The Old Curiosity Shop
as possible and ostentatiously folded back over his cuffs; he displayed
no gloves, and carried a yellow cane having at the top a bone hand with
the semblance of a ring on its little finger and a black ball in its
grasp. With all these personal advantages (to which may be added a
strong savour of tobacco-smoke, and a prevailing greasiness of
appearance) Mr Swiveller leant back in his chair with his eyes fixed on
the ceiling, and occasionally pitching his voice to the needful key,
obliged the company with a few bars of an intensely dismal air, and
then, in the middle of a note, relapsed into his former silence.
The old man sat himself down in a chair, and with folded hands, looked
sometimes at his grandson and sometimes at his strange companion, as if
he were utterly powerless and had no resource but to leave them to do
as they pleased. The young man reclined against a table at no great
distance from his friend, in apparent indifference to everything that
had passed; and I--who felt the difficulty of any interference,
notwithstanding that the old man had appealed to me, both by words and
looks--made the best feint I could of being occupied in examining some
of the goods that were disposed for sale, and paying very little
attention to a person before me.
The silence was not of long duration, for Mr Swiveller, after favouring
us with several melodious assurances that his heart was in the
Highlands, and that he wanted but his Arab steed as a preliminary to
the achievement of great feats of valour and loyalty, removed his eyes
from the ceiling and subsided into prose again.
‘Fred,’ said Mr Swiveller stopping short, as if the idea had suddenly
occurred to him, and speaking in the same audible whisper as before,
‘is the old min friendly?’
‘What does it matter?’ returned his friend peevishly.
‘No, but IS he?’ said Dick.
‘Yes, of course. What do I care whether he is or not?’
Emboldened as it seemed by this reply to enter into a more general
conversation, Mr Swiveller plainly laid himself out to captivate our
attention.
He began by remarking that soda-water, though a good thing in the
abstract, was apt to lie cold upon the stomach unless qualified with
ginger, or a small infusion of brandy, which latter article he held to
be preferable in all cases, saving for the one consideration of
expense. Nobody venturing to dispute these positions, he proceeded to
observe that the human hair was a great retainer of tobacco-smoke, and
that the young gentlemen of Westminster and Eton, after eating vast
quantities of apples to conceal any scent of cigars from their anxious
friends, were usually detected in consequence of their heads possessing
this remarkable property; when he concluded that if the Royal Society
would turn their attention to the circumstance, and endeavour to find
in the resources of science a means of preventing such untoward
revelations, they might indeed be looked upon as benefactors to
mankind. These opinions being equally incontrovertible with those he
had already pronounced, he went on to inform us that Jamaica rum,
though unquestionably an agreeable spirit of great richness and
flavour, had the drawback of remaining constantly present to the taste
next day; and nobody being venturous enough to argue this point either,
he increased in confidence and became yet more companionable and
communicative.
‘It’s a devil of a thing, gentlemen,’ said Mr Swiveller, ‘when
relations fall out and disagree. If the wing of friendship should never
moult a feather, the wing of relationship should never be clipped, but
be always expanded and serene. Why should a grandson and grandfather
peg away at each other with mutual wiolence when all might be bliss and
concord. Why not jine hands and forgit it?’
‘Hold your tongue,’ said his friend.
‘Sir,’ replied Mr Swiveller, ‘don’t you interrupt the chair.
Gentlemen, how does the case stand, upon the present occasion? Here is
a jolly old grandfather--I say it with the utmost respect--and here is
a wild, young grandson. The jolly old grandfather says to the wild
young grandson, “I have brought you up and educated you, Fred; I have
put you in the way of getting on in life; you have bolted a little out
of course, as young fellows often do; and you shall never have another
chance, nor the ghost of half a one.” The wild young grandson makes
answer to this and says, “You’re as rich as rich can be; you have been
at no uncommon expense on my account, you’re saving up piles of money
for my little sister that lives with you in a secret, stealthy,
hugger-muggering kind of way and with no manner of enjoyment--why can’t
you stand a trifle for your grown-up relation?” The jolly old
grandfather unto this, retorts, not only that he declines to fork out
with that cheerful readiness which is always so agreeable and pleasant
in a gentleman of his time of life, but that he will bow up, and call
names, and make reflections whenever they meet. Then the plain question
is, an’t it a pity that this state of things should continue, and how
much better would it be for the gentleman to hand over a reasonable
amount of tin, and make it all right and comfortable?’
Having delivered this oration with a great many waves and flourishes of
the hand, Mr Swiveller abruptly thrust the head of his cane into his
mouth as if to prevent himself from impairing the effect of his speech
by adding one other word.
‘Why do you hunt and persecute me, God help me!’ said the old man
turning to his grandson. ‘Why do you bring your prolifigate companions
here? How often am I to tell you that my life is one of care and
self-denial, and that I am poor?’
‘How often am I to tell you,’ returned the other, looking coldly at
him, ‘that I know better?’
‘You have chosen your own path,’ said the old man. ‘Follow it. Leave
Nell and me to toil and work.’
‘Nell will be a woman soon,’ returned the other, ‘and, bred in your
faith, she’ll forget her brother unless he shows himself sometimes.’
‘Take care,’ said the old man with sparkling eyes, ‘that she does not
forget you when you would have her memory keenest. Take care that the
day don’t come when you walk barefoot in the streets, and she rides by
in a gay carriage of her own.’
‘You mean when she has your money?’ retorted the other. ‘How like a
poor man he talks!’
‘And yet,’ said the old man dropping his voice and speaking like one
who thinks aloud, ‘how poor we are, and what a life it is! The cause is
a young child’s guiltless of all harm or wrong, but nothing goes well
with it! Hope and patience, hope and patience!’
These words were uttered in too low a tone to reach the ears of the
young men. Mr Swiveller appeared to think that they implied some mental
struggle consequent upon the powerful effect of his address, for he
poked his friend with his cane and whispered his conviction that he had
administered ‘a clincher,’ and that he expected a commission on the
profits. Discovering his mistake after a while, he appeared to grow
rather sleepy and discontented, and had more than once suggested the
propriety of an immediate departure, when the door opened, and the
child herself appeared.
CHAPTER 3
The child was closely followed by an elderly man of remarkably hard
features and forbidding aspect, and so low in stature as to be quite a
dwarf, though his head and face were large enough for the body of a
giant. His black eyes were restless, sly, and cunning; his mouth and
chin, bristly with the stubble of a coarse hard beard; and his
complexion was one of that kind which never looks clean or wholesome.
But what added most to the grotesque expression of his face was a
ghastly smile, which, appearing to be the mere result of habit and to
have no connection with any mirthful or complacent feeling, constantly
revealed the few discoloured fangs that were yet scattered in his
mouth, and gave him the aspect of a panting dog. His dress consisted of
a large high-crowned hat, a worn dark suit, a pair of capacious shoes,
and a dirty white neckerchief sufficiently limp and crumpled to
disclose the greater portion of his wiry throat. Such hair as he had
was of a grizzled black, cut short and straight upon his temples, and
hanging in a frowzy fringe about his ears. His hands, which were of a
rough, coarse grain, were very dirty; his fingernails were crooked,
long, and yellow.
There was ample time to note these particulars, for besides that they
were sufficiently obvious without very close observation, some moments
elapsed before any one broke silence. The child advanced timidly
towards her brother and put her hand in his, the dwarf (if we may call
him so) glanced keenly at all present, and the curiosity-dealer, who
plainly had not expected his uncouth visitor, seemed disconcerted and
embarrassed.
‘Ah!’ said the dwarf, who with his hand stretched out above his eyes
had been surveying the young man attentively, ‘that should be your
grandson, neighbour!’
‘Say rather that he should not be,’ replied the old man. ‘But he is.’
‘And that?’ said the dwarf, pointing to Dick Swiveller.
‘Some friend of his, as welcome here as he,’ said the old man.
‘And that?’ inquired the dwarf, wheeling round and pointing straight at
me.
‘A gentleman who was so good as to bring Nell home the other night when
she lost her way, coming from your house.’
The little man turned to the child as if to chide her or express his
wonder, but as she was talking to the young man, held his peace, and
bent his head to listen.
‘Well, Nelly,’ said the young fellow aloud. ‘Do they teach you to hate
me, eh?’
‘No, no. For shame. Oh, no!’ cried the child.
‘To love me, perhaps?’ pursued her brother with a sneer.
‘To do neither,’ she returned. ‘They never speak to me about you.
Indeed they never do.’
‘I dare be bound for that,’ he said, darting a bitter look at the
grandfather. ‘I dare be bound for that Nell. Oh! I believe you there!’
‘But I love you dearly, Fred,’ said the child.
‘No doubt!’
‘I do indeed, and always will,’ the child repeated with great emotion,
‘but oh! If you would leave off vexing him and making him unhappy, then
I could love you more.’
‘I see!’ said the young man, as he stooped carelessly over the child,
and having kissed her, pushed her from him: ‘There--get you away now
you have said your lesson. You needn’t whimper. We part good friends
enough, if that’s the matter.’
He remained silent, following her with his eyes, until she had gained
her little room and closed the door; and then turning to the dwarf,
said abruptly,
‘Harkee, Mr--’
‘Meaning me?’ returned the dwarf. ‘Quilp is my name. You might
remember. It’s not a long one--Daniel Quilp.’
‘Harkee, Mr Quilp, then,’ pursued the other, ‘You have some influence
with my grandfather there.’
‘Some,’ said Mr Quilp emphatically.
‘And are in a few of his mysteries and secrets.’
‘A few,’ replied Quilp, with equal dryness.
‘Then let me tell him once for all, through you, that I will come into
and go out of this place as often as I like, so long as he keeps Nell
here; and that if he wants to be quit of me, he must first be quit of
her. What have I done to be made a bugbear of, and to be shunned and
dreaded as if I brought the plague? He’ll tell you that I have no
natural affection; and that I care no more for Nell, for her own sake,
than I do for him. Let him say so. I care for the whim, then, of coming
to and fro and reminding her of my existence. I WILL see her when I
please. That’s my point. I came here to-day to maintain it, and I’ll
come here again fifty times with the same object and always with the
same success. I said I would stop till I had gained it. I have done
so, and now my visit’s ended. Come Dick.’
‘Stop!’ cried Mr Swiveller, as his companion turned toward the door.