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CHAPTER 38
Kit--for it happens at this juncture, not only that we have
breathing time to follow his fortunes, but that the necessities of
these adventures so adapt themselves to our ease and inclination as
to call upon us imperatively to pursue the track we most desire to
take--Kit, while the matters treated of in the last fifteen
chapters were yet in progress, was, as the reader may suppose,
gradually familiarising himself more and more with Mr and Mrs
Garland, Mr Abel, the pony, and Barbara, and gradually coming to
consider them one and all as his particular private friends, and
Abel Cottage, Finchley, as his own proper home.
Stay--the words are written, and may go, but if they convey any
notion that Kit, in the plentiful board and comfortable lodging of
his new abode, began to think slightingly of the poor fare and
furniture of his old dwelling, they do their office badly and
commit injustice. Who so mindful of those he left at home--albeit
they were but a mother and two young babies--as Kit? What
boastful father in the fulness of his heart ever related such
wonders of his infant prodigy, as Kit never wearied of telling
Barbara in the evening time, concerning little Jacob? Was there
ever such a mother as Kit's mother, on her son's showing; or was
there ever such comfort in poverty as in the poverty of Kit's
family, if any correct judgment might be arrived at, from his own
glowing account!
And let me linger in this place, for an instant, to remark that if
ever household affections and loves are graceful things, they are
graceful in the poor. The ties that bind the wealthy and the proud
to home may be forged on earth, but those which link the poor man
to his humble hearth are of the truer metal and bear the stamp of
Heaven. The man of high descent may love the halls and lands of
his inheritance as part of himself: as trophies of his birth and
power; his associations with them are associations of pride and
wealth and triumph; the poor man's attachment to the tenements he
holds, which strangers have held before, and may to-morrow occupy
again, has a worthier root, struck deep into a purer soil. His
household gods are of flesh and blood, with no alloy of silver,
gold, or precious stone; he has no property but in the affections
of his own heart; and when they endear bare floors and walls,
despite of rags and toil and scanty fare, that man has his love of
home from God, and his rude hut becomes a solemn place.
Oh! if those who rule the destinies of nations would but remember
this--if they would but think how hard it is for the very poor to
have engendered in their hearts, that love of home from which all
domestic virtues spring, when they live in dense and squalid masses
where social decency is lost, or rather never found--if they
would but turn aside from the wide thoroughfares and great houses,
and strive to improve the wretched dwellings in bye-ways where only
Poverty may walk--many low roofs would point more truly to the
sky, than the loftiest steeple that now rears proudly up from the
midst of guilt, and crime, and horrible disease, to mock them by
its contrast. In hollow voices from Workhouse, Hospital, and jail,
this truth is preached from day to day, and has been proclaimed for
years. It is no light matter--no outcry from the working vulgar--
no mere question of the people's health and comforts that may be
whistled down on Wednesday nights. In love of home, the love of
country has its rise; and who are the truer patriots or the better
in time of need--those who venerate the land, owning its wood, and
stream, and earth, and all that they produce? or those who love
their country, boasting not a foot of ground in all its wide
domain!
Kit knew nothing about such questions, but he knew that his old
home was a very poor place, and that his new one was very unlike
it, and yet he was constantly looking back with grateful
satisfaction and affectionate anxiety, and often indited square-
folded letters to his mother, enclosing a shilling or eighteenpence
or such other small remittance, which Mr Abel's liberality enabled
him to make. Sometimes being in the neighbourhood, he had leisure
to call upon her, and then great was the joy and pride of Kit's
mother, and extremely noisy the satisfaction of little Jacob and
the baby, and cordial the congratulations of the whole court, who
listened with admiring ears to the accounts of Abel Cottage, and
could never be told too much of its wonders and magnificence.
Although Kit was in the very highest favour with the old lady and
gentleman, and Mr Abel, and Barbara, it is certain that no member
of the family evinced such a remarkable partiality for him as the
self-willed pony, who, from being the most obstinate and
opinionated pony on the face of the earth, was, in his hands, the
meekest and most tractable of animals. It is true that in exact
proportion as he became manageable by Kit he became utterly
ungovernable by anybody else (as if he had determined to keep him
in the family at all risks and hazards), and that, even under the
guidance of his favourite, he would sometimes perform a great
variety of strange freaks and capers, to the extreme discomposure
of the old lady's nerves; but as Kit always represented that this
was only his fun, or a way he had of showing his attachment to his
employers, Mrs Garland gradually suffered herself to be persuaded
into the belief, in which she at last became so strongly confirmed,
that if, in one of these ebullitions, he had overturned the chaise,
she would have been quite satisfied that he did it with the very
best intentions.
Besides becoming in a short time a perfect marvel in all stable
matters, Kit soon made himself a very tolerable gardener, a handy
fellow within doors, and an indispensable attendant on Mr Abel, who
every day gave him some new proof of his confidence and
approbation. Mr Witherden the notary, too, regarded him with a
friendly eye; and even Mr Chuckster would sometimes condescend to
give him a slight nod, or to honour him with that peculiar form of
recognition which is called 'taking a sight,' or to favour him with
some other salute combining pleasantry with patronage.
One morning Kit drove Mr Abel to the Notary's office, as he
sometimes did, and having set him down at the house, was about to
drive off to a livery stable hard by, when this same Mr Chuckster
emerged from the office door, and cried 'Woa-a-a-a-a-a!'--dwelling
upon the note a long time, for the purpose of striking terror into
the pony's heart, and asserting the supremacy of man over the
inferior animals.
'Pull up, Snobby,' cried Mr Chuckster, addressing himself to Kit.
'You're wanted inside here.'
'Has Mr Abel forgotten anything, I wonder?' said Kit as he
dismounted.
'Ask no questions, Snobby,' returned Mr Chuckster, 'but go and see.
Woa-a-a then, will you? If that pony was mine, I'd break him.'
'You must be very gentle with him, if you please,' said Kit, 'or
you'll find him troublesome. You'd better not keep on pulling his
ears, please. I know he won't like it.'
To this remonstrance Mr Chuckster deigned no other answer, than
addressing Kit with a lofty and distant air as 'young feller,' and
requesting him to cut and come again with all speed. The 'young
feller' complying, Mr Chuckster put his hands in his pockets, and
tried to look as if he were not minding the pony, but happened to
be lounging there by accident.
Kit scraped his shoes very carefully (for he had not yet lost his
reverence for the bundles of papers and the tin boxes,) and tapped
at the office-door, which was quickly opened by the Notary himself.
'Oh! come in, Christopher,' said Mr Witherden.
'Is that the lad?' asked an elderly gentleman, but of a stout,
bluff figure--who was in the room.
'That's the lad,' said Mr Witherden. 'He fell in with my client,
Mr Garland, sir, at this very door. I have reason to think he is
a good lad, sir, and that you may believe what he says. Let me
introduce Mr Abel Garland, sir--his young master; my articled
pupil, sir, and most particular friend:--my most particular
friend, sir,' repeated the Notary, drawing out his silk
handkerchief and flourishing it about his face.
'Your servant, sir,' said the stranger gentleman.
'Yours, sir, I'm sure,' replied Mr Abel mildly. 'You were wishing
to speak to Christopher, sir?'
'Yes, I was. Have I your permission?'
'By all means.'
'My business is no secret; or I should rather say it need be no
secret here,' said the stranger, observing that Mr Abel and the
Notary were preparing to retire. 'It relates to a dealer in
curiosities with whom he lived, and in whom I am earnestly and
warmly interested. I have been a stranger to this country,
gentlemen, for very many years, and if I am deficient in form and
ceremony, I hope you will forgive me.'
'No forgiveness is necessary, sir;--none whatever,' replied the
Notary. And so said Mr Abel.
'I have been making inquiries in the neighbourhood in which his old
master lived,' said the stranger, 'and I learn that he was served
by this lad. I have found out his mother's house, and have been
directed by her to this place as the nearest in which I should be
likely to find him. That's the cause of my presenting myself here
this morning.'
'I am very glad of any cause, sir,' said the Notary, 'which
procures me the honour of this visit.'
'Sir,' retorted the stranger, 'you speak like a mere man of the
world, and I think you something better. Therefore, pray do not
sink your real character in paying unmeaning compliments to me.'
'Hem!' coughed the Notary. 'You're a plain speaker, sir.'
'And a plain dealer,' returned the stranger. 'It may be my long
absence and inexperience that lead me to the conclusion; but if
plain speakers are scarce in this part of the world, I fancy plain
dealers are still scarcer. If my speaking should offend you, sir,
my dealing, I hope, will make amends.'
Mr Witherden seemed a little disconcerted by the elderly
gentleman's mode of conducting the dialogue; and as for Kit, he
looked at him in open-mouthed astonishment: wondering what kind of
language he would address to him, if he talked in that free and
easy way to a Notary. It was with no harshness, however, though
with something of constitutional irritability and haste, that he
turned to Kit and said:
'If you think, my lad, that I am pursuing these inquiries with any
other view than that of serving and reclaiming those I am in search
of, you do me a very great wrong, and deceive yourself. Don't be
deceived, I beg of you, but rely upon my assurance. The fact is,
gentlemen,' he added, turning again to the Notary and his pupil,
'that I am in a very painful and wholly unexpected position. I
came to this city with a darling object at my heart, expecting to
find no obstacle or difficulty in the way of its attainment. I
find myself suddenly checked and stopped short, in the execution of
my design, by a mystery which I cannot penetrate. Every effort I
have made to penetrate it, has only served to render it darker and
more obscure; and I am afraid to stir openly in the matter, lest
those whom I anxiously pursue, should fly still farther from me.
I assure you that if you could give me any assistance, you would
not be sorry to do so, if you knew how greatly I stand in need of
it, and what a load it would relieve me from.'
There was a simplicity in this confidence which occasioned it to
find a quick response in the breast of the good-natured Notary, who
replied, in the same spirit, that the stranger had not mistaken his
desire, and that if he could be of service to him, he would, most
readily.
Kit was then put under examination and closely questioned by the
unknown gentleman, touching his old master and the child, their
lonely way of life, their retired habits, and strict seclusion.
The nightly absence of the old man, the solitary existence of the
child at those times, his illness and recovery, Quilp's possession
of the house, and their sudden disappearance, were all the subjects
of much questioning and answer. Finally, Kit informed the
gentleman that the premises were now to let, and that a board upon
the door referred all inquirers to Mr Sampson Brass, Solicitor, of
Bevis Marks, from whom he might perhaps learn some further
particulars.
'Not by inquiry,' said the gentleman shaking his head. 'I live
there.'
'Live at Brass's the attorney's!' cried Mr Witherden in some
surprise: having professional knowledge of the gentleman in
question.
'Aye,' was the reply. 'I entered on his lodgings t'other day,
chiefly because I had seen this very board. it matters little to
me where I live, and I had a desperate hope that some intelligence
might be cast in my way there, which would not reach me elsewhere.
Yes, I live at Brass's--more shame for me, I suppose?'
'That's a mere matter of opinion,' said the Notary, shrugging his
shoulders. 'He is looked upon as rather a doubtful character.'
'Doubtful?' echoed the other. 'I am glad to hear there's any doubt
about it. I supposed that had been thoroughly settled, long ago.
But will you let me speak a word or two with you in private?'
Mr Witherden consenting, they walked into that gentleman's private
closet, and remained there, in close conversation, for some quarter
of an hour, when they returned into the outer office. The stranger
had left his hat in Mr Witherden's room, and seemed to have
established himself in this short interval on quite a friendly
footing.
'I'll not detain you any longer now,' he said, putting a crown into
Kit's hand, and looking towards the Notary. 'You shall hear from
me again. Not a word of this, you know, except to your master and
mistress.'
'Mother, sir, would be glad to know--' said Kit, faltering.
'Glad to know what?'
'Anything--so that it was no harm--about Miss Nell.'
'Would she? Well then, you may tell her if she can keep a secret.
But mind, not a word of this to anybody else. Don't forget that.
Be particular.'
'I'll take care, sir,' said Kit. 'Thankee, sir, and good morning.'
Now, it happened that the gentleman, in his anxiety to impress upon
Kit that he was not to tell anybody what had passed between them,
followed him out to the door to repeat his caution, and it further
happened that at that moment the eyes of Mr Richard Swiveller were
turned in that direction, and beheld his mysterious friend and Kit
together.
It was quite an accident, and the way in which it came about was
this. Mr Chuckster, being a gentleman of a cultivated taste and
refined spirit, was one of that Lodge of Glorious Apollos whereof
Mr Swiveller was Perpetual Grand. Mr Swiveller, passing through
the street in the execution of some Brazen errand, and beholding
one of his Glorious Brotherhood intently gazing on a pony, crossed
over to give him that fraternal greeting with which Perpetual
Grands are, by the very constitution of their office, bound to
cheer and encourage their disciples. He had scarcely bestowed upon
him his blessing, and followed it with a general remark touching
the present state and prospects of the weather, when, lifting up
his eyes, he beheld the single gentleman of Bevis Marks in earnest
conversation with Christopher Nubbles.
'Hallo!' said Dick, 'who is that?'
'He called to see my Governor this morning,' replied Mr Chuckster;
'beyond that, I don't know him from Adam.'
'At least you know his name?' said Dick.
To which Mr Chuckster replied, with an elevation of speech becoming
a Glorious Apollo, that he was 'everlastingly blessed' if he did.
'All I know, my dear feller,' said Mr Chuckster, running his
fingers through his hair, 'is, that he is the cause of my having
stood here twenty minutes, for which I hate him with a mortal and
undying hatred, and would pursue him to the confines of eternity if
I could afford the time.'
While they were thus discoursing, the subject of their conversation
(who had not appeared to recognise Mr Richard Swiveller) re-entered
the house, and Kit came down the steps and joined them; to whom Mr
Swiveller again propounded his inquiry with no better success.
'He is a very nice gentleman, Sir,' said Kit, 'and that's all I
know about him.'
Mr Chuckster waxed wroth at this answer, and without applying the
remark to any particular case, mentioned, as a general truth, that
it was expedient to break the heads of Snobs, and to tweak their
noses. Without expressing his concurrence in this sentiment, Mr
Swiveller after a few moments of abstraction inquired which way Kit
was driving, and, being informed, declared it was his way, and that
he would trespass on him for a lift. Kit would gladly have
declined the proffered honour, but as Mr Swiveller was already
established in the seat beside him, he had no means of doing so,
otherwise than by a forcible ejectment, and therefore, drove
briskly off--so briskly indeed, as to cut short the leave-taking
between Mr Chuckster and his Grand Master, and to occasion the
former gentleman some inconvenience from having his corns squeezed
by the impatient pony.
As Whisker was tired of standing, and Mr Swiveller was kind enough
to stimulate him by shrill whistles, and various sporting cries,
they rattled off at too sharp a pace to admit of much conversation:
especially as the pony, incensed by Mr Swiveller's admonitions,
took a particular fancy for the lamp-posts and cart-wheels, and
evinced a strong desire to run on the pavement and rasp himself
against the brick walls. It was not, therefore, until they had
arrived at the stable, and the chaise had been extricated from a
very small doorway, into which the pony dragged it under the
impression that he could take it along with him into his usual
stall, that Mr Swiveller found time to talk.
'It's hard work,' said Richard. 'What do you say to some beer?'
Kit at first declined, but presently consented, and they adjourned
to the neighbouring bar together.
'We'll drink our friend what's-his-name,' said Dick, holding up the
bright frothy pot; '--that was talking to you this morning, you
know--I know him--a good fellow, but eccentric--very--here's
what's-his-name!'
Kit pledged him.
'He lives in my house,' said Dick; 'at least in the house occupied
by the firm in which I'm a sort of a--of a managing partner--a
difficult fellow to get anything out of, but we like him--we like
him.'
'I must be going, sir, if you please,' said Kit, moving away.
'Don't be in a hurry, Christopher,' replied his patron, 'we'll
drink your mother.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'An excellent woman that mother of yours, Christopher,' said Mr
Swiveller. 'Who ran to catch me when I fell, and kissed the place
to make it well? My mother. A charming woman. He's a liberal
sort of fellow. We must get him to do something for your mother.
Does he know her, Christopher?'
Kit shook his head, and glancing slyly at his questioner, thanked
him, and made off before he could say another word.
'Humph!' said Mr Swiveller pondering, 'this is queer. Nothing but
mysteries in connection with Brass's house. I'll keep my own
counsel, however. Everybody and anybody has been in my confidence
as yet, but now I think I'll set up in business for myself. Queer--
very queer!'
After pondering deeply and with a face of exceeding wisdom for some
time, Mr Swiveller drank some more of the beer, and summoning a
small boy who had been watching his proceedings, poured forth the
few remaining drops as a libation on the gravel, and bade him carry
the empty vessel to the bar with his compliments, and above all
things to lead a sober and temperate life, and abstain from all
intoxicating and exciting liquors. Having given him this piece of
moral advice for his trouble (which, as he wisely observed, was far
better than half-pence) the Perpetual Grand Master of the Glorious
Apollos thrust his hands into his pockets and sauntered away: still
pondering as he went.
Content of CHAPTER 38 [Charles Dickens' novel: The Old Curiosity Shop]
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