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

master, Mr Chuzzlewit, who had the only son? Where is he?’

‘Hush! Hush!’ said Merry, speaking kindly to him. ‘That happened long ago. Don’t you recollect?’

‘Recollect!’ rejoined the old man, with a cry of grief. ‘As if I could forget! As if I ever could forget!’

He put his hand up to his face for a moment; and then repeated turning round exactly as before:

‘Who’s lying dead upstairs?’

‘No one!’ said Merry.

At first he gazed angrily upon her, as upon a stranger who endeavoured to deceive him; but peering into her face, and seeing that it was indeed she, he shook his head in sorrowful compassion.

‘You think not. But they don’t tell you. No, no, poor thing! They don’t tell you. Who are these, and why are they merry-making here, if there is no one dead? Foul play! Go see who it is!’

She made a sign to them not to speak to him, which indeed they had little inclination to do; and remained silent herself. So did he for a short time; but then he repeated the same question with an eagerness that had a peculiar terror in it.

‘There’s some one dead,’ he said, ‘or dying; and I want to knows who it is. Go see, go see! Where’s Jonas?’

‘In the country,’ she replied.

The old man gazed at her as if he doubted what she said, or had not heard her; and, rising from his chair, walked across the room and upstairs, whispering as he went, ‘Foul play!’ They heard his footsteps overhead, going up into that corner of the room in which the bed stood (it was there old Anthony had died); and then they heard him coming down again immediately. His fancy was not so strong or wild that it pictured to him anything in the deserted bedchamber which was not there; for he returned much calmer, and appeared to have satisfied himself.

‘They don’t tell you,’ he said to Merry in his quavering voice, as he sat down again, and patted her upon the head. ‘They don’t tell me either; but I’ll watch, I’ll watch. They shall not hurt you; don’t be frightened. When you have sat up watching, I have sat up watching too. Aye, aye, I have!’ he piped out, clenching his weak, shrivelled hand. ‘Many a night I have been ready!’

He said this with such trembling gaps and pauses in his want of breath, and said it in his jealous secrecy so closely in her ear, that little or nothing of it was understood by the visitors. But they had heard and seen enough of the old man to be disquieted, and to have left their seats and gathered about him; thereby affording Mrs Gamp, whose professional coolness was not so easily disturbed, an eligible opportunity for concentrating the whole resources of her powerful mind and appetite upon the toast and butter, tea and eggs. She had brought them to bear upon those viands with such vigour that her face was in the highest state of inflammation, when she now (there being nothing left to eat or drink) saw fit to interpose.

‘Why, highty tighty, sir!’ cried Mrs Gamp, ‘is these your manners? You want a pitcher of cold water throw’d over you to bring you round; that’s my belief, and if you was under Betsey Prig you’d have it, too, I do assure you, Mr Chuffey. Spanish Flies is the only thing to draw this nonsense out of you; and if anybody wanted to do you a kindness, they’d clap a blister of ‘em on your head, and put a mustard poultige on your back. ‘Who’s dead, indeed! It wouldn’t be no grievous loss if some one was, I think!’

‘He’s quiet now, Mrs Gamp,’ said Merry. ‘Don’t disturb him.’

‘Oh, bother the old wictim, Mrs Chuzzlewit,’ replied that zealous lady, ‘I ain’t no patience with him. You give him his own way too much by half. A worritin’ wexagious creetur!’

No doubt with the view of carrying out the precepts she enforced, and ‘bothering the old wictim’ in practice as well as in theory, Mrs Gamp took him by the collar of his coat, and gave him some dozen or two of hearty shakes backward and forward in his chair; that exercise being considered by the disciples of the Prig school of nursing (who are very numerous among professional ladies) as exceedingly conducive to repose, and highly beneficial to the performance of the nervous functions. Its effect in this instance was to render the patient so giddy and addle-headed, that he could say nothing more; which Mrs Gamp regarded as the triumph of her art.

‘There!’ she said, loosening the old man’s cravat, in consequence of his being rather black in the face, after this scientific treatment. ‘Now, I hope, you’re easy in your mind. If you should turn at all faint we can soon rewive you, sir, I promige you. Bite a person’s thumbs, or turn their fingers the wrong way,’ said Mrs Gamp, smiling with the consciousness of at once imparting pleasure and instruction to her auditors, ‘and they comes to, wonderful, Lord bless you!’

As this excellent woman had been formerly entrusted with the care of Mr Chuffey on a previous occasion, neither Mrs Jonas nor anybody else had the resolution to interfere directly with her mode of treatment; though all present (Tom Pinch and his sister especially) appeared to be disposed to differ from her views. For such is the rash boldness of the uninitiated, that they will frequently set up some monstrous abstract principle, such as humanity, or tenderness, or the like idle folly, in obstinate defiance of all precedent and usage; and will even venture to maintain the same against the persons who have made the precedents and established the usage, and who must therefore be the best and most impartial judges of the subject.

‘Ah, Mr Pinch!’ said Miss Pecksniff. ‘It all comes of this unfortunate marriage. If my sister had not been so precipitate, and had not united herself to a Wretch, there would have been no Mr Chuffey in the house.’

‘Hush!’ cried Tom. ‘She’ll hear you.’

‘I should be very sorry if she did hear me, Mr Pinch,’ said Cherry, raising her voice a little; ‘for it is not in my nature to add to the uneasiness of any person; far less of my own sister. I know what a sister’s duties are, Mr Pinch, and I hope I always showed it in my practice. Augustus, my dear child, find my pocket-handkerchief, and give it to me.’

Augustus obeyed, and took Mrs Todgers aside to pour his griefs into her friendly bosom.

‘I am sure, Mr Pinch,’ said Charity, looking after her betrothed and glancing at her sister, ‘that I ought to be very grateful for the blessings I enjoy, and those which are yet in store for me. When I contrast Augustus’—here she was modest and embarrased—‘who, I don’t mind saying to you, is all softness, mildness, and devotion, with the detestable man who is my sister’s husband; and when I think, Mr Pinch, that in the dispensations of this world, our cases might have been reversed; I have much to be thankful for, indeed, and much to make me humble and contented.’

Contented she might have been, but humble she assuredly was not. Her face and manner experienced something so widely different from humility, that Tom could not help understanding and despising the base motives that were working in her breast. He turned away, and said to Ruth, that it was time for them to go.

‘I will write to your husband,’ said Tom to Merry, ‘and explain to him, as I would have done if I had met him here, that if he has sustained any inconvenience through my means, it is not my fault; a postman not being more innocent of the news he brings, than I was when I handed him that letter.’

‘I thank you!’ said Merry. ‘It may do some good.’

She parted tenderly from Ruth, who with her brother was in the act of leaving the room, when a key was heard in the lock of the door below, and immediately afterwards a quick footstep in the passage. Tom stopped, and looked at Merry.

It was Jonas, she said timidly.

‘I had better not meet him on the stairs, perhaps,’ said Tom, drawing his sister’s arm through his, and coming back a step or two. ‘I’ll wait for him here, a moment.’

He had scarcely said it when the door opened, and Jonas entered. His wife came forward to receive him; but he put her aside with his hand, and said in a surly tone:

‘I didn’t know you’d got a party.’

As he looked, at the same time, either by accident or design, towards Miss Pecksniff; and as Miss Pecksniff was only too delighted to quarrel with him, she instantly resented it.

‘Oh dear!’ she said, rising. ‘Pray don’t let us intrude upon your domestic happiness! That would be a pity. We have taken tea here, sir, in your absence; but if you will have the goodness to send us a note of the expense, receipted, we shall be happy to pay it. Augustus, my love, we will go, if you please. Mrs Todgers, unless you wish to remain here, we shall be happy to take you with us. It would be a pity, indeed, to spoil the bliss which this gentleman always brings with him, especially into his own home.’

‘Charity! Charity!’ remonstrated her sister, in such a heartfelt tone that she might have been imploring her to show the cardinal virtue whose name she bore.

‘Merry, my dear, I am much obliged to you for your advice,’ returned Miss Pecksniff, with a stately scorn—by the way, she had not been offered any—‘but I am not his slave—’

‘No, nor wouldn’t have been if you could,’ interrupted Jonas. ‘We know all about it.’

‘WHAT did you say, sir?’ cried Miss Pecksniff, sharply.

‘Didn’t you hear?’ retorted Jonas, lounging down upon a chair. ‘I am not a-going to say it again. If you like to stay, you may stay. If you like to go, you may go. But if you stay, please to be civil.’

‘Beast!’ cried Miss Pecksniff, sweeping past him. ‘Augustus! He is beneath your notice!’ Augustus had been making some faint and sickly demonstration of shaking his fist. ‘Come away, child,’ screamed Miss Pecksniff, ‘I command you!’

The scream was elicited from her by Augustus manifesting an intention to return and grapple with him. But Miss Pecksniff giving the fiery youth a pull, and Mrs Todgers giving him a push they all three tumbled out of the room together, to the music of Miss Pecksniff’s shrill remonstrances.

All this time Jonas had seen nothing of Tom and his sister; for they were almost behind the door when he opened it, and he had sat down with his back towards them, and had purposely kept his eyes upon the opposite side of the street during his altercation with Miss Pecksniff, in order that his seeming carelessness might increase the exasperation of that wronged young damsel. His wife now faltered out that Tom had been waiting to see him; and Tom advanced.

The instant he presented himself, Jonas got up from his chair, and swearing a great oath, caught it in his grasp, as if he would have felled Tom to the ground with it. As he most unquestionably would have done, but that his very passion and surprise made him irresolute, and gave Tom, in his calmness, an opportunity of being heard.

‘You have no cause to be violent, sir,’ said Tom. ‘Though what I wish to say relates to your own affairs, I know nothing of them, and desire to know nothing of them.’

Jonas was too enraged to speak. He held the door open; and stamping his foot upon the