concerning him; but all he could learn was that Mr Abel had himself
broken the intelligence to his mother, with great kindness and
delicacy, late on the previous night, but had himself expressed no
opinion of his innocence or guilt. Kit was on the point of
mustering courage to ask Barbara's mother about Barbara, when the
turnkey who had conducted him, reappeared, a second turnkey
appeared behind his visitors, and the third turnkey with the
newspaper cried 'Time's up!'--adding in the same breath 'Now for
the next party!' and then plunging deep into his newspaper again.
Kit was taken off in an instant, with a blessing from his mother,
and a scream from little Jacob, ringing in his ears. As he was
crossing the next yard with the basket in his hand, under the
guidance of his former conductor, another officer called to them to
stop, and came up with a pint pot of porter in his hand.
'This is Christopher Nubbles, isn't it, that come in last night for
felony?' said the man.
His comrade replied that this was the chicken in question.
'Then here's your beer,' said the other man to Christopher. 'What
are you looking at? There an't a discharge in it.'
'I beg your pardon,' said Kit. 'Who sent it me?'
'Why, your friend,' replied the man. 'You're to have it every day,
he says. And so you will, if he pays for it.'
'My friend!' repeated Kit.
'You're all abroad, seemingly,' returned the other man. 'There's
his letter. Take hold!'
Kit took it, and when he was locked up again, read as follows.
'Drink of this cup, you'll find there's a spell in its every drop
'gainst the ills of mortality. Talk of the cordial that sparkled
for Helen! HER cup was a fiction, but this is reality (Barclay and
Co.'s).--If they ever send it in a flat state, complain to the
Governor. Yours, R. S.'
'R. S.!' said Kit, after some consideration. 'It must be Mr
Richard Swiveller. Well, its very kind of him, and I thank him
heartily.'
CHAPTER 62.
A faint light, twinkling from the window of the counting-house on
Quilp's wharf, and looking inflamed and red through the night-fog,
as though it suffered from it like an eye, forewarned Mr Sampson
Brass, as he approached the wooden cabin with a cautious step, that
the excellent proprietor, his esteemed client, was inside, and
probably waiting with his accustomed patience and sweetness of
temper the fulfilment of the appointment which now brought Mr Brass
within his fair domain.
'A treacherous place to pick one's steps in, of a dark night,'
muttered Sampson, as he stumbled for the twentieth time over some
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stray lumber, and limped in pain. 'I believe that boy strews the
ground differently every day, on purpose to bruise and maim one;
unless his master does it with his own hands, which is more than
likely. I hate to come to this place without Sally. She's more
protection than a dozen men.'
As he paid this compliment to the merit of the absent charmer, Mr
Brass came to a halt; looking doubtfully towards the light, and
over his shoulder.
'What's he about, I wonder?' murmured the lawyer, standing on
tiptoe, and endeavouring to obtain a glimpse of what was passing
inside, which at that distance was impossible--'drinking, I
suppose,--making himself more fiery and furious, and heating his
malice and mischievousness till they boil. I'm always afraid to
come here by myself, when his account's a pretty large one. I
don't believe he'd mind throttling me, and dropping me softly into
the river when the tide was at its strongest, any more than he'd
mind killing a rat--indeed I don't know whether he wouldn't
consider it a pleasant joke. Hark! Now he's singing!'
Mr Quilp was certainly entertaining himself with vocal exercise,
but it was rather a kind of chant than a song; being a monotonous
repetition of one sentence in a very rapid manner, with a long
stress upon the last word, which he swelled into a dismal roar.
Nor did the burden of this performance bear any reference to love,
or war, or wine, or loyalty, or any other, the standard topics of
song, but to a subject not often set to music or generally known in
ballads; the words being these:--'The worthy magistrate, after
remarking that the prisoner would find some difficulty in
persuading a jury to believe his tale, committed him to take his
trial at the approaching sessions; and directed the customary
recognisances to be entered into for the pros-e-cu-tion.'
Every time he came to this concluding word, and had exhausted all
possible stress upon it, Quilp burst into a shriek of laughter, and
began again.
'He's dreadfully imprudent,' muttered Brass, after he had listened
to two or three repetitions of the chant. 'Horribly imprudent. I
wish he was dumb. I wish he was deaf. I wish he was blind. Hang
him,' cried Brass, as the chant began again. 'I wish he was dead!'
Giving utterance to these friendly aspirations in behalf of his
client, Mr Sampson composed his face into its usual state of
smoothness, and waiting until the shriek came again and was dying
away, went up to the wooden house, and knocked at the door.
'Come in!' cried the dwarf.
'How do you do to-night sir?' said Sampson, peeping in. 'Ha ha ha!
How do you do sir? Oh dear me, how very whimsical! Amazingly
whimsical to be sure!'
'Come in, you fool!' returned the dwarf, 'and don't stand there
shaking your head and showing your teeth. Come in, you false
witness, you perjurer, you suborner of evidence, come in!'
'He has the richest humour!' cried Brass, shutting the door behind
him; 'the most amazing vein of comicality! But isn't it rather
injudicious, sir--?'
'What?' demanded Quilp. 'What, Judas?'
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'Judas!' cried Brass. 'He has such extraordinary spirits! His
humour is so extremely playful! Judas! Oh yes--dear me, how very
good! Ha ha ha!'
All this time, Sampson was rubbing his hands, and staring, with
ludicrous surprise and dismay, at a great, goggle-eyed, blunt-nosed
figure-head of some old ship, which was reared up against the wall
in a corner near the stove, looking like a goblin or hideous idol
whom the dwarf worshipped. A mass of timber on its head, carved
into the dim and distant semblance of a cocked hat, together with
a representation of a star on the left breast and epaulettes on the
shoulders, denoted that it was intended for the effigy of some
famous admiral; but, without those helps, any observer might have
supposed it the authentic portrait of a distinguished merman, or
great sea-monster. Being originally much too large for the
apartment which it was now employed to decorate, it had been sawn
short off at the waist. Even in this state it reached from floor
to ceiling; and thrusting itself forward, with that excessively
; wide-awake aspect, and air of somewhat obtrusive politeness, by
which figure-heads are usually characterised, seemed to reduce
everything else to mere pigmy proportions.
'Do you know it?' said the dwarf, watching Sampson's eyes. 'Do you
see the likeness?'
'Eh?' said Brass, holding his head on one side, and throwing it a
little back, as connoisseurs do. 'Now I look at it again, I fancy
I see a--yes, there certainly is something in the smile that
reminds me of--and yet upon my word I--'
Now, the fact was, that Sampson, having never seen anything in the
smallest degree resembling this substantial phantom, was much
perplexed; being uncertain whether Mr Quilp considered it like
himself, and had therefore bought it for a family portrait; or
whether he was pleased to consider it as the likeness of some
enemy. He was not very long in doubt; for, while he was surveying
it with that knowing look which people assume when they are
contemplating for the first time portraits which they ought to
recognise but don't, the dwarf threw down the newspaper from which
he had been chanting the words already quoted, and seizing a rusty
iron bar, which he used in lieu of poker, dealt the figure such a
stroke on the nose that it rocked again.
'Is it like Kit--is it his picture, his image, his very self?'
cried the dwarf, aiming a shower of blows at the insensible
countenance, and covering it with deep dimples. 'Is it the exact
model and counterpart of the dog--is it--is it--is it?' And
with every repetition of the question, he battered the great image,
until the perspiration streamed down his face with the violence of
the exercise.
Although this might have been a very comical thing to look at from
a secure gallery, as a bull-fight is found to be a comfortable
spectacle by those who are not in the arena, and a house on fire is
better than a play to people who don't live near it, there was
something in the earnestness of Mr Quilp's manner which made his
legal adviser feel that the counting-house was a little too small,
and a deal too lonely, for the complete enjoyment of these humours.
Therefore, he stood as far off as he could, while the dwarf was
thus engaged; whimpering out but feeble applause; and when Quilp
left off and sat down again from pure exhaustion, approached with
more obsequiousness than ever.
'Excellent indeed!' cried Brass. 'He he! Oh, very good Sir. You
know,' said Sampson, looking round as if in appeal to the bruised
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animal, 'he's quite a remarkable man--quite!'
'Sit down,' said the dwarf. 'I bought the dog yesterday. I've
been screwing gimlets into him, and sticking forks in his eyes, and
cutting my name on him. I mean to burn him at last.'
'Ha ha!' cried Brass. 'Extremely entertaining, indeed!'
'Come here,' said Quilp, beckoning him to draw near. 'What's
injudicious, hey?'
'Nothing Sir--nothing. Scarcely worth mentioning Sir; but I
thought that song--admirably humorous in itself you know--was
perhaps rather--'
'Yes,' said Quilp, 'rather what?'
'Just bordering, or as one may say remotely verging, upon the
confines of injudiciousness perhaps, Sir,' returned Brass, looking
timidly at the dwarf's cunning eyes, which were turned towards the
fire and reflected its red light.
'Why?' inquired Quilp, without looking up.
'Why, you know, sir,' returned Brass, venturing to be more
familiar: '--the fact is, sir, that any allusion to these little
combinings together, of friends, for objects in themselves
extremely laudable, but which the law terms conspiracies, are--you
take me, sir?--best kept snug and among friends, you know.'
'Eh!' said Quilp, looking up with a perfectly vacant countenance.
'What do you mean?'
'Cautious, exceedingly cautious, very right and proper!' cried
Brass, nodding his head. 'Mum, sir, even here--my meaning, sir,
exactly.'
'YOUR meaning exactly, you brazen scarecrow,--what's your
meaning?' retorted Quilp. 'Why do you talk to me of combining
together? Do I combine? Do I know anything about your
combinings?'
'No no, sir--certainly not; not by any means,' returned Brass.
'if you so wink and nod at me,' said the dwarf, looking about him
as if for his poker, 'I'll spoil the expression of your monkey's
face, I will.'
'Don't put yourself out of the way I beg, sir,' rejoined Brass,
checking himself with great alacrity. 'You're quite right, sir,
quite right. I shouldn't have mentioned the subject, sir. It's
much better not to. You're quite right, sir. Let us change it, if
you please. You were asking, sir, Sally told me, about our lodger.
He has not returned, sir.'
'No?' said Quilp, heating some rum in a little saucepan, and
watching it to prevent its boiling over. 'Why not?'
'Why, sir,' returned Brass, 'he--dear me, Mr Quilp, sir--'
'What's the matter?' said the dwarf, stopping his hand in the act
of carrying the saucepan to his mouth.
'You have forgotten the water, sir,' said Brass. 'And--excuse me,
sir--but it's burning hot.'
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Deigning no other than a practical answer to this remonstrance, Mr
Quilp raised the hot saucepan to his lips, and deliberately drank
off all the spirit it contained, which might have been in quantity
about half a pint, and had been but a moment before, when he took
it off the fire, bubbling and hissing fiercely. Having swallowed
this gentle stimulant, and shaken his fist at the admiral, he bade
Mr Brass proceed.
'But first,' said Quilp, with his accustomed grin, 'have a drop
yourself--a nice drop--a good, warm, fiery drop.'
'Why, sir,' replied Brass, 'if there was such a thing as a mouthful
of water that could be got without trouble--'
'There's no such thing to be had here,' cried the dwarf. 'Water
for lawyers! Melted lead and brimstone, you mean, nice hot
blistering pitch and tar--that's the thing for them--eh, Brass,
eh?'
'Ha ha ha!' laughed Mr Brass. 'Oh very biting! and yet it's like
being tickled--there's a pleasure in it too, sir!'
'Drink that,' said the dwarf, who had by this time heated some
more. 'Toss it off, don't leave any heeltap, scorch your throat
and be happy!'
The wretched Sampson took a few short sips of the liquor, which
immediately distilled itself into burning tears, and in that form
came rolling down his cheeks into the pipkin again, turning the
colour of his face and eyelids to a deep red, and giving rise to a
violent fit of coughing, in the midst of which he was still heard
to declare, with the constancy of a martyr, that it was 'beautiful
indeed!' While he was yet in unspeakable agonies, the dwarf
renewed their conversation.
'The lodger,' said Quilp, '--what about him?'
'He is still, sir,' returned Brass, with intervals of coughin
g,
'stopping with the Garland family. He has only been home once,
Sir, since the day of the examination of that culprit. He informed
Mr Richard, sir, that he couldn't bear the house after what had
taken place; that he was wretched in it; and that he looked upon
himself as being in a certain kind of way the cause of the
occurrence.--A very excellent lodger Sir. I hope we may not lose
him.'
'Yah!' cried the dwarf. 'Never thinking of anybody but yourself--
why don't you retrench then--scrape up, hoard, economise, eh?'
'Why, sir,' replied Brass, 'upon my word I think Sarah's as good an
economiser as any going. I do indeed, Mr Quilp.'
'Moisten your clay, wet the other eye, drink, man!' cried the
dwarf. 'You took a clerk to oblige me.'
'Delighted, sir, I am sure, at any time,' replied Sampson. 'Yes,
Sir, I did.'
'Then now you may discharge him,' said Quilp. 'There's a means of
retrenchment for you at once.'
'Discharge Mr Richard, sir?' cried Brass.
'Have you more than one clerk, you parrot, that you ask the
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question? Yes.'
'Upon my word, Sir,' said Brass, 'I wasn't prepared for this-'
'How could you be?' sneered the dwarf, 'when I wasn't? How often
am I to tell you that I brought him to you that I might always have
my eye on him and know where he was--and that I had a plot, a
scheme, a little quiet piece of enjoyment afoot, of which the very
cream and essence was, that this old man and grandchild (who have
sunk underground I think) should be, while he and his precious
friend believed them rich, in reality as poor as frozen rats?'
'I quite understood that, sir,' rejoined Brass. 'Thoroughly.'
'Well, Sir,' retorted Quilp, 'and do you understand now, that
they're not poor--that they can't be, if they have such men as
your lodger searching for them, and scouring the country far and
wide?'
'Of course I do, Sir,' said Sampson.
'Of course you do,' retorted the dwarf, viciously snapping at his
words. 'Of course do you understand then, that it's no matter what
comes of this fellow? of course do you understand that for any
other purpose he's no man for me, nor for you?'
'I have frequently said to Sarah, sir,' returned Brass, 'that he
was of no use at all in the business. You can't put any confidence
in him, sir. If you'll believe me I've found that fellow, in the
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