the dusk; and I thought I didn't know them; so presently I left off, and said, would they walk up into the organ-loft, or take a seat? No, they said, they wouldn't do that; but they thanked me for the music they had heard. In fact,” observed Tom, blushing, “they said, “Delicious music!” at least, SHE did; and I am sure that was a greater pleasure and honour to me than any compliment I could have had. I—I—beg your pardon sir;” he was all in a tremble, and dropped his hat for the second time “but I—I'm rather flurried, and I fear I've wandered from the point.”
“If you will come back to it, Thomas,” said Mr Pecksniff, with an icy look, “I shall feel obliged.”
“Yes, sir,” returned Tom, “certainly. They had a posting carriage at the porch, sir, and had stopped to hear the organ, they said. And then they said—SHE said, I mean, “I believe you live with Mr Pecksniff, sir?” I said I had that honour, and I took the liberty, sir,” added Tom, raising his eyes to his benefactor's face, “of saying, as I always will and must, with your permission, that I was under great obligations to you, and never could express my sense of them sufficiently.”
“That,” said Mr Pecksniff, “was very, very wrong. Take your time, Mr Pinch.”
“Thank you, sir,” cried Tom. “On that they asked me—she asked, I mean—”Wasn't there a bridle road to Mr Pecksniff's house?”
Mr Pecksniff suddenly became full of interest.
“Without going by the Dragon?” When I said there was, and said how happy I should be to show it “em, they sent the carriage on by the road, and came with me across the meadows. I left “em at the turnstile to run forward and tell you they were coming, and they'll be here, sir, in—in less than a minute's time, I should say,” added Tom, fetching his breath with difficulty.
“Now, who,” said Mr Pecksniff, pondering, “who may these people be?”
“Bless my soul, sir!” cried Tom, “I meant to mention that at first, I thought I had. I knew them—her, I mean—directly. The gentleman who was ill at the Dragon, sir, last winter; and the young lady who attended him.”
Tom's teeth chattered in his head, and he positively staggered with amazement, at witnessing the extraordinary effect produced on Mr Pecksniff by these simple words. The dread of losing the old man's favour almost as soon as they were reconciled, through the mere fact of having Jonas in the house; the impossibility of dismissing Jonas, or shutting him up, or tying him hand and foot and putting him in the coal-cellar, without offending him beyond recall; the horrible discordance prevailing in the establishment, and the impossibility of reducing it to decent harmony with Charity in loud hysterics, Mercy in the utmost disorder, Jonas in the parlour, and Martin Chuzzlewit and his young charge upon the very doorsteps; the total hopelessness of being able to disguise or feasibly explain this state of rampant confusion; the sudden accumulation over his devoted head of every complicated perplexity and entanglement for his extrication from which he had trusted to time, good fortune, chance, and his own plotting, so filled the entrapped architect with dismay, that if Tom could have been a Gorg
on staring at Mr Pecksniff, and Mr Pecksniff could have been a Gorgon staring at Tom, they could not have horrified each other half so much as in their own bewildered persons.
“Dear, dear!” cried Tom, “what have I done? I hoped it would be a pleasant surprise, sir. I thought you would like to know.”
But at that moment a loud knocking was heard at the hall door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MORE AMERICAN EXPERIENCES, MARTIN TAKES A PARTNER, AND MAKES A PURCHASE. SOME ACCOUNT OF EDEN, AS IT APPEARED ON PAPER. ALSO OF THE BRITISH LION. ALSO OF THE KIND OF SYMPATHY PROFESSED AND ENTERTAINED BY THE WATERTOAST ASSOCIATION OF UNITED SYMPATHISERS
The knocking at Mr Pecksniff's door, though loud enough, bore no resemblance whatever to the noise of an American railway train at full speed. It may be well to begin the present chapter with this frank admission, lest the reader should imagine that the sounds now deafening this history's ears have any connection with the knocker on Mr Pecksniff's door, or with the great amount of agitation pretty equally divided between that worthy man and Mr Pinch, of which its strong performance was the cause.
Mr Pecksniff's house is more than a thousand leagues away; and again this happy chronicle has Liberty and Moral Sensibility for its high companions. Again it breathes the blessed air of Independence; again it contemplates with pious awe that moral sense which renders unto Ceasar nothing that is his; again inhales that sacred atmosphere which was the life of him—oh noble patriot, with many followers!—who dreamed of Freedom in a slave's embrace, and waking sold her offspring and his own in public markets.
How the wheels clank and rattle, and the tram-road shakes, as the train rushes on! And now the engine yells, as it were lashed and tortured like a living labourer, and writhed in agony. A poor fancy; for steel and iron are of infinitely greater account, in this commonwealth, than flesh and blood. If the cunning work of man be urged beyond its power of endurance, it has within it the elements of its own revenge; whereas the wretched mechanism of the Divine Hand is dangerous with no such property, but may be tampered with, and crushed, and broken, at the driver's pleasure. Look at that engine! It shall cost a man more dollars in the way of penalty and fine, and satisfaction of the outraged law, to deface in wantonness that senseless mass of metal, than to take the lives of twenty human creatures! Thus the stars wink upon the bloody stripes; and Liberty pulls down her cap upon her eyes, and owns Oppression in its vilest aspect, for her sister.
Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit Page 42
