Martin Chuzzlewit

by Charles Dickens

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CONTAINING SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS OF THE DOMESTIC ECONOMY OF THEPINCHES; WITH STRANGE NEWS FROM THE CITY, NARROWLY CONCERNING TOM

  Pleasant little Ruth! Cheerful, tidy, bustling, quiet little Ruth! Nodoll's house ever yielded greater delight to its young mistress, thanlittle Ruth derived from her glorious dominion over the triangularparlour and the two small bedrooms.

  To be Tom's housekeeper. What dignity! Housekeeping, upon the commonestterms, associated itself with elevated responsibilities of all sorts andkinds; but housekeeping for Tom implied the utmost complication ofgrave trusts and mighty charges. Well might she take the keys out ofthe little chiffonier which held the tea and sugar; and out of thetwo little damp cupboards down by the fireplace, where the very blackbeetles got mouldy, and had the shine taken out of their backs byenvious mildew; and jingle them upon a ring before Tom's eyes when hecame down to breakfast! Well might she, laughing musically, put themup in that blessed little pocket of hers with a merry pride! For it wassuch a grand novelty to be mistress of anything, that if she had beenthe most relentless and despotic of all little housekeepers, she mighthave pleaded just that much for her excuse, and have been honourablyacquitted.

  So far from being despotic, however, there was a coyness about her veryway of pouring out the tea, which Tom quite revelled in. And whenshe asked him what he would like to have for dinner, and falteredout 'chops' as a reasonably good suggestion after their lastnight's successful supper, Tom grew quite facetious, and rallied herdesperately.

  'I don't know, Tom,' said his sister, blushing, 'I am not quiteconfident, but I think I could make a beef-steak pudding, if I tried,Tom.'

  'In the whole catalogue of cookery, there is nothing I should like somuch as a beef-steak pudding!' cried Tom, slapping his leg to give thegreater force to this reply.

  'Yes, dear, that's excellent! But if it should happen not to come quiteright the first time,' his sister faltered; 'if it should happen notto be a pudding exactly, but should turn out a stew, or a soup, orsomething of that sort, you'll not be vexed, Tom, will you?'

  The serious way in which she looked at Tom; the way in which Tom lookedat her; and the way in which she gradually broke into a merry laugh ather own expense, would have enchanted you.

  'Why,' said Tom 'this is capital. It gives us a new, and quite anuncommon interest in the dinner. We put into a lottery for a beefsteakpudding, and it is impossible to say what we may get. We may make somewonderful discovery, perhaps, and produce such a dish as never was knownbefore.'

  'I shall not be at all surprised if we do, Tom,' returned his sister,still laughing merrily, 'or if it should prove to be such a dish as weshall not feel very anxious to produce again; but the meat must come outof the saucepan at last, somehow or other, you know. We can't cook itinto nothing at all; that's a great comfort. So if you like to venture,I will.'

  'I have not the least doubt,' rejoined Tom, 'that it will come out anexcellent pudding, or at all events, I am sure that I shall think it so.There is naturally something so handy and brisk about you, Ruth, thatif you said you could make a bowl of faultless turtle soup, I shouldbelieve you.'

  And Tom was right. She was precisely that sort of person. Nobody oughtto have been able to resist her coaxing manner; and nobody had anybusiness to try. Yet she never seemed to know it was her manner at all.That was the best of it.

  Well! she washed up the breakfast cups, chatting away the whole time,and telling Tom all sorts of anecdotes about the brass-and-copperfounder; put everything in its place; made the room as neat asherself;--you must not suppose its shape was half as neat as hersthough, or anything like it--and brushed Tom's old hat round andround and round again, until it was as sleek as Mr Pecksniff. Then shediscovered, all in a moment, that Tom's shirt-collar was frayed at theedge; and flying upstairs for a needle and thread, came flying downagain with her thimble on, and set it right with wonderful expertness;never once sticking the needle into his face, although she was humminghis pet tune from first to last, and beating time with the fingers ofher left hand upon his neckcloth. She had no sooner done this, than offshe was again; and there she stood once more, as brisk and busy as abee, tying that compact little chin of hers into an equally compactlittle bonnet; intent on bustling out to the butcher's, without aminute's loss of time; and inviting Tom to come and see the steak cut,with his own eyes. As to Tom, he was ready to go anywhere; so off theytrotted, arm-in-arm, as nimbly as you please; saying to each other whata quiet street it was to lodge in, and how very cheap, and what an airysituation.

  To see the butcher slap the steak, before he laid it on the block, andgive his knife a sharpening, was to forget breakfast instantly. It wasagreeable, too--it really was--to see him cut it off, so smooth andjuicy. There was nothing savage in the act, although the knife was largeand keen; it was a piece of art, high art; there was delicacy of touch,clearness of tone, skillful handling of the subject, fine shading. Itwas the triumph of mind over matter; quite.

  Perhaps the greenest cabbage-leaf ever grown in a garden was wrappedabout this steak, before it was delivered over to Tom. But the butcherhad a sentiment for his business, and knew how to refine upon it. Whenhe saw Tom putting the cabbage-leaf into his pocket awkwardly, he beggedto be allowed to do it for him; 'for meat,' he said with some emotion,'must be humoured, not drove.'

  Back they went to the lodgings again, after they had bought some eggs,and flour, and such small matters; and Tom sat gravely down to write atone end of the parlour table, while Ruth prepared to make the pudding atthe other end; for there was nobody in the house but an old woman (thelandlord being a mysterious sort of man, who went out early in themorning, and was scarcely ever seen); and saving in mere householddrudgery, they waited on themselves.

  'What are you writing, Tom?' inquired his sister, laying her hand uponhis shoulder.

  'Why, you see, my dear,' said Tom, leaning back in his chair, andlooking up in her face, 'I am very anxious, of course, to obtain somesuitable employment; and before Mr Westlock comes this afternoon,I think I may as well prepare a little description of myself and myqualifications; such as he could show to any friend of his.'

  'You had better do the same for me, Tom, also,' said his sister, castingdown her eyes. 'I should dearly like to keep house for you and take careof you always, Tom; but we are not rich enough for that.'

  'We are not rich,' returned Tom, 'certainly; and we may be much poorer.But we will not part if we can help it. No, no; we will make up ourminds Ruth, that unless we are so very unfortunate as to render me quitesure that you would be better off away from me than with me, we willbattle it out together. I am certain we shall be happier if we canbattle it out together. Don't you think we shall?'

  'Think, Tom!'

  'Oh, tut, tut!' interposed Tom, tenderly. 'You mustn't cry.'

  'No, no; I won't, Tom. But you can't afford it, dear. You can't,indeed.'

  'We don't know that,' said Tom. 'How are we to know that, yet awhile,and without trying? Lord bless my soul!'--Tom's energy became quitegrand--'there is no knowing what may happen, if we try hard. And I amsure we can live contentedly upon a very little--if we can only get it.'

  'Yes; that I am sure we can, Tom.'

  'Why, then,' said Tom, 'we must try for it. My friend, John Westlock, isa capital fellow, and very shrewd and intelligent. I'll take his advice.We'll talk it over with him--both of us together. You'll like John verymuch, when you come to know him, I am certain. Don't cry, don't cry. YOUmake a beef-steak pudding, indeed!' said Tom, giving her a gentle push.'Why, you haven't boldness enough for a dumpling!'

  'You WILL call it a pudding, Tom. Mind! I told you not!'

  'I may as well call it that, till it proves to be something else,' saidTom. 'Oh, you are going to work in earnest, are you?'

  Aye, aye! That she was. And in such pleasant earnest, moreover, thatTom's attention wandered from his writing every moment. First, shetripped downstairs into the kitchen for the flour, then for thepie-boar
d, then for the eggs, then for the butter, then for a jug ofwater, then for the rolling-pin, then for a pudding-basin, then for thepepper, then for the salt; making a separate journey for everything, andlaughing every time she started off afresh. When all the materials werecollected she was horrified to find she had no apron on, and so ranUPstairs by way of variety, to fetch it. She didn't put it on upstairs,but came dancing down with it in her hand; and being one of those littlewomen to whom an apron is a most becoming little vanity, it tookan immense time to arrange; having to be carefully smoothed downbeneath--Oh, heaven, what a wicked little stomacher!--and to be gatheredup into little plaits by the strings before it could be tied, and tobe tapped, rebuked, and wheedled, at the pockets, before it would setright, which at last it did, and when it did--but never mind; this isa sober chronicle. And then, there were her cuffs to be tucked up, forfear of flour; and she had a little ring to pull off her finger, whichwouldn't come off (foolish little ring!); and during the whole of thesepreparations she looked demurely every now and then at Tom, from underher dark eyelashes, as if they were all a part of the pudding, andindispensable to its composition.

  For the life and soul of him, Tom could get no further in hiswriting than, 'A respectable young man, aged thirty-five,' and this,notwithstanding the show she made of being supernaturally quiet, andgoing about on tiptoe, lest she should disturb him; which only servedas an additional means of distracting his attention, and keeping it uponher.

  'Tom,' she said at last, in high glee. 'Tom!'

  'What now?' said Tom, repeating to himself, 'aged thirty-five!'

  'Will you look here a moment, please?'

  As if he hadn't been looking all the time!

  'I am going to begin, Tom. Don't you wonder why I butter the inside ofthe basin?' said his busy little sister.

  'Not more than you do, I dare say,' replied Tom, laughing. 'For Ibelieve you don't know anything about it.'

  'What an infidel you are, Tom! How else do you think it would turn outeasily when it was done! For a civil-engineer and land-surveyor not toknow that! My goodness, Tom!'

  It was wholly out of the question to try to write. Tom lined out'respectable young man, aged thirty-five;' and sat looking on, pen inhand, with one of the most loving smiles imaginable.

  Such a busy little woman as she was! So full of self-importance andtrying so hard not to smile, or seem uncertain about anything! It was aperfect treat to Tom to see her with her brows knit, and her rosy lipspursed up, kneading away at the crust, rolling it out, cutting it upinto strips, lining the basin with it, shaving it off fine round therim, chopping up the steak into small pieces, raining down pepper andsalt upon them, packing them into the basin, pouring in cold water forgravy, and never venturing to steal a look in his direction, lest hergravity should be disturbed; until, at last, the basin being quite fulland only wanting the top crust, she clapped her hands all covered withpaste and flour, at Tom, and burst out heartily into such a charminglittle laugh of triumph, that the pudding need have had no otherseasoning to commend it to the taste of any reasonable man on earth.

  'Where's the pudding?' said Tom. For he was cutting his jokes, Tom was.

  'Where!' she answered, holding it up with both hands. 'Look at it!'

  'THAT a pudding!' said Tom.

  'It WILL be, you stupid fellow, when it's covered in,' returned hissister. Tom still pretending to look incredulous, she gave him a tap onthe head with the rolling-pin, and still laughing merrily, had returnedto the composition of the top crust, when she started and turned veryred. Tom started, too, for following her eyes, he saw John Westlock inthe room.

  'Why, my goodness, John! How did YOU come in?'

  'I beg pardon,' said John--' your sister's pardon especially--but I metan old lady at the street door, who requested me to enter here; and asyou didn't hear me knock, and the door was open, I made bold to do so.I hardly know,' said John, with a smile, 'why any of us should bedisconcerted at my having accidentally intruded upon such an agreeabledomestic occupation, so very agreeably and skillfully pursued; but Imust confess that I am. Tom, will you kindly come to my relief?'

  'Mr John Westlock,' said Tom. 'My sister.'

  'I hope that, as the sister of so old a friend,' said John, laughing'you will have the goodness to detach your first impressions of me frommy unfortunate entrance.'

  'My sister is not indisposed perhaps to say the same to you on her ownbehalf,' retorted Tom.

  John said, of course, that this was quite unnecessary, for he had beentransfixed in silent admiration; and he held out his hand to Miss Pinch;who couldn't take it, however, by reason of the flour and paste upon herown. This, which might seem calculated to increase the general confusionand render matters worse, had in reality the best effect in theworld, for neither of them could help laughing; and so they both foundthemselves on easy terms immediately.

  'I am delighted to see you,' said Tom. 'Sit down.'

  'I can only think of sitting down on one condition,' returned hisfriend; 'and that is, that your sister goes on with the pudding, as ifyou were still alone.'

  'That I am sure she will,' said Tom. 'On one other condition, and thatis, that you stay and help us to eat it.'

  Poor little Ruth was seized with a palpitation of the heart when Tomcommitted this appalling indiscretion, for she felt that if the dishturned out a failure, she never would be able to hold up her headbefore John Westlock again. Quite unconscious of her state of mind,John accepted the invitation with all imaginable heartiness; and after alittle more pleasantry concerning this same pudding, and the tremendousexpectations he made believe to entertain of it, she blushingly resumedher occupation, and he took a chair.

  'I am here much earlier than I intended, Tom; but I will tell you, whatbrings me, and I think I can answer for your being glad to hear it. Isthat anything you wish to show me?'

  'Oh dear no!' cried Tom, who had forgotten the blotted scrap of paperin his hand, until this inquiry brought it to his recollection. '"Arespectable young man, aged thirty-five"--The beginning of a descriptionof myself. That's all.'

  'I don't think you will have occasion to finish it, Tom. But how is ityou never told me you had friends in London?'

  Tom looked at his sister with all his might; and certainly his sisterlooked with all her might at him.

  'Friends in London!' echoed Tom.

  'Ah!' said Westlock, 'to be sure.'

  'Have YOU any friends in London, Ruth, my dear!' asked Tom.

  'No, Tom.'

  'I am very happy to hear that I have,' said Tom, 'but it's news to me. Inever knew it. They must be capital people to keep a secret, John.'

  'You shall judge for yourself,' returned the other. 'Seriously, Tom,here is the plain state of the case. As I was sitting at breakfast thismorning, there comes a knock at my door.'

  'On which you cried out, very loud, "Come in!"' suggested Tom.

  'So I did. And the person who knocked, not being a respectable youngman, aged thirty-five, from the country, came in when he was invited,instead of standing gaping and staring about him on the landing. Well!When he came in, I found he was a stranger; a grave, business-like,sedate-looking, stranger. "Mr Westlock?" said he. "That is my name,"said I. "The favour of a few words with you?" said he. "Pray be seated,sir," said I.'

  Here John stopped for an instant, to glance towards the table, whereTom's sister, listening attentively, was still busy with the basin,which by this time made a noble appearance. Then he resumed:

  'The pudding having taken a chair, Tom--'

  'What!' cried Tom.

  'Having taken a chair.'

  'You said a pudding.'

  'No, no,' replied John, colouring rather; 'a chair. The idea of astranger coming into my rooms at half-past eight o'clock in the morning,and taking a pudding! Having taken a chair, Tom, a chair--amazed me byopening the conversation thus: "I believe you are acquainted, sir, withMr Thomas Pinch?"

  'No!' cried Tom.

  'His very words, I assure you. I told him I
was. Did I know where youwere at present residing? Yes. In London? Yes. He had casually heard,in a roundabout way, that you had left your situation with Mr Pecksniff.Was that the fact? Yes, it was. Did you want another? Yes, you did.'

  'Certainly,' said Tom, nodding his head.

  'Just what I impressed upon him. You may rest assured that I set thatpoint beyond the possibility of any mistake, and gave him distinctly tounderstand that he might make up his mind about it. Very well.'

  "Then," said he, "I think I can accommodate him."'

  Tom's sister stopped short.

  'Lord bless me!' cried Tom. 'Ruth, my dear, "think I can accommodatehim."'

  'Of course I begged him,' pursued John Westlock, glancing at Tom'ssister, who was not less eager in her interest than Tom himself, 'toproceed, and said that I would undertake to see you immediately. Hereplied that he had very little to say, being a man of few words,but such as it was, it was to the purpose--and so, indeed, it turnedout--for he immediately went on to tell me that a friend of his was inwant of a kind of secretary and librarian; and that although the salarywas small, being only a hundred pounds a year, with neither boardnor lodging, still the duties were not heavy, and there the post was.Vacant, and ready for your acceptance.'

  'Good gracious me!' cried Tom; 'a hundred pounds a year! My dear John!Ruth, my love! A hundred pounds a year!'

  'But the strangest part of the story,' resumed John Westlock, laying hishand on Tom's wrist, to bespeak his attention, and repress his ecstasiesfor the moment; 'the strangest part of the story, Miss Pinch, is this. Idon't know this man from Adam; neither does this man know Tom.'

  'He can't,' said Tom, in great perplexity, 'if he's a Londoner. I don'tknow any one in London.'

  'And on my observing,' John resumed, still keeping his hand upon Tom'swrist, 'that I had no doubt he would excuse the freedom I took ininquiring who directed him to me; how he came to know of the changewhich had taken place in my friend's position; and how he came to beacquainted with my friend's peculiar fitness for such an office as hehad described; he drily said that he was not at liberty to enter intoany explanations.'

  'Not at liberty to enter into any explanations!' repeated Tom, drawing along breath.

  '"I must be perfectly aware," he said,' John added, '"that to any personwho had ever been in Mr Pecksniff's neighbourhood, Mr Thomas Pinch andhis acquirements were as well known as the Church steeple, or the BlueDragon."'

  'The Blue Dragon!' repeated Tom, staring alternately at his friend andhis sister.

  'Aye, think of that! He spoke as familiarly of the Blue Dragon, I giveyou my word, as if he had been Mark Tapley. I opened my eyes, I cantell you, when he did so; but I could not fancy I had ever seen the manbefore, although he said with a smile, "You know the Blue Dragon, MrWestlock; you kept it up there, once or twice, yourself." Kept it upthere! So I did. You remember, Tom?'

  Tom nodded with great significance, and, falling into a state of deeperperplexity than before, observed that this was the most unaccountableand extraordinary circumstance he had ever heard of in his life.

  'Unaccountable?' his friend repeated. 'I became afraid of the man.Though it was broad day, and bright sunshine, I was positively afraidof him. I declare I half suspected him to be a supernatural visitor,and not a mortal, until he took out a common-place description ofpocket-book, and handed me this card.'

  'Mr Fips,' said Tom, reading it aloud. 'Austin Friars. Austin Friarssounds ghostly, John.'

  'Fips don't, I think,' was John's reply. 'But there he lives, Tom, andthere he expects us to call this morning. And now you know as much ofthis strange incident as I do, upon my honour.'

  Tom's face, between his exultation in the hundred pounds a year, andhis wonder at this narration, was only to be equalled by the face of hissister, on which there sat the very best expression of blooming surprisethat any painter could have wished to see. What the beef-steak puddingwould have come to, if it had not been by this time finished, astrologyitself could hardly determine.

  'Tom,' said Ruth, after a little hesitation, 'perhaps Mr Westlock, inhis friendship for you, knows more of this than he chooses to tell.'

  'No, indeed!' cried John, eagerly. 'It is not so, I assure you. I wishit were. I cannot take credit to myself, Miss Pinch, for any such thing.All that I know, or, so far as I can judge, am likely to know, I havetold you.'

  'Couldn't you know more, if you thought proper?' said Ruth, scraping thepie-board industriously.

  'No,' retorted John. 'Indeed, no. It is very ungenerous in you to be sosuspicious of me when I repose implicit faith in you. I have unboundedconfidence in the pudding, Miss Pinch.'

  She laughed at this, but they soon got back into a serious vein, anddiscussed the subject with profound gravity. Whatever else was obscurein the business, it appeared to be quite plain that Tom was offered asalary of one hundred pounds a year; and this being the main point, thesurrounding obscurity rather set it off than otherwise.

  Tom, being in a great flutter, wished to start for Austin Friarsinstantly, but they waited nearly an hour, by John's advice, before theydeparted. Tom made himself as spruce as he could before leaving home,and when John Westlock, through the half-opened parlour door, hadglimpses of that brave little sister brushing the collar of his coat inthe passage, taking up loose stitches in his gloves and hovering lightlyabout and about him, touching him up here and there in the height ofher quaint, little, old-fashioned tidiness, he called to mind thefancy-portraits of her on the wall of the Pecksniffian workroom, anddecided with uncommon indignation that they were gross libels, and nothalf pretty enough; though, as hath been mentioned in its place, theartists always made those sketches beautiful, and he had drawn at leasta score of them with his own hands.

  'Tom,' he said, as they were walking along, 'I begin to think you mustbe somebody's son.'

  'I suppose I am,' Tom answered in his quiet way.

  'But I mean somebody's of consequence.'

  'Bless your heart,' replied Tom, 'my poor father was of no consequence,nor my mother either.'

  'You remember them perfectly, then?'

  'Remember them? oh dear yes. My poor mother was the last. She died whenRuth was a mere baby, and then we both became a charge upon the savingsof that good old grandmother I used to tell you of. You remember! Oh!There's nothing romantic in our history, John.'

  'Very well,' said John in quiet despair. 'Then there is no way ofaccounting for my visitor of this morning. So we'll not try, Tom.'

  They did try, notwithstanding, and never left off trying until theygot to Austin Friars, where, in a very dark passage on the first floor,oddly situated at the back of a house, across some leads, they found alittle blear-eyed glass door up in one corner, with Mr FIPS painted onit in characters which were meant to be transparent. There was also awicked old sideboard hiding in the gloom hard by, meditating designsupon the ribs of visitors; and an old mat, worn into lattice work,which, being useless as a mat (even if anybody could have seen it, whichwas impossible), had for many years directed its industry into anotherchannel, and regularly tripped up every one of Mr Fips's clients.

  Mr Fips, hearing a violent concussion between a human hat and his officedoor, was apprised, by the usual means of communication, that somebodyhad come to call upon him, and giving that somebody admission, observedthat it was 'rather dark.'

  'Dark indeed,' John whispered in Tom Pinch's ear. 'Not a bad place todispose of a countryman in, I should think, Tom.'

  Tom had been already turning over in his mind the possibility of theirhaving been tempted into that region to furnish forth a pie; but thesight of Mr Fips, who was small and spare, and looked peaceable, andwore black shorts and powder, dispelled his doubts.

  'Walk in,' said Mr Fips.

  They walked in. And a mighty yellow-jaundiced little office Mr Fipshad of it; with a great, black, sprawling splash upon the floor in onecorner, as if some old clerk had cut his throat there, years ago, andhad let out ink instead of blood.

  'I have brought
my friend Mr Pinch, sir,' said John Westlock.

  'Be pleased to sit,' said Mr Fips.

  They occupied the two chairs, and Mr Fips took the office stool from thestuffing whereof he drew forth a piece of horse-hair of immense length,which he put into his mouth with a great appearance of appetite.

  He looked at Tom Pinch curiously, but with an entire freedom from anysuch expression as could be reasonably construed into an unusualdisplay of interest. After a short silence, during which Mr Fips wasso perfectly unembarrassed as to render it manifest that he could havebroken it sooner without hesitation, if he had felt inclined to do so,he asked if Mr Westlock had made his offer fully known to Mr Pinch.

  John answered in the affirmative.

  'And you think it worth your while, sir, do you?' Mr Fips inquired ofTom.

  'I think it a piece of great good fortune, sir,' said Tom. 'I amexceedingly obliged to you for the offer.'

  'Not to me,' said Mr Fips. 'I act upon instructions.'

  'To your friend, sir, then,' said Tom. 'To the gentleman with whom I amto engage, and whose confidence I shall endeavour to deserve. When heknows me better, sir, I hope he will not lose his good opinion of me.He will find me punctual and vigilant, and anxious to do what is right.That I think I can answer for, and so,' looking towards him, 'can MrWestlock.'

  'Most assuredly,' said John.

  Mr Fips appeared to have some little difficulty in resuming theconversation. To relieve himself, he took up the wafer-stamp, and beganstamping capital F's all over his legs.

  'The fact is,' said Mr Fips, 'that my friend is not, at this presentmoment, in town.'

  Tom's countenance fell; for he thought this equivalent to telling himthat his appearance did not answer; and that Fips must look out forsomebody else.

  'When do you think he will be in town, sir?' he asked.

  'I can't say; it's impossible to tell. I really have no idea. But,' saidFips, taking off a very deep impression of the wafer-stamp upon the calfof his left leg, and looking steadily at Tom, 'I don't know that it's amatter of much consequence.'

  Poor Tom inclined his head deferentially, but appeared to doubt that.

  'I say,' repeated Mr Fips, 'that I don't know it's a matter of muchconsequence. The business lies entirely between yourself and me, MrPinch. With reference to your duties, I can set you going; and withreference to your salary, I can pay it. Weekly,' said Mr Fips, puttingdown the wafer-stamp, and looking at John Westlock and Tom Pinch byturns, 'weekly; in this office; at any time between the hours of fourand five o'clock in the afternoon.' As Mr Fips said this, he made up hisface as if he were going to whistle. But he didn't.

  'You are very good,' said Tom, whose countenance was now suffused withpleasure; 'and nothing can be more satisfactory or straightforward. Myattendance will be required--'

  'From half-past nine to four o'clock or so, I should say,' interruptedMr Fips. 'About that.'

  'I did not mean the hours of attendance,' retorted Tom, 'which are lightand easy, I am sure; but the place.'

  'Oh, the place! The place is in the Temple.'

  Tom was delighted.

  'Perhaps,' said Mr Fips, 'you would like to see the place?'

  'Oh, dear!' cried Tom. 'I shall only be too glad to consider myselfengaged, if you will allow me; without any further reference to theplace.'

  'You may consider yourself engaged, by all means,' said Mr Fips; 'youcouldn't meet me at the Temple Gate in Fleet Street, in an hour fromthis time, I suppose, could you?'

  Certainly Tom could.

  'Good,' said Mr Fips, rising. 'Then I will show you the place; and youcan begin your attendance to-morrow morning. In an hour, therefore, Ishall see you. You too, Mr Westlock? Very good. Take care how you go.It's rather dark.'

  With this remark, which seemed superfluous, he shut them out uponthe staircase, and they groped their way into the street again. Theinterview had done so little to remove the mystery in which Tom'snew engagement was involved, and had done so much to thicken it, thatneither could help smiling at the puzzled looks of the other. Theyagreed, however, that the introduction of Tom to his new office andoffice companions could hardly fail to throw a light upon the subject;and therefore postponed its further consideration until after thefulfillment of the appointment they had made with Mr Fips.

  After looking at John Westlock's chambers, and devoting a few spareminutes to the Boar's Head, they issued forth again to the place ofmeeting. The time agreed upon had not quite come; but Mr Fips wasalready at the Temple Gate, and expressed his satisfaction at theirpunctuality.

  He led the way through sundry lanes and courts, into one more quiet andmore gloomy than the rest, and, singling out a certain house, ascendeda common staircase; taking from his pocket, as he went, a bunch of rustykeys. Stopping before a door upon an upper story, which had nothingbut a yellow smear of paint where custom would have placed thetenant's name, he began to beat the dust out of one of these keys, verydeliberately, upon the great broad handrail of the balustrade.

  'You had better have a little plug made,' he said, looking round at Tom,after blowing a shrill whistle into the barrel of the key. 'It's theonly way of preventing them from getting stopped up. You'll find thelock go the better, too, I dare say, for a little oil.'

  Tom thanked him; but was too much occupied with his own speculations,and John Westlock's looks, to be very talkative. In the meantime Mr Fipsopened the door, which yielded to his hand very unwillingly, and with ahorribly discordant sound. He took the key out, when he had done so, andgave it to Tom.

  'Aye, aye!' said Mr Fips. 'The dust lies rather thick here.'

  Truly, it did. Mr Fips might have gone so far as to say, very thick.It had accumulated everywhere; lay deep on everything, and in one part,where a ray of sun shone through a crevice in the shutter and struckupon the opposite wall, it went twirling round and round, like agigantic squirrel-cage.

  Dust was the only thing in the place that had any motion about it. Whentheir conductor admitted the light freely, and lifting up the heavywindow-sash, let in the summer air, he showed the mouldering furniture,discoloured wainscoting and ceiling, rusty stove, and ashy hearth, inall their inert neglect. Close to the door there stood a candlestick,with an extinguisher upon it; as if the last man who had been therehad paused, after securing a retreat, to take a parting look atthe dreariness he left behind, and then had shut out light and lifetogether, and closed the place up like a tomb.

  There were two rooms on that floor; and in the first or outer one anarrow staircase, leading to two more above. These last were fittedup as bed-chambers. Neither in them, nor in the rooms below, was anyscarcity of convenient furniture observable, although the fittingswere of a bygone fashion; but solitude and want of use seemed to haverendered it unfit for any purposes of comfort, and to have given it agrisly, haunted air.

  Movables of every kind lay strewn about, without the least attempt atorder, and were intermixed with boxes, hampers, and all sorts of lumber.On all the floors were piles of books, to the amount, perhaps, of somethousands of volumes: these, still in bales; those, wrapped in paper,as they had been purchased; others scattered singly or in heaps; not oneupon the shelves which lined the walls. To these Mr Fips called Tom'sattention.

  'Before anything else can be done, we must have them put in order,catalogued, and ranged upon the book-shelves, Mr Pinch. That will do tobegin with, I think, sir.'

  Tom rubbed his hands in the pleasant anticipation of a task so congenialto his taste, and said:

  'An occupation full of interest for me, I assure you. It will occupy me,perhaps, until Mr--'

  'Until Mr--' repeated Fips; as much as to ask Tom what he was stoppingfor.

  'I forgot that you had not mentioned the gentleman's name,' said Tom.

  'Oh!' cried Mr Fips, pulling on his glove, 'didn't I? No, by-the-bye,I don't think I did. Ah! I dare say he'll be here soon. You will get onvery well together, I have no doubt. I wish you success I am sure. Youwon't forget to shut the door? It'll lock of itself
if you slam it.Half-past nine, you know. Let us say from half-past nine to four, orhalf-past four, or thereabouts; one day, perhaps, a little earlier,another day, perhaps, a little later, according as you feel disposed,and as you arrange your work. Mr Fips, Austin Friars of course you'llremember? And you won't forget to slam the door, if you please!'

  He said all this in such a comfortable, easy manner, that Tom could onlyrub his hands, and nod his head, and smile in acquiescence which he wasstill doing, when Mr Fips walked coolly out.

  'Why, he's gone!' cried Tom.

  'And what's more, Tom,' said John Westlock, seating himself upon a pileof books, and looking up at his astonished friend, 'he is evidently notcoming back again; so here you are, installed. Under rather singularcircumstances, Tom!'

  It was such an odd affair throughout, and Tom standing there amongthe books with his hat in one hand and the key in the other, lookedso prodigiously confounded, that his friend could not help laughingheartily. Tom himself was tickled; no less by the hilarity of his friendthan by the recollection of the sudden manner in which he had beenbrought to a stop, in the very height of his urbane conference withMr Fips; so by degrees Tom burst out laughing too; and each making theother laugh more, they fairly roared.

  When they had had their laugh out, which did not happen very soon, forgive John an inch that way and he was sure to take several ells, beinga jovial, good-tempered fellow, they looked about them more closely,groping among the lumber for any stray means of enlightenment that mightturn up. But no scrap or shred of information could they find. The bookswere marked with a variety of owner's names, having, no doubt, beenbought at sales, and collected here and there at different times; butwhether any one of these names belonged to Tom's employer, and, if so,which of them, they had no means whatever of determining. It occurred toJohn as a very bright thought to make inquiry at the steward's office,to whom the chambers belonged, or by whom they were held; but he cameback no wiser than he went, the answer being, 'Mr Fips, of AustinFriars.'

  'After all, Tom, I begin to think it lies no deeper than this. Fipsis an eccentric man; has some knowledge of Pecksniff; despises him, ofcourse; has heard or seen enough of you to know that you are the man hewants; and engages you in his own whimsical manner.'

  'But why in his own whimsical manner?' asked Tom.

  'Oh! why does any man entertain his own whimsical taste? Why does MrFips wear shorts and powder, and Mr Fips's next-door neighbour boots anda wig?'

  Tom, being in that state of mind in which any explanation is a greatrelief, adopted this last one (which indeed was quite as feasible as anyother) readily, and said he had no doubt of it. Nor was his faith at allshaken by his having said exactly the same thing to each suggestion ofhis friend's in turn, and being perfectly ready to say it again if hehad any new solution to propose.

  As he had not, Tom drew down the window-sash, and folded the shutter;and they left the rooms. He closed the door heavily, as Mr Fips haddesired him; tried it, found it all safe, and put the key in his pocket.

  They made a pretty wide circuit in going back to Islington, as they hadtime to spare, and Tom was never tired of looking about him. It was wellhe had John Westlock for his companion, for most people would havebeen weary of his perpetual stoppages at shop-windows, and his frequentdashes into the crowded carriage-way at the peril of his life, to getthe better view of church steeples, and other public buildings. But Johnwas charmed to see him so much interested, and every time Tom came backwith a beaming face from among the wheels of carts and hackney-coaches,wholly unconscious of the personal congratulations addressed to him bythe drivers, John seemed to like him better than before.

  There was no flour on Ruth's hands when she received them in thetriangular parlour, but there were pleasant smiles upon her face, and acrowd of welcomes shining out of every smile, and gleaming in her brighteyes. By the bye, how bright they were! Looking into them for buta moment, when you took her hand, you saw, in each, such a capitalminiature of yourself, representing you as such a restless, flashing,eager, brilliant little fellow--

  Ah! if you could only have kept them for your own miniature! But,wicked, roving, restless, too impartial eyes, it was enough for any oneto stand before them, and, straightway, there he danced and sparkledquite as merrily as you!

  The table was already spread for dinner; and though it was spread withnothing very choice in the way of glass or linen, and with green-handledknives, and very mountebanks of two-pronged forks, which seemed to betrying how far asunder they could possibly stretch their legs withoutconverting themselves into double the number of iron toothpicks, itwanted neither damask, silver, gold, nor china; no, nor any othergarniture at all. There it was; and, being there, nothing else wouldhave done as well.

  The success of that initiative dish; that first experiment of hers incookery; was so entire, so unalloyed and perfect, that John Westlock andTom agreed she must have been studying the art in secret for a long timepast; and urged her to make a full confession of the fact. They wereexceedingly merry over this jest, and many smart things were saidconcerning it; but John was not as fair in his behaviour as mighthave been expected, for, after luring Tom Pinch on for a long time,he suddenly went over to the enemy, and swore to everything his sistersaid. However, as Tom observed the same night before going to bed, itwas only in joke, and John had always been famous for being politeto ladies, even when he was quite a boy. Ruth said, 'Oh! indeed!' Shedidn't say anything else.

  It is astonishing how much three people may find to talk about. Theyscarcely left off talking once. And it was not all lively chat whichoccupied them; for when Tom related how he had seen Mr Pecksniff'sdaughters, and what a change had fallen on the younger, they were veryserious.

  John Westlock became quite absorbed in her fortunes; asking manyquestions of Tom Pinch about her marriage, inquiring whether her husbandwas the gentleman whom Tom had brought to dine with him at Salisbury;in what degree of relationship they stood towards each other, beingdifferent persons; and taking, in short, the greatest interest in thesubject. Tom then went into it, at full length; he told how Martin hadgone abroad, and had not been heard of for a long time; how Dragon Markhad borne him company; how Mr Pecksniff had got the poor old dotinggrandfather into his power; and how he basely sought the hand of MaryGraham. But not a word said Tom of what lay hidden in his heart; hisheart, so deep, and true, and full of honour, and yet with so much roomfor every gentle and unselfish thought; not a word.

  Tom, Tom! The man in all this world most confident in his sagacity andshrewdness; the man in all this world most proud of his distrust ofother men, and having most to show in gold and silver as the gainsbelonging to his creed; the meekest favourer of that wise doctrine,Every man for himself, and God for us all (there being high wisdom inthe thought that the Eternal Majesty of Heaven ever was, or can be, onthe side of selfish lust and love!); shall never find, oh, never find,be sure of that, the time come home to him, when all his wisdom is anidiot's folly, weighed against a simple heart!

  Well, well, Tom, it was simple too, though simple in a different way, tobe so eager touching that same theatre, of which John said, when tea wasdone, he had the absolute command, so far as taking parties in withoutthe payment of a sixpence was concerned; and simpler yet, perhaps, neverto suspect that when he went in first, alone, he paid the money! Simplein thee, dear Tom, to laugh and cry so heartily at such a sorry show,so poorly shown; simple to be so happy and loquacious trudging homewith Ruth; simple to be so surprised to find that merry present ofa cookery-book awaiting her in the parlour next morning, with thebeef-steak-pudding-leaf turned down and blotted out. There! Letthe record stand! Thy quality of soul was simple, simple, quitecontemptible, Tom Pinch!