The Old Curiosity Shop

by Dickens, Charles

  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