“What’s the rent?” said the single gentleman.
“One pound per week,” replied Dick, improving on the terms.
“I’ll take ’em.”
“The boots and clothes are extras,” said Dick; “and the fires in winter time are—”
“Are all agreed to,” answered the single gentleman.
“Two weeks certain,” said Dick, “are the—”
“Two weeks!” cried the single gentleman gruffly, eyeing him from top to toe. “Two years. I shall live here for two years. Here. Ten pounds down. The bargain’s made.”
“Why, you see,” said Dick, “my name’s not Brass, and—”
“Who said it was? My name’s not Brass. What then?”
“The name of the master of the house is,” said Dick.
“I’m glad of it,” returned the single gentleman; “it’s a good name for a lawyer. Coachman, you may go. So may you, sir.”
Mr. Swiveller was so much confounded by the single gentleman riding roughshod over him at this rate, that he stood looking at him almost as hard as he had looked at Miss Sally. The single gentleman, however, was not in the slightest degree affected by this circumstance, but proceeded with perfect composure to unwind the shawl which was tied round his neck, and then to pull off his boots. Freed of these encumbrances, he went on to divest himself of his other clothing, which he folded up piece by piece, and ranged in order upon the trunk. Then he pulled down the window-blinds, drew the curtains, wound up his watch, and, quite leisurely and methodically, got into bed.
“Take down the bill,” were his parting words, as he looked out from between the curtains; “and let nobody call me till I ring the bell.”
With that the curtains closed, and he seemed to snore immediately.
“This is a most remarkable and supernatural sort of house!” said Mr. Swiveller, as he walked into the office with the bill in his hand. “She-dragons in the business, conducting themselves like professional gentlemen; plain cooks of three feet high appearing mysteriously from under ground; strangers walking in and going to bed without leave or licence in the middle of the day! If he should be one of the miraculous fellows that turn up now and then, and has gone to sleep for two years, I shall be in a pleasant situation. It’s my destiny, however, and I hope Brass may like it. I shall be sorry if he don’t. But it’s no business of mine—I have nothing whatever to do with it!”
XXXV
Mr. Brass on returning home received the report of his clerk with much complacency and satisfaction, and was particular in inquiring after the ten-pound note, which proving on examination to be a good and lawful note of the Governor and Company of the Bank of England, increased his good-humour considerably. Indeed he so overflowed with liberality and condescension, that in the fullness of his heart he invited Mr. Swiveller to partake of a bowl of punch with him at that remote and indefinite period which is currently denominated “one of these days,” and paid him many handsome compliments on the uncommon aptitude for business which his conduct on the first day of his devotion to it had so plainly evinced.
It was a maxim with Mr. Brass that the habit of paying compliments kept a man’s tongue oiled without any expense; and, as that useful member ought never to grow rusty or creak in turning on its hinges in the case of a practitioner of the law, in whom it should be always glib and easy, he lost few opportunities of improving himself by the utterance of handsome speeches and eulogistic expressions. And this had passed into such a habit with him, that, if he could not be correctly said to have his tongue at his finger’s ends, he might certainly be said to have it anywhere but in his face; which, being, as we have already seen, of a harsh and repulsive character, was not oiled so easily, but frowned above all the smooth speeches; one of nature’s beacons, warning off those who navigated the shoals and breakers of the World, or of that dangerous strait the Law, and admonishing them to seek less treacherous harbours and try their fortune elsewhere.
While Mr. Brass by turns overwhelmed his clerk with compliments, and inspected the ten-pound note, Miss Sally showed little emotion and that of no pleasurable kind, for as the tendency of her legal practice had been to fix her thoughts on small gains and gripings, and to whet and sharpen her natural wisdom, she was not a little disappointed that the single gentleman had obtained the lodgings at such an easy rate, arguing that when he was seen to have set his mind upon them, he should have been at the least charged double or treble the usual terms, and that, in exact proportion as he pressed forward, Mr. Swiveller should have hung back. But neither the good opinion of Mr. Brass, nor the dissatisfaction of Miss Sally, wrought any impression upon that young gentleman, who, throwing the responsibility of this and all other acts and deeds thereafter to be done by him, upon his unlucky destiny, was quite resigned and comfortable: fully prepared for the worst, and philosophically indifferent to the best.
“Good morning, Mr. Richard,” said Brass, on the second day of Mr. Swiveller’s clerkship. “Sally found you a secondhand stool, sir, yesterday evening in Whitechapel. She’s a rare fellow at a bargain, I can tell you, Mr. Richard. You’ll find that a first-rate stool, sir, take my word for it.”
“It’s rather a crazy one to look at,” said Dick.
“You’ll find it a most amazing stool to sit down upon, you may depend,” returned Mr. Brass. “It was bought in the open street just opposite the hospital, and as it has been standing there a month or two, it has got rather dusty and a little brown from being in the sun, that’s all.”
“I hope it hasn’t got any fevers or anything of that
