Martin Chuzzlewit
am sure there is not, when you say so in that manner. You won’t take it
ill, John, that I said what I did just now!’
‘Ill!’ said the other, giving his hand a hearty squeeze; ‘why what
do you think I am made of? Mr Tigg and I are not on such an intimate
footing that you need be at all uneasy, I give you my solemn assurance
of that, Tom. You are quite comfortable now?’
‘Quite,’ said Tom.
‘Then once more, good night!’
‘Good night!’ cried Tom; ‘and such pleasant dreams to you as should
attend the sleep of the best fellow in the world!’
‘--Except Pecksniff,’ said his friend, stopping at the door for a
moment, and looking gayly back.
‘Except Pecksniff,’ answered Tom, with great gravity; ‘of course.’
And thus they parted for the night; John Westlock full of
light-heartedness and good humour, and poor Tom Pinch quite satisfied;
though still, as he turned over on his side in bed, he muttered to
himself, ‘I really do wish, for all that, though, that he wasn’t
acquainted with Mr Tigg.’
They breakfasted together very early next morning, for the two young
men desired to get back again in good season; and John Westlock was to
return to London by the coach that day. As he had some hours to spare,
he bore them company for three or four miles on their walk, and
only parted from them at last in sheer necessity. The parting was an
unusually hearty one, not only as between him and Tom Pinch, but on the
side of Martin also, who had found in the old pupil a very different
sort of person from the milksop he had prepared himself to expect.
Young Westlock stopped upon a rising ground, when he had gone a little
distance, and looked back. They were walking at a brisk pace, and Tom
appeared to be talking earnestly. Martin had taken off his greatcoat,
the wind being now behind them, and carried it upon his arm. As he
looked, he saw Tom relieve him of it, after a faint resistance, and,
throwing it upon his own, encumber himself with the weight of both. This
trivial incident impressed the old pupil mightily, for he stood there,
gazing after them, until they were hidden from his view; when he
shook his head, as if he were troubled by some uneasy reflection, and
thoughtfully retraced his steps to Salisbury.
In the meantime, Martin and Tom pursued their way, until they halted,
safe and sound, at Mr Pecksniff’s house, where a brief epistle from that
good gentleman to Mr Pinch announced the family’s return by that night’s
coach. As it would pass the corner of the lane at about six o’clock in
the morning, Mr Pecksniff requested that the gig might be in waiting at
the finger-post about that time, together with a cart for the luggage.
And to the end that he might be received with the greater honour, the
young men agreed to rise early, and be upon the spot themselves.
It was the least cheerful day they had yet passed together. Martin
was out of spirits and out of humour, and took every opportunity of
comparing his condition and prospects with those of young Westlock;
much to his own disadvantage always. This mood of his depressed Tom; and
neither that morning’s parting, nor yesterday’s dinner, helped to mend
the matter. So the hours dragged on heavily enough; and they were glad
to go to bed early.
They were not quite so glad to get up again at half-past four o’clock,
in all the shivering discomfort of a dark winter’s morning; but they
turned out punctually, and were at the finger-post full half-an-hour
before the appointed time. It was not by any means a lively morning, for
the sky was black and cloudy, and it rained hard; but Martin said there
was some satisfaction in seeing that brute of a horse (by this, he meant
Mr Pecksniff’s Arab steed) getting very wet; and that he rejoiced, on
his account, that it rained so fast. From this it may be inferred that
Martin’s spirits had not improved, as indeed they had not; for while he
and Mr Pinch stood waiting under a hedge, looking at the rain, the gig,
the cart, and its reeking driver, he did nothing but grumble; and, but
that it is indispensable to any dispute that there should be two parties
to it, he would certainly have picked a quarrel with Tom.
At length the noise of wheels was faintly audible in the distance and
presently the coach came splashing through the mud and mire with one
miserable outside passenger crouching down among wet straw, under a
saturated umbrella; and the coachman, guard, and horses, in a fellowship
of dripping wretchedness. Immediately on its stopping, Mr Pecksniff let
down the window-glass and hailed Tom Pinch.
‘Dear me, Mr Pinch! Is it possible that you are out upon this very
inclement morning?’
‘Yes, sir,’ cried Tom, advancing eagerly, ‘Mr Chuzzlewit and I, sir.’
‘Oh!’ said Mr Pecksniff, looking not so much at Martin as at the spot on
which he stood. ‘Oh! Indeed. Do me the favour to see to the trunks, if
you please, Mr Pinch.’
Then Mr Pecksniff descended, and helped his daughters to alight; but
neither he nor the young ladies took the slightest notice of Martin,
who had advanced to offer his assistance, but was repulsed by Mr
Pecksniff’s standing immediately before his person, with his back
towards him. In the same manner, and in profound silence, Mr Pecksniff
handed his daughters into the gig; and following himself and taking the
reins, drove off home.
Lost in astonishment, Martin stood staring at the coach, and when the
coach had driven away, at Mr Pinch, and the luggage, until the cart
moved off too; when he said to Tom:
‘Now will you have the goodness to tell me what THIS portends?’
‘What?’ asked Tom.
‘This fellow’s behaviour. Mr Pecksniff’s, I mean. You saw it?’
‘No. Indeed I did not,’ cried Tom. ‘I was busy with the trunks.’
‘It is no matter,’ said Martin. ‘Come! Let us make haste back!’ And
without another word started off at such a pace, that Tom had some
difficulty in keeping up with him.
He had no care where he went, but walked through little heaps of mud
and little pools of water with the utmost indifference; looking straight
before him, and sometimes laughing in a strange manner within himself.
Tom felt that anything he could say would only render him the more
obstinate, and therefore trusted to Mr Pecksniff’s manner when they
reached the house, to remove the mistaken impression under which he felt
convinced so great a favourite as the new pupil must unquestionably be
labouring. But he was not a little amazed himself, when they did reach
it, and entered the parlour where Mr Pecksniff was sitting alone
before the fire, drinking some hot tea, to find that instead of taking
favourable notice of his relative and keeping him, Mr Pinch, in the
background, he did exactly the reverse, and was so lavish in his
attentions to Tom, that Tom was thoroughly confounded.
‘Take some tea, Mr Pinch--take some tea,’ said Pecksniff, stirring the
fire. ‘You must be very cold and damp. Pray take some tea, and come into
a warm place, Mr Pinch.’
Tom saw that Martin looked at Mr Pecksniff as though he could have
easily found it in his heart to give HIM an invitation to a very warm
place; but he was quite silent, and standing opposite that gentleman at
the table, regarded him attentively.
‘Take a chair, Pinch,’ said Pecksniff. ‘Take a chair, if you please. How
have things gone on in our absence, Mr Pinch?’
‘You--you will be very much pleased with the grammar-school, sir,’ said
Tom. ‘It’s nearly finished.’
‘If you will have the goodness, Mr Pinch,’ said Pecksniff, waving his
hand and smiling, ‘we will not discuss anything connected with that
question at present. What have YOU been doing, Thomas, humph?’
Mr Pinch looked from master to pupil, and from pupil to master, and was
so perplexed and dismayed that he wanted presence of mind to answer
the question. In this awkward interval, Mr Pecksniff (who was perfectly
conscious of Martin’s gaze, though he had never once glanced towards
him) poked the fire very much, and when he couldn’t do that any more,
drank tea assiduously.
‘Now, Mr Pecksniff,’ said Martin at last, in a very quiet voice, ‘if you
have sufficiently refreshed and recovered yourself, I shall be glad to
hear what you mean by this treatment of me.’
‘And what,’ said Mr Pecksniff, turning his eyes on Tom Pinch, even more
placidly and gently than before, ‘what have YOU been doing, Thomas,
humph?’
When he had repeated this inquiry, he looked round the walls of the room
as if he were curious to see whether any nails had been left there by
accident in former times.
Tom was almost at his wit’s end what to say between the two, and had
already made a gesture as if he would call Mr Pecksniff’s attention to
the gentleman who had last addressed him, when Martin saved him further
trouble, by doing so himself.
‘Mr Pecksniff,’ he said, softly rapping the table twice or thrice, and
moving a step or two nearer, so that he could have touched him with his
hand; ‘you heard what I said just now. Do me the favour to reply, if you
please. I ask you’--he raised his voice a little here--‘what you mean by
this?’
‘I will talk to you, sir,’ said Mr Pecksniff in a severe voice, as he
looked at him for the first time, ‘presently.’
‘You are very obliging,’ returned Martin; ‘presently will not do. I must
trouble you to talk to me at once.’
Mr Pecksniff made a feint of being deeply interested in his pocketbook,
but it shook in his hands; he trembled so.
‘Now,’ retorted Martin, rapping the table again. ‘Now. Presently will
not do. Now!’
‘Do you threaten me, sir?’ cried Mr Pecksniff.
Martin looked at him, and made no answer; but a curious observer
might have detected an ominous twitching at his mouth, and perhaps
an involuntary attraction of his right hand in the direction of Mr
Pecksniff’s cravat.
‘I lament to be obliged to say, sir,’ resumed Mr Pecksniff, ‘that it
would be quite in keeping with your character if you did threaten me.
You have deceived me. You have imposed upon a nature which you knew to
be confiding and unsuspicious. You have obtained admission, sir,’ said
Mr Pecksniff, rising, ‘to this house, on perverted statements and on
false pretences.’
‘Go on,’ said Martin, with a scornful smile. ‘I understand you now. What
more?’
‘Thus much more, sir,’ cried Mr Pecksniff, trembling from head to foot,
and trying to rub his hands, as though he were only cold. ‘Thus much
more, if you force me to publish your shame before a third party, which
I was unwilling and indisposed to do. This lowly roof, sir, must not
be contaminated by the presence of one who has deceived, and cruelly
deceived, an honourable, beloved, venerated, and venerable gentleman;
and who wisely suppressed that deceit from me when he sought my
protection and favour, knowing that, humble as I am, I am an honest
man, seeking to do my duty in this carnal universe, and setting my face
against all vice and treachery. I weep for your depravity, sir,’ said
Mr Pecksniff; ‘I mourn over your corruption, I pity your voluntary
withdrawal of yourself from the flowery paths of purity and peace;’ here
he struck himself upon his breast, or moral garden; ‘but I cannot have
a leper and a serpent for an inmate. Go forth,’ said Mr Pecksniff,
stretching out his hand: ‘go forth, young man! Like all who know you, I
renounce you!’
With what intention Martin made a stride forward at these words, it is
impossible to say. It is enough to know that Tom Pinch caught him in
his arms, and that, at the same moment, Mr Pecksniff stepped back so
hastily, that he missed his footing, tumbled over a chair, and fell in
a sitting posture on the ground; where he remained without an effort
to get up again, with his head in a corner, perhaps considering it the
safest place.
‘Let me go, Pinch!’ cried Martin, shaking him away. ‘Why do you hold me?