Dombey and Son
and though he was yet often to be seen at his old post on the stairs,
or watching the waves and clouds from his solitary window, he was
oftener found, too, among the other boys, modestly rendering them some
little voluntary service. Thus it came to pass, that even among those
rigid and absorbed young anchorites, who mortified themselves beneath
the roof of Doctor Blimber, Paul was an object of general interest; a
fragile little plaything that they all liked, and that no one would
have thought of treating roughly. But he could not change his nature,
or rewrite the analysis; and so they all agreed that Dombey was
old-fashioned.
There were some immunities, however, attaching to the character enjoyed
by no one else. They could have better spared a newer-fashioned child,
and that alone was much. When the others only bowed to Doctor Blimber
and family on retiring for the night, Paul would stretch out his morsel
of a hand, and boldly shake the Doctor’s; also Mrs Blimber’s; also
Cornelia’s. If anybody was to be begged off from impending punishment,
Paul was always the delegate. The weak-eyed young man himself had once
consulted him, in reference to a little breakage of glass and china.
And it was darkly rumoured that the butler, regarding him with favour
such as that stern man had never shown before to mortal boy, had
sometimes mingled porter with his table-beer to make him strong.
Over and above these extensive privileges, Paul had free right of entry
to Mr Feeder’s room, from which apartment he had twice led Mr Toots
into the open air in a state of faintness, consequent on an
unsuccessful attempt to smoke a very blunt cigar: one of a bundle which
that young gentleman had covertly purchased on the shingle from a most
desperate smuggler, who had acknowledged, in confidence, that two
hundred pounds was the price set upon his head, dead or alive, by the
Custom House. It was a snug room, Mr Feeder’s, with his bed in another
little room inside of it; and a flute, which Mr Feeder couldn’t play
yet, but was going to make a point of learning, he said, hanging up
over the fireplace. There were some books in it, too, and a
fishing-rod; for Mr Feeder said he should certainly make a point of
learning to fish, when he could find time. Mr Feeder had amassed, with
similar intentions, a beautiful little curly secondhand key-bugle, a
chess-board and men, a Spanish Grammar, a set of sketching materials,
and a pair of boxing-gloves. The art of self-defence Mr Feeder said he
should undoubtedly make a point of learning, as he considered it the
duty of every man to do; for it might lead to the protection of a
female in distress.
But Mr Feeder’s great possession was a large green jar of snuff, which
Mr Toots had brought down as a present, at the close of the last
vacation; and for which he had paid a high price, having been the
genuine property of the Prince Regent. Neither Mr Toots nor Mr Feeder
could partake of this or any other snuff, even in the most stinted and
moderate degree, without being seized with convulsions of sneezing.
Nevertheless it was their great delight to moisten a box-full with cold
tea, stir it up on a piece of parchment with a paper-knife, and devote
themselves to its consumption then and there. In the course of which
cramming of their noses, they endured surprising torments with the
constancy of martyrs: and, drinking table-beer at intervals, felt all
the glories of dissipation.
To little Paul sitting silent in their company, and by the side of his
chief patron, Mr Toots, there was a dread charm in these reckless
occasions: and when Mr Feeder spoke of the dark mysteries of London,
and told Mr Toots that he was going to observe it himself closely in
all its ramifications in the approaching holidays, and for that purpose
had made arrangements to board with two old maiden ladies at Peckham,
Paul regarded him as if he were the hero of some book of travels or
wild adventure, and was almost afraid of such a slashing person.
Going into this room one evening, when the holidays were very near,
Paul found Mr Feeder filling up the blanks in some printed letters,
while some others, already filled up and strewn before him, were being
folded and sealed by Mr Toots. Mr Feeder said, “Aha, Dombey, there you
are, are you?”—for they were always kind to him, and glad to see
him—and then said, tossing one of the letters towards him, “And there
you are, too, Dombey. That’s yours.”
“Mine, Sir?” said Paul.
“Your invitation,” returned Mr Feeder.
Paul, looking at it, found, in copper-plate print, with the exception
of his own name and the date, which were in Mr Feeder’s penmanship,
that Doctor and Mrs Blimber requested the pleasure of Mr P. Dombey’s
company at an early party on Wednesday Evening the Seventeenth Instant;
and that the hour was half-past seven o’clock; and that the object was
Quadrilles. Mr Toots also showed him, by holding up a companion sheet
of paper, that Doctor and Mrs Blimber requested the pleasure of Mr
Toots’s company at an early party on Wednesday Evening the Seventeenth
Instant, when the hour was half-past seven o’clock, and when the object
was Quadrilles. He also found, on glancing at the table where Mr Feeder
sat, that the pleasure of Mr Briggs’s company, and of Mr Tozer’s
company, and of every young gentleman’s company, was requested by
Doctor and Mrs Blimber on the same genteel Occasion.
Mr Feeder then told him, to his great joy, that his sister was invited,
and that it was a half-yearly event, and that, as the holidays began
that day, he could go away with his sister after the party, if he
liked, which Paul interrupted him to say he would like, very much. Mr
Feeder then gave him to understand that he would be expected to inform
Doctor and Mrs Blimber, in superfine small-hand, that Mr P. Dombey
would be happy to have the honour of waiting on them, in accordance
with their polite invitation. Lastly, Mr Feeder said, he had better not
refer to the festive occasion, in the hearing of Doctor and Mrs
Blimber; as these preliminaries, and the whole of the arrangements,
were conducted on principles of classicality and high breeding; and
that Doctor and Mrs Blimber on the one hand, and the young gentlemen on
the other, were supposed, in their scholastic capacities, not to have
the least idea of what was in the wind.
Paul thanked Mr Feeder for these hints, and pocketing his invitation,
sat down on a stool by the side of Mr Toots, as usual. But Paul’s head,
which had long been ailing more or less, and was sometimes very heavy
and painful, felt so uneasy that night, that he was obliged to support
it on his hand. And yet it dropped so, that by little and little it
sunk on Mr Toots’s knee, and rested there, as if it had no care to be
ever lifted up again.
That was no reason why he should be deaf; but he must have been, he
thought, for, by and by, he heard Mr Feeder calling in his ear, and
gently shaking him to rouse his attention. And when he raised his head,
quite scared, and looked about him, he found that Doctor Blimber had
come into the room; and that the window was open, and that his forehead
was wet with sprinkled water; though how all this had been done without
his knowledge, was very curious indeed.
“Ah! Come, come! That’s well! How is my little friend now?” said Doctor
Blimber, encouragingly.
“Oh, quite well, thank you, Sir,” said Paul.
But there seemed to be something the matter with the floor, for he
couldn’t stand upon it steadily; and with the walls too, for they were
inclined to turn round and round, and could only be stopped by being
looked at very hard indeed. Mr Toots’s head had the appearance of being
at once bigger and farther off than was quite natural; and when he took
Paul in his arms, to carry him upstairs, Paul observed with
astonishment that the door was in quite a different place from that in
which he had expected to find it, and almost thought, at first, that Mr
Toots was going to walk straight up the chimney.
It was very kind of Mr Toots to carry him to the top of the house so
tenderly; and Paul told him that it was. But Mr Toots said he would do
a great deal more than that, if he could; and indeed he did more as it
was: for he helped Paul to undress, and helped him to bed, in the
kindest manner possible, and then sat down by the bedside and chuckled
very much; while Mr Feeder, B.A., leaning over the bottom of the
bedstead, set all the little bristles on his head bolt upright with his
bony hands, and then made believe to spar at Paul with great science,
on account of his being all right again, which was so uncommonly
facetious, and kind too in Mr Feeder, that Paul, not being able to make
up his mind whether it was best to laugh or cry at him, did both at
once.
How Mr Toots melted away, and Mr Feeder changed into Mrs Pipchin, Paul
never thought of asking; neither was he at all curious to know; but
when he saw Mrs Pipchin standing at the bottom of the bed, instead of
Mr Feeder, he cried out, “Mrs Pipchin, don’t tell Florence!”
“Don’t tell Florence what, my little Paul?” said Mrs Pipchin, coming
round to the bedside, and sitting down in the chair.
“About me,” said Paul.
“No, no,” said Mrs Pipchin.
“What do you think I mean to do when I grow up, Mrs Pipchin?” inquired
Paul, turning his face towards her on his pillow, and resting his chin
wistfully on his folded hands.
Mrs Pipchin couldn’t guess.
“I mean,” said Paul, “to put my money all together in one Bank, never
try to get any more, go away into the country with my darling Florence,
have a beautiful garden, fields, and woods, and live there with her all
my life!”
“Indeed!” cried Mrs Pipchin.
“Yes,” said Paul. “That’s what I mean to do, when I—” He stopped, and
pondered for a moment.
Mrs Pipchin’s grey eye scanned his thoughtful face.
“If I grow up,” said Paul. Then he went on immediately to tell Mrs
Pipchin all about the party, about Florence’s invitation, about the
pride he would have in the admiration that would be felt for her by all
the boys, about their being so kind to him and fond of him, about his
being so fond of them, and about his being so glad of it. Then he told
Mrs Pipchin about the analysis, and about his being certainly
old-fashioned, and took Mrs Pipchin’s opinion on that point, and
whether she knew why it was, and what it meant. Mrs Pipchin denied the
fact altogether, as the shortest way of getting out of the difficulty;
but Paul was far from satisfied with that reply, and looked so
searchingly at Mrs Pipchin for a truer answer, that she was obliged to
get up and look out of the window to avoid his eyes.
There was a certain calm Apothecary, who attended at the establishment
when any of the young gentlemen were ill, and somehow he got into the
room and appeared at the bedside, with Mrs Blimber. How they came
there, or how long they had been there, Paul didn’t know; but when he
saw them, he sat up in bed, and answered all the Apothecary’s questions
at full length, and whispered to him that Florence was not to know
anything about it, if he pleased, and that he had set his mind upon her
coming to the party. He was very chatty with the Apothecary, and they
parted excellent friends. Lying down again with his eyes shut, he heard
the Apothecary say, out of the room and quite a long way off—or he
dreamed it—that there was a want of vital power (what was that, Paul
wondered!) and great constitutional weakness. That as the little fellow
had set his heart on parting with his school-mates on the seventeenth,
it would be better to indulge the fancy if he grew no worse. That he
was glad to hear from Mrs Pipchin, that the little fellow would go to
his friends in London on the eighteenth. That he would write to Mr