Martin Chuzzlewit
‘my mind was running at that moment on our late dear friend, your
departed father.’
Mr Jonas immediately let his burden fall, and said, threatening him with
his hand:
‘Drop that, Pecksniff!’
Mr Pecksniff not exactly knowing whether allusion was made to the
subject or the portmanteau, stared at his friend in unaffected surprise.
‘Drop it, I say!’ cried Jonas, fiercely. ‘Do you hear? Drop it, now and
for ever. You had better, I give you notice!’
‘It was quite a mistake,’ urged Mr Pecksniff, very much dismayed;
‘though I admit it was foolish. I might have known it was a tender
string.’
‘Don’t talk to me about tender strings,’ said Jonas, wiping his forehead
with the cuff of his coat. ‘I’m not going to be crowed over by you,
because I don’t like dead company.’
Mr Pecksniff had got out the words ‘Crowed over, Mr Jonas!’ when that
young man, with a dark expression in his countenance, cut him short once
more:
‘Mind!’ he said. ‘I won’t have it. I advise you not to revive the
subject, neither to me nor anybody else. You can take a hint, if you
choose as well as another man. There’s enough said about it. Come
along!’
Taking up his part of the load again, when he had said these words,
he hurried on so fast that Mr Pecksniff, at the other end of the
portmanteau, found himself dragged forward, in a very inconvenient and
ungraceful manner, to the great detriment of what is called by fancy
gentlemen ‘the bark’ upon his shins, which were most unmercifully bumped
against the hard leather and the iron buckles. In the course of a few
minutes, however, Mr Jonas relaxed his speed, and suffered his companion
to come up with him, and to bring the portmanteau into a tolerably
straight position.
It was pretty clear that he regretted his late outbreak, and that he
mistrusted its effect on Mr Pecksniff; for as often as that gentleman
glanced towards Mr Jonas, he found Mr Jonas glancing at him, which was
a new source of embarrassment. It was but a short-lived one, though, for
Mr Jonas soon began to whistle, whereupon Mr Pecksniff, taking his cue
from his friend, began to hum a tune melodiously.
‘Pretty nearly there, ain’t we?’ said Jonas, when this had lasted some
time.
‘Close, my dear friend,’ said Mr Pecksniff.
‘What’ll they be doing, do you suppose?’ asked Jonas.
‘Impossible to say,’ cried Mr Pecksniff. ‘Giddy truants! They may be
away from home, perhaps. I was going to--he! he! he!--I was going to
propose,’ said Mr Pecksniff, ‘that we should enter by the back way, and
come upon them like a clap of thunder, Mr Jonas.’
It might not have been easy to decide in respect of which of their
manifold properties, Jonas, Mr Pecksniff, the carpet-bag, and the
portmanteau, could be likened to a clap of thunder. But Mr Jonas giving
his assent to this proposal, they stole round into the back yard, and
softly advanced towards the kitchen window, through which the mingled
light of fire and candle shone upon the darkening night.
Truly Mr Pecksniff is blessed in his children--in one of them, at any
rate. The prudent Cherry--staff and scrip, and treasure of her doting
father--there she sits, at a little table white as driven snow, before
the kitchen fire, making up accounts! See the neat maiden, as with pen
in hand, and calculating look addressed towards the ceiling and bunch
of keys within a little basket at her side, she checks the housekeeping
expenditure! From flat-iron, dish-cover, and warming-pan; from pot and
kettle, face of brass footman, and black-leaded stove; bright glances
of approbation wink and glow upon her. The very onions dangling from the
beam, mantle and shine like cherubs’ cheeks. Something of the influence
of those vegetables sinks into Mr Pecksniff’s nature. He weeps.
It is but for a moment, and he hides it from the observation of
his friend--very carefully--by a somewhat elaborate use of his
pocket-handkerchief, in fact; for he would not have his weakness known.
‘Pleasant,’ he murmured, ‘pleasant to a father’s feelings! My dear girl!
Shall we let her know we are here, Mr Jonas?’
‘Why, I suppose you don’t mean to spend the evening in the stable, or
the coach-house,’ he returned.
‘That, indeed, is not such hospitality as I would show to YOU, my
friend,’ cried Mr Pecksniff, pressing his hand. And then he took a long
breath, and tapping at the window, shouted with stentorian blandness:
‘Boh!’
Cherry dropped her pen and screamed. But innocence is ever bold, or
should be. As they opened the door, the valiant girl exclaimed in a firm
voice, and with a presence of mind which even in that trying moment did
not desert her, ‘Who are you? What do you want? Speak! or I will call my
Pa.’
Mr Pecksniff held out his arms. She knew him instantly, and rushed into
his fond embrace.
‘It was thoughtless of us, Mr Jonas, it was very thoughtless,’ said
Pecksniff, smoothing his daugther’s hair. ‘My darling, do you see that I
am not alone!’
Not she. She had seen nothing but her father until now. She saw Mr
Jonas now, though; and blushed, and hung her head down, as she gave him
welcome.
But where was Merry? Mr Pecksniff didn’t ask the question in reproach,
but in a vein of mildness touched with a gentle sorrow. She was
upstairs, reading on the parlour couch. Ah! Domestic details had no
charms for HER. ‘But call her down,’ said Mr Pecksniff, with a placid
resignation. ‘Call her down, my love.’
She was called and came, all flushed and tumbled from reposing on the
sofa; but none the worse for that. No, not at all. Rather the better, if
anything.
‘Oh my goodness me!’ cried the arch girl, turning to her cousin when she
had kissed her father on both cheeks, and in her frolicsome nature had
bestowed a supernumerary salute upon the tip of his nose, ‘YOU here,
fright! Well, I’m very thankful that you won’t trouble ME much!’
‘What! you’re as lively as ever, are you?’ said Jonas. ‘Oh! You’re a
wicked one!’
‘There, go along!’ retorted Merry, pushing him away. ‘I’m sure I don’t
know what I shall ever do, if I have to see much of you. Go along, for
gracious’ sake!’
Mr Pecksniff striking in here, with a request that Mr Jonas would
immediately walk upstairs, he so far complied with the young lady’s
adjuration as to go at once. But though he had the fair Cherry on his
arm, he could not help looking back at her sister, and exchanging some
further dialogue of the same bantering description, as they all four
ascended to the parlour; where--for the young ladies happened, by good
fortune, to be a little later than usual that night--the tea-board was
at that moment being set out.
Mr Pinch was not at home, so they had it all to themselves, and were
very snug and talkative, Jonas sitting between the two sisters, and
displaying his gallantry in that engaging manner which was peculiar
to him. It was a hard thing, Mr Pecksniff said, when tea was done,
and cleared away, to leave so pleasant a little party, but having some
important papers to examine in his own apartment, he must beg them to
excuse him for half an hour. With this apology he withdrew, singing
a careless strain as he went. He had not been gone five minutes, when
Merry, who had been sitting in the window, apart from Jonas and her
sister, burst into a half-smothered laugh, and skipped towards the door.
‘Hallo!’ cried Jonas. ‘Don’t go.’
‘Oh, I dare say!’ rejoined Merry, looking back. ‘You’re very anxious I
should stay, fright, ain’t you?’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Jonas. ‘Upon my word I am. I want to speak to you.’
But as she left the room notwithstanding, he ran out after her,
and brought her back, after a short struggle in the passage which
scandalized Miss Cherry very much.
‘Upon my word, Merry,’ urged that young lady, ‘I wonder at you! There
are bounds even to absurdity, my dear.’
‘Thank you, my sweet,’ said Merry, pursing up her rosy Lips. ‘Much
obliged to it for its advice. Oh! do leave me alone, you monster, do!’
This entreaty was wrung from her by a new proceeding on the part of
Mr Jonas, who pulled her down, all breathless as she was, into a seat
beside him on the sofa, having at the same time Miss Cherry upon the
other side.
‘Now,’ said Jonas, clasping the waist of each; ‘I have got both arms
full, haven’t I?’
‘One of them will be black and blue to-morrow, if you don’t let me go,’
cried the playful Merry.
‘Ah! I don’t mind YOUR pinching,’ grinned Jonas, ‘a bit.’
‘Pinch him for me, Cherry, pray,’ said Mercy. ‘I never did hate anybody
so much as I hate this creature, I declare!’
‘No, no, don’t say that,’ urged Jonas, ‘and don’t pinch either, because
I want to be serious. I say--Cousin Charity--’
‘Well! what?’ she answered sharply.
‘I want to have some sober talk,’ said Jonas; ‘I want to prevent any
mistakes, you know, and to put everything upon a pleasant understanding.
That’s desirable and proper, ain’t it?’
Neither of the sisters spoke a word. Mr Jonas paused and cleared his
throat, which was very dry.
‘She’ll not believe what I am going to say, will she, cousin?’ said
Jonas, timidly squeezing Miss Charity.
‘Really, Mr Jonas, I don’t know, until I hear what it is. It’s quite
impossible!’
‘Why, you see,’ said Jonas, ‘her way always being to make game of
people, I know she’ll laugh, or pretend to--I know that, beforehand. But
you can tell her I’m in earnest, cousin; can’t you? You’ll confess you
know, won’t you? You’ll be honourable, I’m sure,’ he added persuasively.
No answer. His throat seemed to grow hotter and hotter, and to be more
and more difficult of control.
‘You see, Cousin Charity,’ said Jonas, ‘nobody but you can tell her
what pains I took to get into her company when you were both at the
boarding-house in the city, because nobody’s so well aware of it, you
know. Nobody else can tell her how hard I tried to get to know you
better, in order that I might get to know her without seeming to wish
it; can they? I always asked you about her, and said where had she gone,
and when would she come, and how lively she was, and all that; didn’t I,
cousin? I know you’ll tell her so, if you haven’t told her so already,
and--and--I dare say you have, because I’m sure you’re honourable, ain’t
you?’
Still not a word. The right arm of Mr Jonas--the elder sister sat upon
his right--may have been sensible of some tumultuous throbbing which was
not within itself; but nothing else apprised him that his words had had
the least effect.
‘Even if you kept it to yourself, and haven’t told her,’ resumed Jonas,
‘it don’t much matter, because you’ll bear honest witness now; won’t
you? We’ve been very good friends from the first; haven’t we? and of
course we shall be quite friends in future, and so I don’t mind speaking
before you a bit. Cousin Mercy, you’ve heard what I’ve been saying.
She’ll confirm it, every word; she must. Will you have me for your
husband? Eh?’
As he released his hold of Charity, to put this question with better
effect, she started up and hurried away to her own room, marking her
progress as she went by such a train of passionate and incoherent sound,
as nothing but a slighted woman in her anger could produce.
‘Let me go away. Let me go after her,’ said Merry, pushing him off,
and giving him--to tell the truth--more than one sounding slap upon his
outstretched face.
‘Not till you say yes. You haven’t told me. Will you have me for your
husband?’
‘No, I won’t. I can’t bear the sight of you. I have told you so a
hundred times. You are a fright. Besides, I always thought you liked my
sister best. We all thought so.’
‘But that wasn’t my fault,’ said Jonas.
‘Yes it was; you know it was.’
‘Any trick is fair in love,’ said Jonas. ‘She may have thought I liked
her best, but you didn’t.’
‘I did!’
‘No, you didn’t. You never could have thought I liked her best, when you