Dombey and Son
“Wal”r, my lad,” hinted the Captain, with some revival of his
discomfiture, “ain’t there no other character as—”
“Oh!” returned Walter, “would you have me die in her esteem—in such
esteem as hers—and put a veil between myself and her angel’s face for
ever, by taking advantage of her being here for refuge, so trusting and
so unprotected, to endeavour to exalt myself into her lover? What do I
say? There is no one in the world who would be more opposed to me if I
could do so, than you.”
“Wal”r, my lad,” said the Captain, drooping more and more, “prowiding
as there is any just cause or impediment why two persons should not be
jined together in the house of bondage, for which you’ll overhaul the
place and make a note, I hope I should declare it as promised and wowed
in the banns. So there ain’t no other character; ain’t there, my lad?”
Walter briskly waved his hand in the negative.
“Well, my lad,” growled the Captain slowly, “I won’t deny but what I
find myself wery much down by the head, along o’ this here, or but what
I’ve gone clean about. But as to Lady lass, Wal”r, mind you, wot’s
respect and duty to her, is respect and duty in my articles, howsumever
disapinting; and therefore I follows in your wake, my lad, and feel as
you are, no doubt, acting up to yourself. And there ain’t no other
character, ain’t there?” said the Captain, musing over the ruins of his
fallen castle, with a very despondent face.
“Now, Captain Cuttle,” said Walter, starting a fresh point with a gayer
air, to cheer the Captain up—but nothing could do that; he was too much
concerned—“I think we should exert ourselves to find someone who would
be a proper attendant for Miss Dombey while she remains here, and who
may be trusted. None of her relations may. It’s clear Miss Dombey feels
that they are all subservient to her father. What has become of Susan?”
“The young woman?” returned the Captain. “It’s my belief as she was
sent away again the will of Heart’s Delight. I made a signal for her
when Lady lass first come, and she rated of her wery high, and said she
had been gone a long time.”
“Then,” said Walter, “do you ask Miss Dombey where she’s gone, and
we’ll try to find her. The morning’s getting on, and Miss Dombey will
soon be rising. You are her best friend. Wait for her upstairs, and
leave me to take care of all down here.”
The Captain, very crest-fallen indeed, echoed the sigh with which
Walter said this, and complied. Florence was delighted with her new
room, anxious to see Walter, and overjoyed at the prospect of greeting
her old friend Susan. But Florence could not say where Susan was gone,
except that it was in Essex, and no one could say, she remembered,
unless it were Mr Toots.
With this information the melancholy Captain returned to Walter, and
gave him to understand that Mr Toots was the young gentleman whom he
had encountered on the door-step, and that he was a friend of his, and
that he was a young gentleman of property, and that he hopelessly
adored Miss Dombey. The Captain also related how the intelligence of
Walter’s supposed fate had first made him acquainted with Mr Toots, and
how there was solemn treaty and compact between them, that Mr Toots
should be mute upon the subject of his love.
The question then was, whether Florence could trust Mr Toots; and
Florence saying, with a smile, “Oh, yes, with her whole heart!” it
became important to find out where Mr Toots lived. This, Florence
didn’t know, and the Captain had forgotten; and the Captain was telling
Walter, in the little parlour, that Mr Toots was sure to be there soon,
when in came Mr Toots himself.
“Captain Gills,” said Mr Toots, rushing into the parlour without any
ceremony, “I’m in a state of mind bordering on distraction!”
Mr Toots had discharged those words, as from a mortar, before he
observed Walter, whom he recognised with what may be described as a
chuckle of misery.
“You’ll excuse me, Sir,” said Mr Toots, holding his forehead, “but I’m
at present in that state that my brain is going, if not gone, and
anything approaching to politeness in an individual so situated would
be a hollow mockery. Captain Gills, I beg to request the favour of a
private interview.”
“Why, Brother,” returned the Captain, taking him by the hand, “you are
the man as we was on the look-out for.”
“Oh, Captain Gills,” said Mr Toots, “what a look-out that must be, of
which I am the object! I haven’t dared to shave, I’m in that rash
state. I haven’t had my clothes brushed. My hair is matted together. I
told the Chicken that if he offered to clean my boots, I’d stretch him
a Corpse before me!”
All these indications of a disordered mind were verified in Mr Toots’s
appearance, which was wild and savage.
“See here, Brother,” said the Captain. “This here’s old Sol Gills’s
nevy Wal”r. Him as was supposed to have perished at sea.”
Mr Toots took his hand from his forehead, and stared at Walter.
“Good gracious me!” stammered Mr Toots. “What a complication of misery!
How-de-do? I—I—I’m afraid you must have got very wet. Captain Gills,
will you allow me a word in the shop?”
He took the Captain by the coat, and going out with him whispered:
“That then, Captain Gills, is the party you spoke of, when you said
that he and Miss Dombey were made for one another?”
“Why, ay, my lad,” replied the disconsolate Captain; “I was of that
mind once.”
“And at this time!” exclaimed Mr Toots, with his hand to his forehead
again. “Of all others!—a hated rival! At least, he ain’t a hated
rival,” said Mr Toots, stopping short, on second thoughts, and taking
away his hand; “what should I hate him for? No. If my affection has
been truly disinterested, Captain Gills, let me prove it now!”
Mr Toots shot back abruptly into the parlour, and said, wringing Walter
by the hand:
“How-de-do? I hope you didn’t take any cold. I—I shall be very glad if
you’ll give me the pleasure of your acquaintance. I wish you many happy
returns of the day. Upon my word and honour,” said Mr Toots, warming as
he became better acquainted with Walter’s face and figure, “I’m very
glad to see you!”
“Thank you, heartily,” said Walter. “I couldn’t desire a more genuine
and genial welcome.”
“Couldn’t you, though?” said Mr Toots, still shaking his hand. “It’s
very kind of you. I’m much obliged to you. How-de-do? I hope you left
everybody quite well over the—that is, upon the—I mean wherever you
came from last, you know.”
All these good wishes, and better intentions, Walter responded to
manfully.
“Captain Gills,” said Mr Toots, “I should wish to be strictly
honourable; but I trust I may be allowed now, to allude to a certain
subject that—”
“Ay, ay, my lad,” returned the Captain. “Freely, freely.”
“Then, Captain Gills,” said Mr Toots, “and Lieutenant Walters—are you
aware that the most dreadful circumstances have been happening at Mr
Dombey’s house, and that Miss Dombey herself has left her father, who,
in my opinion,” said Mr Toots, with great excitement, “is a Brute, that
it would be a flattery to call a—a marble monument, or a bird of
prey,—and that she is not to be found, and has gone no one knows
where?”
“May I ask how you heard this?” inquired Walter.
“Lieutenant Walters,” said Mr Toots, who had arrived at that
appellation by a process peculiar to himself; probably by jumbling up
his Christian name with the seafaring profession, and supposing some
relationship between him and the Captain, which would extend, as a
matter of course, to their titles; “Lieutenant Walters, I can have no
objection to make a straightforward reply. The fact is, that feeling
extremely interested in everything that relates to Miss Dombey—not for
any selfish reason, Lieutenant Walters, for I am well aware that the
most able thing I could do for all parties would be to put an end to my
existence, which can only be regarded as an inconvenience—I have been
in the habit of bestowing a trifle now and then upon a footman; a most
respectable young man, of the name of Towlinson, who has lived in the
family some time; and Towlinson informed me, yesterday evening, that
this was the state of things. Since which, Captain Gills—and Lieutenant
Walters—I have been perfectly frantic, and have been lying down on the
sofa all night, the Ruin you behold.”
“Mr Toots,” said Walter, “I am happy to be able to relieve your mind.
Pray calm yourself. Miss Dombey is safe and well.”
“Sir!” cried Mr Toots, starting from his chair and shaking hands with
him anew, “the relief is so excessive, and unspeakable, that if you
were to tell me now that Miss Dombey was married even, I could smile.
Yes, Captain Gills,” said Mr Toots, appealing to him, “upon my soul and
body, I really think, whatever I might do to myself immediately
afterwards, that I could smile, I am so relieved.”
“It will be a greater relief and delight still, to such a generous mind
as yours,” said Walter, not at all slow in returning his greeting, “to
find that you can render service to Miss Dombey. Captain Cuttle, will
you have the kindness to take Mr Toots upstairs?”
The Captain beckoned to Mr Toots, who followed him with a bewildered
countenance, and, ascending to the top of the house, was introduced,
without a word of preparation from his conductor, into Florence’s new
retreat.
Poor Mr Toots’s amazement and pleasure at sight of her were such, that
they could find a vent in nothing but extravagance. He ran up to her,
seized her hand, kissed it, dropped it, seized it again, fell upon one
knee, shed tears, chuckled, and was quite regardless of his danger of
being pinned by Diogenes, who, inspired by the belief that there was
something hostile to his mistress in these demonstrations, worked round
and round him, as if only undecided at what particular point to go in
for the assault, but quite resolved to do him a fearful mischief.
“Oh Di, you bad, forgetful dog! Dear Mr Toots, I am so rejoiced to see
you!”
“Thankee,” said Mr Toots, “I am pretty well, I’m much obliged to you,
Miss Dombey. I hope all the family are the same.”
Mr Toots said this without the least notion of what he was talking
about, and sat down on a chair, staring at Florence with the liveliest
contention of delight and despair going on in his face that any face
could exhibit.
“Captain Gills and Lieutenant Walters have mentioned, Miss Dombey,”
gasped Mr Toots, “that I can do you some service. If I could by any
means wash out the remembrance of that day at Brighton, when I
conducted myself—much more like a Parricide than a person of
independent property,” said Mr Toots, with severe self-accusation, “I
should sink into the silent tomb with a gleam of joy.”
“Pray, Mr Toots,” said Florence, “do not wish me to forget anything in
our acquaintance. I never can, believe me. You have been far too kind
and good to me always.”
“Miss Dombey,” returned Mr Toots, “your consideration for my feelings
is a part of your angelic character. Thank you a thousand times. It’s
of no consequence at all.”
“What we thought of asking you,” said Florence, “is, whether you
remember where Susan, whom you were so kind as to accompany to the
coach-office when she left me, is to be found.”
“Why I do not certainly, Miss Dombey,” said Mr Toots, after a little
consideration, “remember the exact name of the place that was on the
coach; and I do recollect that she said she was not going to stop
there, but was going farther on. But, Miss Dombey, if your object is to
find her, and to have her here, myself and the Chicken will produce her
with every dispatch that devotion on my part, and great intelligence on
the Chicken’s, can ensure.”
Mr Toots was so manifestly delighted and revived by the prospect of
being useful, and the disinterested sincerity of his devotion was so