“I have been tolerably well educated,” said Nicholas.
“Fine thing,” said the old gentleman, “education a great thing: a very great thing! I never had any. I admire it the more in others. A very fine thing. Yes, yes. Tell me more of your history. Let me hear it all. No impertinent curiosity—no, no, no.”
There was something so earnest and guileless in the way in which all this was said, and such a complete disregard of all conventional restraints and coldnesses, that Nicholas could not resist it. Among men who have any sound and sterling qualities, there is nothing so contagious as pure openness of heart. Nicholas took the infection instantly, and ran over the main points of his little history without reserve: merely suppressing names, and touching as lightly as possible upon his uncle’s treatment of Kate. The old man listened with great attention, and when he had concluded, drew his arm eagerly through his own.
“Don’t say another word. Not another word,” said he. “Come along with me. We mustn’t lose a minute.”
So saying, the old gentleman dragged him back into Oxford Street, and hailing an omnibus on its way to the city, pushed Nicholas in before him, and followed himself.
As he appeared in a most extraordinary condition of restless excitement, and whenever Nicholas offered to speak, immediately interposed with: “Don’t say another word, my dear sir, on any account—not another word,” the young man thought it better to attempt no further interruption. Into the city they journeyed accordingly, without interchanging any conversation; and the farther they went, the more Nicholas wondered what the end of the adventure could possibly be.
The old gentleman got out, with great alacrity, when they reached the Bank, and once more taking Nicholas by the arm, hurried him along Threadneedle Street, and through some lanes and passages on the right, until they, at length, emerged in a quiet shady little square. Into the oldest and cleanest-looking house of business in the square, he led the way. The only inscription on the doorpost was “Cheeryble, Brothers”; but from a hasty glance at the directions of some packages which were lying about, Nicholas supposed that the brothers Cheeryble were German merchants.
Passing through a warehouse which presented every indication of a thriving business, Mr. Cheeryble (for such Nicholas supposed him to be, from the respect which had been shown him by the warehousemen and porters whom they passed) led him into a little partitioned-off countinghouse like a large glass case, in which countinghouse there sat—as free from dust and blemish as if he had been fixed into the glass case before the top was put on, and had never come out since—a fat, elderly, large-faced clerk, with silver spectacles and a powdered head.
“Is my brother in his room, Tim?” said Mr. Cheeryble, with no less kindness of manner than he had shown to Nicholas.
“Yes, he is, sir,” replied the fat clerk, turning his spectacle-glasses towards his principal, and his eyes towards Nicholas, “but Mr. Trimmers is with him.”
“Ay! And what has he come about, Tim?” said Mr. Cheeryble.
“He is getting up a subscription for the widow and family of a man who was killed in the East India Docks this morning, sir,” rejoined Tim. “Smashed, sir, by a cask of sugar.”
“He is a good creature,” said Mr. Cheeryble, with great earnestness. “He is a kind soul. I am very much obliged to Trimmers. Trimmers is one of the best friends we have. He makes a thousand cases known to us that we should never discover of ourselves. I am very much obliged to Trimmers.” Saying which, Mr. Cheeryble rubbed his hands with infinite delight, and Mr. Trimmers happening to pass the door that instant, on his way out, shot out after him and caught him by the hand.
“I owe you a thousand thanks, Trimmers, ten thousand thanks. I take it very friendly of you, very friendly indeed,” said Mr. Cheeryble, dragging him into a corner to get out of hearing. “How many children are there, and what has my brother Ned given, Trimmers?”
“There are six children,” replied the gentleman, “and your brother has given us twenty pounds.”
“My brother Ned is a good fellow, and you’re a good fellow too, Trimmers,” said the old man, shaking him by both hands with trembling eagerness. “Put me down for another twenty—or—stop a minute, stop a minute. We mustn’t look ostentatious; put me down ten pound, and Tim Linkinwater ten pound. A cheque for twenty pound for Mr. Trimmers, Tim. God bless you, Trimmers—and come and dine with us some day this week; you’ll always find a knife and fork, and we shall be delighted. Now, my dear sir—cheque from Mr. Linkinwater, Tim. Smashed by a cask of sugar, and six poor children—oh dear, dear, dear!”
Talking on in this strain, as fast as he could, to prevent any friendly remonstrances from the collector of the subscription on the large amount of his donation, Mr. Cheeryble led Nicholas, equally astonished and affected by what he had seen and heard in this short space, to the half-opened door of another room.
“Brother Ned,” said Mr. Cheeryble, tapping with his knuckles, and stooping to listen, “are you busy, my dear brother, or can you spare time for a word or two with me?”
“Brother Charles, my dear fellow,” replied a voice from the inside, so like in its tones to that which had just spoken, that Nicholas started, and almost thought it was the same, “don’t ask me such a question, but come in directly.”
They went in, without further parley. What was the amazement of Nicholas when his conductor advanced, and exchanged a warm greeting with another old gentleman, the very type and model of himself—the same face, the same figure, the same coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, the same breeches and gaiters—nay, there was the very same white hat hanging against the wall!
As they shook each other by the hand: the face of each lighted up by
