Martin Chuzzlewit - Charles Dickens (i wanna iguana read aloud .txt) 📗

in a state of great agitation and excitement, prepared for their reception.

The company soon came tumbling out; insisting to each other that the Dragon clock was half an hour too fast, and that the thunder must have affected it. Impatient, wet, and weary though they were, Martin and Mark were overjoyed to see these old faces, and watched them with delighted interest as they departed from the house, and passed close by them.

‘There’s the old tailor, Mark!’ whispered Martin.

‘There he goes, sir! A little bandier than he was, I think, sir, ain’t he? His figure’s so far altered, as it seems to me, that you might wheel a rather larger barrow between his legs as he walks, than you could have done conveniently when we know’d him. There’s Sam a-coming out, sir.’

‘Ah, to be sure!’ cried Martin; ‘Sam, the hostler. I wonder whether that horse of Pecksniff’s is alive still?’

‘Not a doubt on it, sir,’ returned Mark. ‘That’s a description of animal, sir, as will go on in a bony way peculiar to himself for a long time, and get into the newspapers at last under the title of “Sing’lar Tenacity of Life in a Quadruped.” As if he had ever been alive in all his life, worth mentioning! There’s the clerk, sir— wery drunk, as usual.’

‘I see him!’ said Martin, laughing. ‘But, my life, how wet you are, Mark!’

‘I am! What do you consider yourself, sir?’

‘Oh, not half as bad,’ said his fellow-traveller, with an air of great vexation. ‘I told you not to keep on the windy side, Mark, but to let us change and change about. The rain has been beating on you ever since it began.’

‘You don’t know how it pleases me, sir,’ said Mark, after a short silence, ‘if I may make so bold as say so, to hear you a-going on in that there uncommon considerate way of yours; which I don’t mean to attend to, never, but which, ever since that time when I was floored in Eden, you have showed.’

‘Ah, Mark!’ sighed Martin, ‘the less we say of that the better. Do I see the light yonder?’

‘That’s the light!’ cried Mark. ‘Lord bless her, what briskness she possesses! Now for it, sir. Neat wines, good beds, and first-rate entertainment for man or beast.’

The kitchen fire burnt clear and red, the table was spread out, the kettle boiled; the slippers were there, the bootjack too, sheets of ham were there, cooking on the gridiron; half-a-dozen eggs were there, poaching in the frying-pan; a plethoric cherry-brandy bottle was there, winking at a foaming jug of beer upon the table; rare provisions were there, dangling from the rafters as if you had only to open your mouth, and something exquisitely ripe and good would be glad of the excuse for tumbling into it. Mrs Lupin, who for their sakes had dislodged the very cook, high priestess of the temple, with her own genial hands was dressing their repast.

It was impossible to help it—a ghost must have hugged her. The Atlantic Ocean and the Red Sea being, in that respect, all one, Martin hugged her instantly. Mr Tapley (as if the idea were quite novel, and had never occurred to him before), followed, with much gravity, on the same side.

‘Little did I ever think,’ said Mrs Lupin, adjusting her cap and laughing heartily; yes, and blushing too; ‘often as I have said that Mr Pecksniff’s young gentlemen were the life and soul of the Dragon, and that without them it would be too dull to live in—little did I ever think I am sure, that any one of them would ever make so free as you, Mr Martin! And still less that I shouldn’t be angry with him, but should be glad with all my heart to be the first to welcome him home from America, with Mark Tapley for his—’

‘For his friend, Mrs Lupin,’ interposed Martin.

‘For his friend,’ said the hostess, evidently gratified by this distinction, but at the same time admonishing Mr Tapley with a fork to remain at a respectful distance. ‘Little did I ever think that! But still less, that I should ever have the changes to relate that I shall have to tell you of, when you have done your supper!’

‘Good Heaven!’ cried Martin, changing colour, ‘what changes?’

‘SHE,’ said the hostess, ‘is quite well, and now at Mr Pecksniff’s. Don’t be at all alarmed about her. She is everything you could wish. It’s of no use mincing matters, or making secrets, is it?’ added Mrs Lupin. ‘I know all about it, you see!’

‘My good creature,’ returned Martin, ‘you are exactly the person who ought to know all about it. I am delighted to think you DO know about that! But what changes do you hint at? Has any death occurred?’

‘No, no!’ said the hostess. ‘Not as bad as that. But I declare now that I will not be drawn into saying another word till you have had your supper. If you ask me fifty questions in the meantime, I won’t answer one.’

She was so positive, that there was nothing for it but to get the supper over as quickly as possible; and as they had been walking a great many miles, and had fasted since the middle of the day, they did no great violence to their own inclinations in falling on it tooth and nail. It took rather longer to get through than might have been expected; for, half-a-dozen times, when they thought they had finished, Mrs Lupin exposed the fallacy of that impression triumphantly. But at last, in the course of time and nature, they gave in. Then, sitting with their slippered feet stretched out upon the kitchen hearth (which was wonderfully comforting, for the night had grown by this time raw and chilly), and looking with involuntary admiration at their dimpled, buxom, blooming hostess, as the firelight sparkled in her eyes and glimmered in her raven hair, they composed themselves to listen to her news.

Many were the exclamations of surprise which interrupted her, when she told them of the separation between Mr Pecksniff and his daughters, and between the same good gentleman and Mr Pinch. But these were nothing to the indignant demonstrations of Martin, when she related, as the common talk of the neighbourhood, what entire possession he had obtained over the mind and person of old Mr Chuzzlewit, and what high honour he designed for Mary. On receipt of this intelligence, Martin’s slippers flew off in a twinkling, and he began pulling on his wet boots with that indefinite intention of going somewhere instantly, and doing something to somebody, which is the first safety-valve of a hot temper.

‘He!’ said Martin, ‘smooth-tongued villain that he is! He! Give me that other boot, Mark?’

‘Where was you a-thinking of going to, sir?’ inquired Mr Tapley drying the sole at the fire, and looking coolly at it as he spoke, as if it were a slice of toast.

‘Where!’ repeated Martin. ‘You don’t suppose I am going to remain here, do you?’

The imperturbable Mark confessed that he did.

You do!’ retorted Martin angrily. ‘I am much obliged to you. What do you take me for?’

‘I take you for what you are, sir,’ said Mark; ‘and, consequently, am quite sure that whatever you do will be right and sensible. The boot, sir.’

Martin darted an impatient look at him, without taking it, and walked rapidly up and down the kitchen several times, with one boot and a stocking on. But, mindful of his Eden resolution, he had already gained many victories over himself when Mark was in the case, and he resolved to conquer now. So he came back to the book-jack, laid his hand on Mark’s shoulder to steady himself, pulled the boot off, picked up his slippers, put them on, and sat down again. He could not help thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his pockets, and muttering at intervals, ‘Pecksniff too! That fellow! Upon my soul! In-deed! What next?’ and so forth; nor could he help occasionally shaking his fist at the chimney, with a very threatening countenance; but this did not last long; and he heard Mrs Lupin out, if not with composure, at all events in silence.

‘As to Mr Pecksniff himself,’ observed the hostess in conclusion, spreading out the skirts of her gown with both hands, and nodding her head a great many times as she did so, ‘I don’t know what to say. Somebody must have poisoned his mind, or influenced him in some extraordinary way. I cannot believe that such a noble-spoken gentleman would go and do wrong of his own accord!’

A noble-spoken gentleman! How many people are there in the world, who, for no better reason, uphold their Pecksniffs to the last and abandon virtuous men, when Pecksniffs breathe upon them!

‘As to Mr Pinch,’ pursued the landlady, ‘if ever there was a dear, good, pleasant, worthy soul alive, Pinch, and no other, is his name. But how do we know that old Mr Chuzzlewit himself was not the cause of difference arising between him and Mr Pecksniff? No one but themselves can tell; for Mr Pinch has a proud spirit, though he has such a quiet way; and when he left us, and was so sorry to go, he scorned to make his story good, even to me.’

‘Poor old Tom!’ said Martin, in a tone that sounded like remorse.

‘It’s a comfort to know,’ resumed the landlady, ‘that he has his sister living with him, and is doing well. Only yesterday he sent me back, by post, a little’—here the colour came into her cheeks— ‘a little trifle I was bold enough to lend him when he went away; saying, with many thanks, that he had good employment, and didn’t want it. It was the same note; he hadn’t broken it. I never thought I could have been so little pleased to see a bank-note come back to me as I was to see that.’

‘Kindly said, and heartily!’ said Martin. ‘Is it not, Mark?’

‘She can’t say anything as does not possess them qualities,’ returned Mr Tapley; ‘which as much belongs to the Dragon as its licence. And now that we have got quite cool and fresh, to the subject again, sir; what will you do? If you’re not proud, and can make up your mind to go through with what you spoke of, coming along, that’s the course for you to take. If you started wrong with your grandfather (which, you’ll excuse my taking the liberty of saying, appears to have been the case), up with you, sir, and tell him so, and make an appeal to his affections. Don’t stand out. He’s a great deal older than you, and if he was hasty, you was hasty too. Give way, sir, give way.’

The eloquence of Mr Tapley was not without its effect on Martin but he still hesitated, and expressed his reason thus:

‘That’s all very true, and perfectly correct, Mark; and if it were a mere question of humbling myself before HIM, I would not consider it twice. But don’t you see, that being wholly under this hypocrite’s government, and having (if what we hear be true) no mind or will of his own, I throw myself, in fact, not at his feet, but at the feet of Mr Pecksniff? And when I am rejected and spurned away,’ said Martin, turning crimson at the thought, ‘it is not by him; my own blood stirred against me; but by Pecksniff—Pecksniff, Mark!’

‘Well, but we know beforehand,’ returned the politic Mr Tapley, ‘that Pecksniff is a wagabond, a scoundrel, and a willain.’

‘A most pernicious villain!’ said Martin.

‘A most pernicious willain. We know that beforehand, sir; and, consequently, it’s no shame to be defeated by Pecksniff. Blow Pecksniff!’