David Copperfield
was dragging the length of its chain to and fro upon a beaten track, and
wearing its heart out.
I came softly away from my place of observation, and avoiding that part
of the neighbourhood, and wishing I had not gone near it, strolled about
until it was ten o’clock. The church with the slender spire, that stands
on the top of the hill now, was not there then to tell me the time. An
old red-brick mansion, used as a school, was in its place; and a fine
old house it must have been to go to school at, as I recollect it.
When I approached the Doctor’s cottage--a pretty old place, on which
he seemed to have expended some money, if I might judge from the
embellishments and repairs that had the look of being just completed--I
saw him walking in the garden at the side, gaiters and all, as if he
had never left off walking since the days of my pupilage. He had his old
companions about him, too; for there were plenty of high trees in the
neighbourhood, and two or three rooks were on the grass, looking after
him, as if they had been written to about him by the Canterbury rooks,
and were observing him closely in consequence.
Knowing the utter hopelessness of attracting his attention from that
distance, I made bold to open the gate, and walk after him, so as to
meet him when he should turn round. When he did, and came towards me, he
looked at me thoughtfully for a few moments, evidently without thinking
about me at all; and then his benevolent face expressed extraordinary
pleasure, and he took me by both hands.
‘Why, my dear Copperfield,’ said the Doctor, ‘you are a man! How do you
do? I am delighted to see you. My dear Copperfield, how very much you
have improved! You are quite--yes--dear me!’
I hoped he was well, and Mrs. Strong too.
‘Oh dear, yes!’ said the Doctor; ‘Annie’s quite well, and she’ll be
delighted to see you. You were always her favourite. She said so,
last night, when I showed her your letter. And--yes, to be sure--you
recollect Mr. Jack Maldon, Copperfield?’
‘Perfectly, sir.’
‘Of course,’ said the Doctor. ‘To be sure. He’s pretty well, too.’
‘Has he come home, sir?’ I inquired.
‘From India?’ said the Doctor. ‘Yes. Mr. Jack Maldon couldn’t bear
the climate, my dear. Mrs. Markleham--you have not forgotten Mrs.
Markleham?’
Forgotten the Old Soldier! And in that short time!
‘Mrs. Markleham,’ said the Doctor, ‘was quite vexed about him, poor
thing; so we have got him at home again; and we have bought him a little
Patent place, which agrees with him much better.’ I knew enough of Mr.
Jack Maldon to suspect from this account that it was a place where there
was not much to do, and which was pretty well paid. The Doctor, walking
up and down with his hand on my shoulder, and his kind face turned
encouragingly to mine, went on:
‘Now, my dear Copperfield, in reference to this proposal of yours. It’s
very gratifying and agreeable to me, I am sure; but don’t you think you
could do better? You achieved distinction, you know, when you were with
us. You are qualified for many good things. You have laid a foundation
that any edifice may be raised upon; and is it not a pity that you
should devote the spring-time of your life to such a poor pursuit as I
can offer?’
I became very glowing again, and, expressing myself in a rhapsodical
style, I am afraid, urged my request strongly; reminding the Doctor that
I had already a profession.
‘Well, well,’ said the Doctor, ‘that’s true. Certainly, your having
a profession, and being actually engaged in studying it, makes a
difference. But, my good young friend, what’s seventy pounds a year?’
‘It doubles our income, Doctor Strong,’ said I.
‘Dear me!’ replied the Doctor. ‘To think of that! Not that I mean to
say it’s rigidly limited to seventy pounds a-year, because I have always
contemplated making any young friend I might thus employ, a present too.
Undoubtedly,’ said the Doctor, still walking me up and down with
his hand on my shoulder. ‘I have always taken an annual present into
account.’
‘My dear tutor,’ said I (now, really, without any nonsense), ‘to whom I
owe more obligations already than I ever can acknowledge--’
‘No, no,’ interposed the Doctor. ‘Pardon me!’
‘If you will take such time as I have, and that is my mornings and
evenings, and can think it worth seventy pounds a year, you will do me
such a service as I cannot express.’
‘Dear me!’ said the Doctor, innocently. ‘To think that so little should
go for so much! Dear, dear! And when you can do better, you will? On
your word, now?’ said the Doctor,--which he had always made a very grave
appeal to the honour of us boys.
‘On my word, sir!’ I returned, answering in our old school manner.
‘Then be it so,’ said the Doctor, clapping me on the shoulder, and still
keeping his hand there, as we still walked up and down.
‘And I shall be twenty times happier, sir,’ said I, with a little--I
hope innocent--flattery, ‘if my employment is to be on the Dictionary.’
The Doctor stopped, smilingly clapped me on the shoulder again, and
exclaimed, with a triumph most delightful to behold, as if I had
penetrated to the profoundest depths of mortal sagacity, ‘My dear young
friend, you have hit it. It IS the Dictionary!’
How could it be anything else! His pockets were as full of it as his
head. It was sticking out of him in all directions. He told me that
since his retirement from scholastic life, he had been advancing with
it wonderfully; and that nothing could suit him better than the proposed
arrangements for morning and evening work, as it was his custom to walk
about in the daytime with his considering cap on. His papers were in
a little confusion, in consequence of Mr. Jack Maldon having lately
proffered his occasional services as an amanuensis, and not being
accustomed to that occupation; but we should soon put right what was
amiss, and go on swimmingly. Afterwards, when we were fairly at our
work, I found Mr. Jack Maldon’s efforts more troublesome to me than
I had expected, as he had not confined himself to making numerous
mistakes, but had sketched so many soldiers, and ladies’ heads, over
the Doctor’s manuscript, that I often became involved in labyrinths of
obscurity.
The Doctor was quite happy in the prospect of our going to work together
on that wonderful performance, and we settled to begin next morning at
seven o’clock. We were to work two hours every morning, and two or three
hours every night, except on Saturdays, when I was to rest. On Sundays,
of course, I was to rest also, and I considered these very easy terms.
Our plans being thus arranged to our mutual satisfaction, the Doctor
took me into the house to present me to Mrs. Strong, whom we found in
the Doctor’s new study, dusting his books,--a freedom which he never
permitted anybody else to take with those sacred favourites.
They had postponed their breakfast on my account, and we sat down to
table together. We had not been seated long, when I saw an approaching
arrival in Mrs. Strong’s face, before I heard any sound of it. A
gentleman on horseback came to the gate, and leading his horse into the
little court, with the bridle over his arm, as if he were quite at home,
tied him to a ring in the empty coach-house wall, and came into the
breakfast parlour, whip in hand. It was Mr. Jack Maldon; and Mr. Jack
Maldon was not at all improved by India, I thought. I was in a state
of ferocious virtue, however, as to young men who were not cutting down
trees in the forest of difficulty; and my impression must be received
with due allowance.
‘Mr. Jack!’ said the Doctor. ‘Copperfield!’
Mr. Jack Maldon shook hands with me; but not very warmly, I believed;
and with an air of languid patronage, at which I secretly took great
umbrage. But his languor altogether was quite a wonderful sight; except
when he addressed himself to his cousin Annie. ‘Have you breakfasted
this morning, Mr. Jack?’ said the Doctor.
‘I hardly ever take breakfast, sir,’ he replied, with his head thrown
back in an easy-chair. ‘I find it bores me.’
‘Is there any news today?’ inquired the Doctor.
‘Nothing at all, sir,’ replied Mr. Maldon. ‘There’s an account about
the people being hungry and discontented down in the North, but they are
always being hungry and discontented somewhere.’
The Doctor looked grave, and said, as though he wished to change the
subject, ‘Then there’s no news at all; and no news, they say, is good
news.’
‘There’s a long statement in the papers, sir, about a murder,’ observed
Mr. Maldon. ‘But somebody is always being murdered, and I didn’t read
it.’
A display of indifference to all the actions and passions of mankind was
not supposed to be such a distinguished quality at that time, I think,
as I have observed it to be considered since. I have known it very
fashionable indeed. I have seen it displayed with such success, that I
have encountered some fine ladies and gentlemen who might as well have
been born caterpillars. Perhaps it impressed me the more then, because
it was new to me, but it certainly did not tend to exalt my opinion of,
or to strengthen my confidence in, Mr. Jack Maldon.
‘I came out to inquire whether Annie would like to go to the opera
tonight,’ said Mr. Maldon, turning to her. ‘It’s the last good night
there will be, this season; and there’s a singer there, whom she really
ought to hear. She is perfectly exquisite. Besides which, she is so
charmingly ugly,’ relapsing into languor.
The Doctor, ever pleased with what was likely to please his young wife,
turned to her and said:
‘You must go, Annie. You must go.’
‘I would rather not,’ she said to the Doctor. ‘I prefer to remain at
home. I would much rather remain at home.’
Without looking at her cousin, she then addressed me, and asked me about
Agnes, and whether she should see her, and whether she was not likely to
come that day; and was so much disturbed, that I wondered how even the
Doctor, buttering his toast, could be blind to what was so obvious.
But he saw nothing. He told her, good-naturedly, that she was young and
ought to be amused and entertained, and must not allow herself to be
made dull by a dull old fellow. Moreover, he said, he wanted to hear her
sing all the new singer’s songs to him; and how could she do that well,
unless she went? So the Doctor persisted in making the engagement for
her, and Mr. Jack Maldon was to come back to dinner. This concluded, he
went to his Patent place, I suppose; but at all events went away on his
horse, looking very idle.
I was curious to find out next morning, whether she had been. She had
not, but had sent into London to put her cousin off; and had gone out in
the afternoon to see Agnes, and had prevailed upon the Doctor to go with
her; and they had walked home by the fields, the Doctor told me, the
evening being delightful. I wondered then, whether she would have gone
if Agnes had not been in town, and whether Agnes had some good influence
over her too!
She did not look very happy, I thought; but it was a good face, or a
very false one. I often glanced at it, for she sat in the window all the
time we were at work; and made our breakfast, which we took by snatches
as we were employed. When I left, at nine o’clock, she was kneeling on
the ground at the Doctor’s feet, putting on his shoes and gaiters for
him. There was a softened shade upon her face, thrown from some green
leaves overhanging the open window of the low room; and I thought all
the way to Doctors’ Commons, of the night when I had seen it looking at
him as he read.
I was pretty busy now; up at five in the morning, and home at nine
or ten at night. But I had infinite satisfaction in being so
closely engaged, and never walked slowly on any account, and felt