The Charles Dickens Christmas Megapack

by Charles Dickens

  My dear the system upon which the Major commenced and as I may say perfected Jemmy’s learning when he was so small that if the dear was on the other side of the table you had to look under it instead of over it to see him with his mother’s own bright hair in beautiful curls, is a thing that ought to be known to the Throne and Lords and Commons and then might obtain some promotion for the Major which he well deserves and would be none the worse for (speaking between friends) L. S. D.-ically. When the Major first undertook his learning he says to me:

  “I’m going Madam,” he says “to make our child a Calculating Boy.

  “Major,” I says, “you terrify me and may do the pet a permanent injury you would never forgive yourself.”

  “Madam,” says the Major, “next to my regret that when I had my boot-sponge in my hand, I didn’t choke that scoundrel with it—on the spot—”

  “There! For Gracious’ sake,” I interrupts, “let his conscience find him without sponges.”

  “—I say next to that regret, Madam,” says the Major “would be the regret with which my breast,” which he tapped, “would be surcharged if this fine mind was not early cultivated. But mark me Madam,” says the Major holding up his forefinger “cultivated on a principle that will make it a delight.”

  “Major” I says “I will be candid with you and tell you openly that if ever I find the dear child fall off in his appetite I shall know it is his calculations and shall put a stop to them at two minutes’ notice. Or if I find them mounting to his head” I says, “or striking anyways cold to his stomach or leading to anything approaching flabbiness in his legs, the result will be the same, but Major you are a clever man and have seen much and you love the child and are his own godfather, and if you feel a confidence in trying try.”

  “Spoken Madam” says the Major “like Emma Lirriper. All I have to ask, Madam, is that you will leave my godson and myself to make a week or two’s preparations for surprising you, and that you will give me leave to have up and down any small articles not actually in use that I may require from the kitchen.”

  “From the kitchen Major?” I says half feeling as if he had a mind to cook the child.

  “From the kitchen” says the Major, and smiles and swells, and at the same time looks taller.

  So I passed my word and the Major and the dear boy were shut up together for half an hour at a time through a certain while, and never could I hear anything going on betwixt them but talking and laughing and Jemmy clapping his hands and screaming out numbers, so I says to myself “it has not harmed him yet” nor could I on examining the dear find any signs of it anywhere about him which was likewise a great relief. At last one day Jemmy brings me a card in joke in the Major’s neat writing “The Messrs. Jemmy Jackman” for we had given him the Major’s other name too “request the honour of Mrs. Lirriper’s company at the Jackman Institution in the front parlour this evening at five, military time, to witness a few slight feats of elementary arithmetic.” And if you’ll believe me there in the front parlour at five punctual to the moment was the Major behind the Pembroke table with both leaves up and a lot of things from the kitchen tidily set out on old newspapers spread atop of it, and there was the Mite stood upon a chair with his rosy cheeks flushing and his eyes sparkling clusters of diamonds.

  “Now Gran” says he, “oo tit down and don’t oo touch ler people”—for he saw with every one of those diamonds of his that I was going to give him a squeeze.

  “Very well sir” I says “I am obedient in this good company I am sure.” And I sits down in the easy-chair that was put for me, shaking my sides.

  But picture my admiration when the Major going on almost as quick as if he was conjuring sets out all the articles he names, and says “Three saucepans, an Italian iron, a hand-bell, a toasting-fork, a nutmeg-grater, four potlids, a spice-box, two egg-cups, and a chopping-board—how many?” and when that Mite instantly cries “Tifteen, tut down tive and carry ler ’toppin-board” and then claps his hands draws up his legs and dances on his chair.

  My dear with the same astonishing ease and correctness him and the Major added up the tables chairs and sofy, the picters fenders and fire-irons their own selves me and the cat and the eyes in Miss Wozenham’s head, and whenever the sum was done Young Roses and Diamonds claps his hands and draws up his legs and dances on his chair.

  The pride of the Major! (“Here’s a mind Ma’am!” he says to me behind his hand.)

  Then he says aloud, “We now come to the next elementary rule,—which is called—”

  “Umtraction!” cries Jemmy.

  “Right,” says the Major. “We have here a toasting-fork, a potato in its natural state, two potlids, one egg-cup, a wooden spoon, and two skewers, from which it is necessary for commercial purposes to subtract a sprat-gridiron, a small pickle-jar, two lemons, one pepper-castor, a blackbeetle-trap, and a knob of the dresser-drawer—what remains?”

  “Toatin-fork!” cries Jemmy.

  “In numbers how many?” says the Major.

  “One!” cries Jemmy.

  (“Here’s a boy, Ma’am!” says the Major to me behind his hand.) Then the Major goes on:

  “We now approach the next elementary rule,—which is entitled—”

  “Tickleication” cries Jemmy.

  “Correct” says the Major.

  But my dear to relate to you in detail the way in which they multiplied fourteen sticks of firewood by two bits of ginger and a larding needle, or divided pretty well everything else there was on the table by the heater of the Italian iron and a chamber candlestick, and got a lemon over, would make my head spin round and round and round as it did at the time. So I says “if you’ll excuse my addressing the chair Professor Jackman I think the period of the lecture has now arrived when it becomes necessary that I should take a good hug of this young scholar.” Upon which Jemmy calls out from his station on the chair, “Gran oo open oor arms and me’ll make a ’pring into ’em.” So I opened my arms to him as I had opened my sorrowful heart when his poor young mother lay a dying, and he had his jump and we had a good long hug together and the Major prouder than any peacock says to me behind his hand, “You need not let him know it Madam” (which I certainly need not for the Major was quite audible) “but he is a boy!”

  In this way Jemmy grew and grew and went to day-school and continued under the Major too, and in summer we were as happy as the days were long, and in winter we were as happy as the days were short and there seemed to rest a Blessing on the Lodgings for they as good as Let themselves and would have done it if there had been twice the accommodation, when sore and hard against my will I one day says to the Major.

  “Major you know what I am going to break to you. Our boy must go to boarding-school.”

  It was a sad sight to see the Major’s countenance drop, and I pitied the good soul with all my heart.

  “Yes Major” I says, “though he is as popular with the Lodgers as you are yourself and though he is to you and me what only you and me know, still it is in the course of things and Life is made of partings and we must part with our Pet.”

  Bold as I spoke, I saw two Majors and half-a-dozen fireplaces, and when the poor Major put one of his neat bright-varnished boots upon the fender and his elbow on his knee and his head upon his hand and rocked himself a little to and fro, I was dreadfully cut up.

  “But” says I clearing my throat “you have so well prepared him Major—he has had such a Tutor in you—that he will have none of the first drudgery to go through. And he is so clever besides that he’ll soon make his way to the front rank.”

  “He is a boy” says the Major—having sniffed—“that has not his like on the face of the earth.”

  “True as you say Major, and it is not for us merely for our own sakes to do anything to keep him back from being a credit and an ornament wherever he goes and perhaps even rising to be a great man, is it Major? He will have all my little savings when my work is done (being all the world to me) and we must try to make him
a wise man and a good man, mustn’t we Major?”

  “Madam” says the Major rising “Jemmy Jackman is becoming an older file than I was aware of, and you put him to shame. You are thoroughly right Madam. You are simply and undeniably right.—And if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take a walk.”

  So the Major being gone out and Jemmy being at home, I got the child into my little room here and I stood him by my chair and I took his mother’s own curls in my hand and I spoke to him loving and serious. And when I had reminded the darling how that he was now in his tenth year and when I had said to him about his getting on in life pretty much what I had said to the Major I broke to him how that we must have this same parting, and there I was forced to stop for there I saw of a sudden the well-remembered lip with its tremble, and it so brought back that time! But with the spirit that was in him he controlled it soon and he says gravely nodding through his tears, “I understand Gran—I know it must be, Gran—go on Gran, don’t be afraid of me.” And when I had said all that ever I could think of, he turned his bright steady face to mine and he says just a little broken here and there “You shall see Gran that I can be a man and that I can do anything that is grateful and loving to you—and if I don’t grow up to be what you would like to have me—I hope it will be—because I shall die.” And with that he sat down by me and I went on to tell him of the school of which I had excellent recommendations and where it was and how many scholars and what games they played as I had heard and what length of holidays, to all of which he listened bright and clear. And so it came that at last he says “And now dear Gran let me kneel down here where I have been used to say my prayers and let me fold my face for just a minute in your gown and let me cry, for you have been more than father—more than mother—more than brothers sisters friends—to me!” And so he did cry and I too and we were both much the better for it.

  From that time forth he was true to his word and ever blithe and ready, and even when me and the Major took him down into Lincolnshire he was far the gayest of the party though for sure and certain he might easily have been that, but he really was and put life into us only when it came to the last Good-bye, he says with a wistful look, “You wouldn’t have me not really sorry would you Gran?” and when I says “No dear, Lord forbid!” he says “I am glad of that!” and ran in out of sight.

  But now that the child was gone out of the Lodgings the Major fell into a regularly moping state. It was taken notice of by all the Lodgers that the Major moped. He hadn’t even the same air of being rather tall than he used to have, and if he varnished his boots with a single gleam of interest it was as much as he did.

  One evening the Major came into my little room to take a cup of tea and a morsel of buttered toast and to read Jemmy’s newest letter which had arrived that afternoon (by the very same postman more than middle-aged upon the Beat now), and the letter raising him up a little I says to the Major:

  “Major you mustn’t get into a moping way.”

  The Major shook his head. “Jemmy Jackman Madam,” he says with a deep sigh, “is an older file than I thought him.”

  “Moping is not the way to grow younger Major.”

  “My dear Madam,” says the Major, “is there any way of growing younger?”

  Feeling that the Major was getting rather the best of that point I made a diversion to another.

  “Thirteen years! Thir-teen years! Many Lodgers have come and gone, in the thirteen years that you have lived in the parlours Major.”

  “Hah!” says the Major warming. “Many Madam, many.”

  “And I should say you have been familiar with them all?”

  “As a rule (with its exceptions like all rules) my dear Madam” says the Major, “they have honoured me with their acquaintance, and not unfrequently with their confidence.”

  Watching the Major as he drooped his white head and stroked his black mustachios and moped again, a thought which I think must have been going about looking for an owner somewhere dropped into my old noddle if you will excuse the expression.

  “The walls of my Lodgings” I says in a casual way—for my dear it is of no use going straight at a man who mopes—“might have something to tell if they could tell it.”

  The Major neither moved nor said anything but I saw he was attending with his shoulders my dear—attending with his shoulders to what I said. In fact I saw that his shoulders were struck by it.

  “The dear boy was always fond of story-books” I went on, like as if I was talking to myself. “I am sure this house—his own home—might write a story or two for his reading one day or another.”

  The Major’s shoulders gave a dip and a curve and his head came up in his shirt-collar. The Major’s head came up in his shirt-collar as I hadn’t seen it come up since Jemmy went to school.

  “It is unquestionable that in intervals of cribbage and a friendly rubber, my dear Madam,” says the Major, “and also over what used to be called in my young times—in the salad days of Jemmy Jackman—the social glass, I have exchanged many a reminiscence with your Lodgers.”

  My remark was—I confess I made it with the deepest and artfullest of intentions—“I wish our dear boy had heard them!”

  “Are you serious Madam?” asked the Major starting and turning full round.

  “Why not Major?”

  “Madam” says the Major, turning up one of his cuffs, “they shall be written for him.”

  “Ah! Now you speak” I says giving my hands a pleased clap. “Now you are in a way out of moping Major!”

  “Between this and my holidays—I mean the dear boy’s” says the Major turning up his other cuff, “a good deal may be done towards it.”

  “Major you are a clever man and you have seen much and not a doubt of it.”

  “I’ll begin,” says the Major looking as tall as ever he did, “to-morrow.”

  My dear the Major was another man in three days and he was himself again in a week and he wrote and wrote and wrote with his pen scratching like rats behind the wainscot, and whether he had many grounds to go upon or whether he did at all romance I cannot tell you, but what he has written is in the left-hand glass closet of the little bookcase close behind you.

  CHAPTER II

  HOW THE PARLOURS ADDED A FEW WORDS

  I have the honour of presenting myself by the name of Jackman. I esteem it a proud privilege to go down to posterity through the instrumentality of the most remarkable boy that ever lived,—by the name of Jemmy Jackman Lirriper,—and of my most worthy and most highly respected friend, Mrs. Emma Lirriper, of Eighty-one, Norfolk Street, Strand, in the County of Middlesex, in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

  It is not for me to express the rapture with which we received that dear and eminently remarkable boy, on the occurrence of his first Christmas holidays. Suffice it to observe that when he came flying into the house with two splendid prizes (Arithmetic, and Exemplary Conduct), Mrs. Lirriper and myself embraced with emotion, and instantly took him to the Play, where we were all three admirably entertained.

  Nor is it to render homage to the virtues of the best of her good and honoured sex—whom, in deference to her unassuming worth, I will only here designate by the initials E. L.—that I add this record to the bundle of papers with which our, in a most distinguished degree, remarkable boy has expressed himself delighted, before re-consigning the same to the left-hand glass closet of Mrs. Lirriper’s little bookcase.

  Neither is it to obtrude the name of the old original superannuated obscure Jemmy Jackman, once (to his degradation) of Wozenham’s, long (to his elevation) of Lirriper’s. If I could be consciously guilty of that piece of bad taste, it would indeed be a work of supererogation, now that the name is borne by JEMMY JACKMAN LIRRIPER.