Dombey and Son
his own account of himself; and that done, Mr Gills, I’ll send him
round to you to-morrow morning. Goodbye!”
His smile at parting was so full of teeth, that it confused old Sol,
and made him vaguely uncomfortable. He went home, thinking of raging
seas, foundering ships, drowning men, an ancient bottle of Madeira
never brought to light, and other dismal matters.
“Now, boy!” said Mr Carker, putting his hand on young Toodle’s
shoulder, and bringing him out into the middle of the room. “You have
heard me?”
Rob said, “Yes, Sir.”
“Perhaps you understand,” pursued his patron, “that if you ever deceive
or play tricks with me, you had better have drowned yourself, indeed,
once for all, before you came here?”
There was nothing in any branch of mental acquisition that Rob seemed
to understand better than that.
“If you have lied to me,” said Mr Carker, “in anything, never come in
my way again. If not, you may let me find you waiting for me somewhere
near your mother’s house this afternoon. I shall leave this at five
o’clock, and ride there on horseback. Now, give me the address.”
Rob repeated it slowly, as Mr Carker wrote it down. Rob even spelt it
over a second time, letter by letter, as if he thought that the
omission of a dot or scratch would lead to his destruction. Mr Carker
then handed him out of the room; and Rob, keeping his round eyes fixed
upon his patron to the last, vanished for the time being.
Mr Carker the Manager did a great deal of business in the course of the
day, and bestowed his teeth upon a great many people. In the office, in
the court, in the street, and on “Change, they glistened and bristled
to a terrible extent. Five o’clock arriving, and with it Mr Carker’s
bay horse, they got on horseback, and went gleaming up Cheapside.
As no one can easily ride fast, even if inclined to do so, through the
press and throng of the City at that hour, and as Mr Carker was not
inclined, he went leisurely along, picking his way among the carts and
carriages, avoiding whenever he could the wetter and more dirty places
in the over-watered road, and taking infinite pains to keep himself and
his steed clean. Glancing at the passersby while he was thus ambling on
his way, he suddenly encountered the round eyes of the sleek-headed Rob
intently fixed upon his face as if they had never been taken off, while
the boy himself, with a pocket-handkerchief twisted up like a speckled
eel and girded round his waist, made a very conspicuous demonstration
of being prepared to attend upon him, at whatever pace he might think
proper to go.
This attention, however flattering, being one of an unusual kind, and
attracting some notice from the other passengers, Mr Carker took
advantage of a clearer thoroughfare and a cleaner road, and broke into
a trot. Rob immediately did the same. Mr Carker presently tried a
canter; Rob was still in attendance. Then a short gallop; it was all
one to the boy. Whenever Mr Carker turned his eyes to that side of the
road, he still saw Toodle Junior holding his course, apparently without
distress, and working himself along by the elbows after the most
approved manner of professional gentlemen who get over the ground for
wagers.
Ridiculous as this attendance was, it was a sign of an influence
established over the boy, and therefore Mr Carker, affecting not to
notice it, rode away into the neighbourhood of Mr Toodle’s house. On
his slackening his pace here, Rob appeared before him to point out the
turnings; and when he called to a man at a neighbouring gateway to hold
his horse, pending his visit to the buildings that had succeeded
Staggs’s Gardens, Rob dutifully held the stirrup, while the Manager
dismounted.
“Now, Sir,” said Mr Carker, taking him by the shoulder, “come along!”
The prodigal son was evidently nervous of visiting the parental abode;
but Mr Carker pushing him on before, he had nothing for it but to open
the right door, and suffer himself to be walked into the midst of his
brothers and sisters, mustered in overwhelming force round the family
tea-table. At sight of the prodigal in the grasp of a stranger, these
tender relations united in a general howl, which smote upon the
prodigal’s breast so sharply when he saw his mother stand up among
them, pale and trembling, with the baby in her arms, that he lent his
own voice to the chorus.
Nothing doubting now that the stranger, if not Mr Ketch in person, was
one of that company, the whole of the young family wailed the louder,
while its more infantine members, unable to control the transports of
emotion appertaining to their time of life, threw themselves on their
backs like young birds when terrified by a hawk, and kicked violently.
At length, poor Polly making herself audible, said, with quivering
lips, “Oh Rob, my poor boy, what have you done at last!”
“Nothing, mother,” cried Rob, in a piteous voice, “ask the gentleman!”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Mr Carker, “I want to do him good.”
At this announcement, Polly, who had not cried yet, began to do so. The
elder Toodles, who appeared to have been meditating a rescue,
unclenched their fists. The younger Toodles clustered round their
mother’s gown, and peeped from under their own chubby arms at their
desperado brother and his unknown friend. Everybody blessed the
gentleman with the beautiful teeth, who wanted to do good.
“This fellow,” said Mr Carker to Polly, giving him a gentle shake, “is
your son, eh, Ma’am?”
“Yes, Sir,” sobbed Polly, with a curtsey; “yes, Sir.”
“A bad son, I am afraid?” said Mr Carker.
“Never a bad son to me, Sir,” returned Polly.
“To whom then?” demanded Mr Carker.
“He has been a little wild, Sir,” returned Polly, checking the baby,
who was making convulsive efforts with his arms and legs to launch
himself on Biler, through the ambient air, “and has gone with wrong
companions: but I hope he has seen the misery of that, Sir, and will do
well again.”
Mr Carker looked at Polly, and the clean room, and the clean children,
and the simple Toodle face, combined of father and mother, that was
reflected and repeated everywhere about him—and seemed to have achieved
the real purpose of his visit.
“Your husband, I take it, is not at home?” he said.
“No, Sir,” replied Polly. “He’s down the line at present.”
The prodigal Rob seemed very much relieved to hear it: though still in
the absorption of all his faculties in his patron, he hardly took his
eyes from Mr Carker’s face, unless for a moment at a time to steal a
sorrowful glance at his mother.
“Then,” said Mr Carker, “I’ll tell you how I have stumbled on this boy
of yours, and who I am, and what I am going to do for him.”
This Mr Carker did, in his own way; saying that he at first intended to
have accumulated nameless terrors on his presumptuous head, for coming
to the whereabout of Dombey and Son. That he had relented, in
consideration of his youth, his professed contrition, and his friends.
That he was afraid he took a rash step in doing anything for the boy,
and one that might expose him to the censure of the prudent; but that
he did it of himself and for himself, and risked the consequences
single-handed; and that his mother’s past connexion with Mr Dombey’s
family had nothing to do with it, and that Mr Dombey had nothing to do
with it, but that he, Mr Carker, was the be-all and the end-all of this
business. Taking great credit to himself for his goodness, and
receiving no less from all the family then present, Mr Carker
signified, indirectly but still pretty plainly, that Rob’s implicit
fidelity, attachment, and devotion, were for evermore his due, and the
least homage he could receive. And with this great truth Rob himself
was so impressed, that, standing gazing on his patron with tears
rolling down his cheeks, he nodded his shiny head until it seemed
almost as loose as it had done under the same patron’s hands that
morning.
Polly, who had passed Heaven knows how many sleepless nights on account
of this her dissipated firstborn, and had not seen him for weeks and
weeks, could have almost kneeled to Mr Carker the Manager, as to a Good
Spirit—in spite of his teeth. But Mr Carker rising to depart, she only
thanked him with her mother’s prayers and blessings; thanks so rich
when paid out of the Heart’s mint, especially for any service Mr Carker
had rendered, that he might have given back a large amount of change,
and yet been overpaid.
As that gentleman made his way among the crowding children to the door,
Rob retreated on his mother, and took her and the baby in the same
repentant hug.
“I’ll try hard, dear mother, now. Upon my soul I will!” said Rob.
“Oh do, my dear boy! I am sure you will, for our sakes and your own!”
cried Polly, kissing him. “But you’re coming back to speak to me, when
you have seen the gentleman away?”
“I don’t know, mother.” Rob hesitated, and looked down. “Father—when’s
he coming home?”
“Not till two o’clock to-morrow morning.”
“I’ll come back, mother dear!” cried Rob. And passing through the
shrill cry of his brothers and sisters in reception of this promise, he
followed Mr Carker out.
“What!” said Mr Carker, who had heard this. “You have a bad father,
have you?”
“No, Sir!” returned Rob, amazed. “There ain’t a better nor a kinder
father going, than mine is.”
“Why don’t you want to see him then?” inquired his patron.
“There’s such a difference between a father and a mother, Sir,” said
Rob, after faltering for a moment. “He couldn’t hardly believe yet that
I was doing to do better—though I know he’d try to—but a mother—she
always believes what’s good, Sir; at least, I know my mother does, God
bless her!”
Mr Carker’s mouth expanded, but he said no more until he was mounted on
his horse, and had dismissed the man who held it, when, looking down
from the saddle steadily into the attentive and watchful face of the
boy, he said:
“You’ll come to me tomorrow morning, and you shall be shown where that
old gentleman lives; that old gentleman who was with me this morning;
where you are going, as you heard me say.”
“Yes, Sir,” returned Rob.
“I have a great interest in that old gentleman, and in serving him, you
serve me, boy, do you understand? Well,” he added, interrupting him,
for he saw his round face brighten when he was told that: “I see you
do. I want to know all about that old gentleman, and how he goes on
from day to day—for I am anxious to be of service to him—and especially
who comes there to see him. Do you understand?”
Rob nodded his steadfast face, and said “Yes, Sir,” again.
“I should like to know that he has friends who are attentive to him,
and that they don’t desert him—for he lives very much alone now, poor
fellow; but that they are fond of him, and of his nephew who has gone
abroad. There is a very young lady who may perhaps come to see him. I
want particularly to know all about her.”
“I’ll take care, Sir,” said the boy.
“And take care,” returned his patron, bending forward to advance his
grinning face closer to the boy’s, and pat him on the shoulder with the
handle of his whip: “take care you talk about affairs of mine to nobody
but me.”
“To nobody in the world, Sir,” replied Rob, shaking his head.
“Neither there,” said Mr Carker, pointing to the place they had just
left, “nor anywhere else. I’ll try how true and grateful you can be.
I’ll prove you!” Making this, by his display of teeth and by the action
of his head, as much a threat as a promise, he turned from Rob’s eyes,
which were nailed upon him as if he had won the boy by a charm, body
and soul, and rode away. But again becoming conscious, after trotting a
short distance, that his devoted henchman, girt as before, was yielding
him the same attendance, to the great amusement of sundry spectators,