Dombey and Son
he reined up, and ordered him off. To ensure his obedience, he turned
in the saddle and watched him as he retired. It was curious to see that
even then Rob could not keep his eyes wholly averted from his patron’s
face, but, constantly turning and turning again to look after him,
involved himself in a tempest of buffetings and jostlings from the
other passengers in the street: of which, in the pursuit of the one
paramount idea, he was perfectly heedless.
Mr Carker the Manager rode on at a foot-pace, with the easy air of one
who had performed all the business of the day in a satisfactory manner,
and got it comfortably off his mind. Complacent and affable as man
could be, Mr Carker picked his way along the streets and hummed a soft
tune as he went. He seemed to purr, he was so glad.
And in some sort, Mr Carker, in his fancy, basked upon a hearth too.
Coiled up snugly at certain feet, he was ready for a spring, Or for a
tear, or for a scratch, or for a velvet touch, as the humour took him
and occasion served. Was there any bird in a cage, that came in for a
share of his regards?
“A very young lady!” thought Mr Carker the Manager, through his song.
“Ay! when I saw her last, she was a little child. With dark eyes and
hair, I recollect, and a good face; a very good face! I daresay she’s
pretty.”
More affable and pleasant yet, and humming his song until his many
teeth vibrated to it, Mr Carker picked his way along, and turned at
last into the shady street where Mr Dombey’s house stood. He had been
so busy, winding webs round good faces, and obscuring them with meshes,
that he hardly thought of being at this point of his ride, until,
glancing down the cold perspective of tall houses, he reined in his
horse quickly within a few yards of the door. But to explain why Mr
Carker reined in his horse quickly, and what he looked at in no small
surprise, a few digressive words are necessary.
Mr Toots, emancipated from the Blimber thraldom and coming into the
possession of a certain portion of his worldly wealth, “which,” as he
had been wont, during his last half-year’s probation, to communicate to
Mr Feeder every evening as a new discovery, “the executors couldn’t
keep him out of” had applied himself with great diligence, to the
science of Life. Fired with a noble emulation to pursue a brilliant and
distinguished career, Mr Toots had furnished a choice set of
apartments; had established among them a sporting bower, embellished
with the portraits of winning horses, in which he took no particle of
interest; and a divan, which made him poorly. In this delicious abode,
Mr Toots devoted himself to the cultivation of those gentle arts which
refine and humanise existence, his chief instructor in which was an
interesting character called the Game Chicken, who was always to be
heard of at the bar of the Black Badger, wore a shaggy white great-coat
in the warmest weather, and knocked Mr Toots about the head three times
a week, for the small consideration of ten and six per visit.
The Game Chicken, who was quite the Apollo of Mr Toots’s Pantheon, had
introduced to him a marker who taught billiards, a Life Guard who
taught fencing, a jobmaster who taught riding, a Cornish gentleman who
was up to anything in the athletic line, and two or three other friends
connected no less intimately with the fine arts. Under whose auspices
Mr Toots could hardly fail to improve apace, and under whose tuition he
went to work.
But however it came about, it came to pass, even while these gentlemen
had the gloss of novelty upon them, that Mr Toots felt, he didn’t know
how, unsettled and uneasy. There were husks in his corn, that even Game
Chickens couldn’t peck up; gloomy giants in his leisure, that even Game
Chickens couldn’t knock down. Nothing seemed to do Mr Toots so much
good as incessantly leaving cards at Mr Dombey’s door. No taxgatherer
in the British Dominions—that wide-spread territory on which the sun
never sets, and where the tax-gatherer never goes to bed—was more
regular and persevering in his calls than Mr Toots.
Mr Toots never went upstairs; and always performed the same ceremonies,
richly dressed for the purpose, at the hall door.
“Oh! Good morning!” would be Mr Toots’s first remark to the servant.
“For Mr Dombey,” would be Mr Toots’s next remark, as he handed in a
card. “For Miss Dombey,” would be his next, as he handed in another.
Mr Toots would then turn round as if to go away; but the man knew him
by this time, and knew he wouldn’t.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” Mr Toots would say, as if a thought had
suddenly descended on him. “Is the young woman at home?”
The man would rather think she was, but wouldn’t quite know. Then he
would ring a bell that rang upstairs, and would look up the staircase,
and would say, yes, she was at home, and was coming down. Then Miss
Nipper would appear, and the man would retire.
“Oh! How de do?” Mr Toots would say, with a chuckle and a blush.
Susan would thank him, and say she was very well.
“How’s Diogenes going on?” would be Mr Toots’s second interrogation.
Very well indeed. Miss Florence was fonder and fonder of him every day.
Mr Toots was sure to hail this with a burst of chuckles, like the
opening of a bottle of some effervescent beverage.
“Miss Florence is quite well, Sir,” Susan would add.
“Oh, it’s of no consequence, thank’ee,” was the invariable reply of Mr
Toots; and when he had said so, he always went away very fast.
Now it is certain that Mr Toots had a filmy something in his mind,
which led him to conclude that if he could aspire successfully in the
fulness of time, to the hand of Florence, he would be fortunate and
blest. It is certain that Mr Toots, by some remote and roundabout road,
had got to that point, and that there he made a stand. His heart was
wounded; he was touched; he was in love. He had made a desperate
attempt, one night, and had sat up all night for the purpose, to write
an acrostic on Florence, which affected him to tears in the conception.
But he never proceeded in the execution further than the words “For
when I gaze,”—the flow of imagination in which he had previously
written down the initial letters of the other seven lines, deserting
him at that point.
Beyond devising that very artful and politic measure of leaving a card
for Mr Dombey daily, the brain of Mr Toots had not worked much in
reference to the subject that held his feelings prisoner. But deep
consideration at length assured Mr Toots that an important step to
gain, was, the conciliation of Miss Susan Nipper, preparatory to giving
her some inkling of his state of mind.
A little light and playful gallantry towards this lady seemed the means
to employ in that early chapter of the history, for winning her to his
interests. Not being able quite to make up his mind about it, he
consulted the Chicken—without taking that gentleman into his
confidence; merely informing him that a friend in Yorkshire had written
to him (Mr Toots) for his opinion on such a question. The Chicken
replying that his opinion always was, “Go in and win,” and further,
“When your man’s before you and your work cut out, go in and do it,” Mr
Toots considered this a figurative way of supporting his own view of
the case, and heroically resolved to kiss Miss Nipper next day.
Upon the next day, therefore, Mr Toots, putting into requisition some
of the greatest marvels that Burgess and Co. had ever turned out, went
off to Mr Dombey’s upon this design. But his heart failed him so much
as he approached the scene of action, that, although he arrived on the
ground at three o’clock in the afternoon, it was six before he knocked
at the door.
Everything happened as usual, down to the point where Susan said her
young mistress was well, and Mr Toots said it was of no consequence. To
her amazement, Mr Toots, instead of going off, like a rocket, after
that observation, lingered and chuckled.
“Perhaps you’d like to walk upstairs, Sir!” said Susan.
“Well, I think I will come in!” said Mr Toots.
But instead of walking upstairs, the bold Toots made an awkward plunge
at Susan when the door was shut, and embracing that fair creature,
kissed her on the cheek.
“Go along with you!” cried Susan, “or Ill tear your eyes out.”
“Just another!” said Mr Toots.
“Go along with you!” exclaimed Susan, giving him a push “Innocents like
you, too! Who’ll begin next? Go along, Sir!”
Susan was not in any serious strait, for she could hardly speak for
laughing; but Diogenes, on the staircase, hearing a rustling against
the wall, and a shuffling of feet, and seeing through the banisters
that there was some contention going on, and foreign invasion in the
house, formed a different opinion, dashed down to the rescue, and in
the twinkling of an eye had Mr Toots by the leg.
Susan screamed, laughed, opened the street-door, and ran downstairs;
the bold Toots tumbled staggering out into the street, with Diogenes
holding on to one leg of his pantaloons, as if Burgess and Co. were his
cooks, and had provided that dainty morsel for his holiday
entertainment; Diogenes shaken off, rolled over and over in the dust,
got up again, whirled round the giddy Toots and snapped at him: and all
this turmoil Mr Carker, reigning up his horse and sitting a little at a
distance, saw to his amazement, issue from the stately house of Mr
Dombey.
Mr Carker remained watching the discomfited Toots, when Diogenes was
called in, and the door shut: and while that gentleman, taking refuge
in a doorway near at hand, bound up the torn leg of his pantaloons with
a costly silk handkerchief that had formed part of his expensive outfit
for the advent.
“I beg your pardon, Sir,” said Mr Carker, riding up, with his most
propitiatory smile. “I hope you are not hurt?”
“Oh no, thank you,” replied Mr Toots, raising his flushed face, “it’s
of no consequence” Mr Toots would have signified, if he could, that he
liked it very much.
“If the dog’s teeth have entered the leg, Sir—” began Carker, with a
display of his own.
“No, thank you,” said Mr Toots, “it’s all quite right. It’s very
comfortable, thank you.”
“I have the pleasure of knowing Mr Dombey,” observed Carker.
“Have you though?” rejoined the blushing Took
“And you will allow me, perhaps, to apologise, in his absence,” said Mr
Carker, taking off his hat, “for such a misadventure, and to wonder how
it can possibly have happened.”
Mr Toots is so much gratified by this politeness, and the lucky chance
of making friends with a friend of Mr Dombey, that he pulls out his
card-case which he never loses an opportunity of using, and hands his
name and address to Mr Carker: who responds to that courtesy by giving
him his own, and with that they part.
As Mr Carker picks his way so softly past the house, looking up at the
windows, and trying to make out the pensive face behind the curtain
looking at the children opposite, the rough head of Diogenes came
clambering up close by it, and the dog, regardless of all soothing,
barks and growls, and makes at him from that height, as if he would
spring down and tear him limb from limb.
Well spoken, Di, so near your Mistress! Another, and another with your
head up, your eyes flashing, and your vexed mouth worrying itself, for
want of him! Another, as he picks his way along! You have a good scent,
Di,—cats, boy, cats!
CHAPTER XXIII.
Florence solitary, and the Midshipman mysterious
Florence lived alone in the great dreary house, and day succeeded day,
and still she lived alone; and the blank walls looked down upon her
with a vacant stare, as if they had a Gorgon-like mind to stare her
youth and beauty into stone.
No magic dwelling-place in magic story, shut up in the heart of a thick