“Thank you,” returned Kit. “But I am to give it to himself, if you please.”
The excessive audacity of this retort so overpowered Mr. Chuckster, and so moved his tender regard for his friend’s honour, that he declared, if he were not restrained by official considerations, he must certainly have annihilated Kit upon the spot; a resentment of the affront which he did consider, under the extraordinary circumstances of aggravation attending it, could not but have met with the proper sanction and approval of a jury of Englishmen, who, he had no doubt, would have returned a verdict of Justifiable Homicide, coupled with a high testimony to the morals and character of the Avenger. Mr. Swiveller, without being quite so hot upon the matter, was rather shamed by his friend’s excitement, and not a little puzzled how to act (Kit being quite cool and good-humoured), when the single gentleman was heard to call violently down the stairs.
“Didn’t I see somebody for me, come in?” cried the lodger.
“Yes, sir,” replied Dick. “Certainly, sir.”
“Then where is he?” roared the single gentleman.
“He’s here, sir,” rejoined Mr. Swiveller. “Now young man, don’t you hear you’re to go upstairs? Are you deaf?”
Kit did not appear to think it worth his while to enter into any further altercation, but hurried off and left the Glorious Apollos gazing at each other in silence.
“Didn’t I tell you so?” said Mr. Chuckster. “What do you think of that?”
Mr. Swiveller being in the main a good-natured fellow, and not perceiving in the conduct of Kit any villainy of enormous magnitude, scarcely knew what answer to return. He was relieved from his perplexity, however, by the entrance of Mr. Sampson and his sister, Sally, at sight of whom Mr. Chuckster precipitately retired.
Mr. Brass and his lovely companion appeared to have been holding a consultation over their temperate breakfast, upon some matter of great interest and importance. On the occasion of such conferences, they generally appeared in the office some half an hour after their usual time, and in a very smiling state, as though their late plots and designs had tranquillised their minds and shed a light upon their toilsome way. In the present instance, they seemed particularly gay; Miss Sally’s aspect being of a most oily kind, and Mr. Brass rubbing his hands in an exceedingly jocose and lighthearted manner.
“Well, Mr. Richard,” said Brass. “How are we this morning? Are we pretty fresh and cheerful sir—eh, Mr. Richard?”
“Pretty well sir,” replied Dick.
“That’s well,” said Brass. “Ha ha! We should be gay as larks Mr. Richard—why not? It’s a pleasant world we live in sir, a very pleasant world. There are bad people in it Mr. Richard, but if there were no bad people, there would be no good lawyers. Ha ha! Any letters by the post this morning, Mr. Richard?”
Mr. Swiveller answered in the negative.
“Ha!” said Brass, “no matter. If there’s little business today, there’ll be more tomorrow. A contented spirit, Mr. Richard, is the sweetness of existence. Anybody been here, sir?”
“Only my friend”—replied Dick. “May we ne’er want a—”
“Friend,” Brass chimed in quickly, “or a bottle to give him. Ha ha! That’s the way the song runs, isn’t it? A very good song, Mr. Richard, very good. I like the sentiment of it. Ha ha! Your friend’s the young man from Witherden’s office I think—yes—May we ne’er want a—Nobody else at all, been, Mr. Richard?”
“Only somebody to the lodger,” replied Mr. Swiveller.
“Oh indeed!” cried Brass. “Somebody to the lodger, eh? Ha ha! May we ne’er want a friend, or a—Somebody to the lodger, eh Mr. Richard?”
“Yes,” said Dick, a little disconcerted by the excessive buoyancy of spirits which his employer displayed. “With him now.”
“With him now!” cried Brass; “Ha ha! There let ’em be, merry and free, toor rul lol le. Eh, Mr. Richard? Ha ha!”
“Oh certainly,” replied Dick.
“And who,” said Brass, shuffling among his papers, “who is the lodger’s visitor—not a lady visitor I hope, eh Mr. Richard? The morals of the Marks you know sir—‘when lovely woman stoops to folly’—and all that—eh Mr. Richard?”
“Another young man, who belongs to Witherden’s too, or half belongs there,” returned Richard. “Kit, they call him.”
“Kit, eh!” said Brass. “Strange name—name of a dancing-master’s fiddle, eh Mr. Richard? Ha ha! Kit’s there, is he? oh!”
Dick looked at Miss Sally, wondering that she didn’t check this uncommon exuberance on the part of Mr. Sampson; but as she made no attempt to do so, and rather appeared to exhibit a tacit acquiescence in it, he concluded that they had just been cheating somebody, and receiving the bill.
“Will you have the goodness, Mr. Richard,” said Brass, taking a letter from his desk, “just to step over to Peckham Rye with that? There’s no answer, but it’s rather particular and should go by hand. Charge the office with your coach-hire back, you know; don’t spare the office; get as much out of it as you can—clerk’s motto—Eh Mr. Richard? Ha ha!”
Mr. Swiveller solemnly doffed the aquatic jacket, put on his coat, took down his hat from its peg, pocketed the letter, and departed. Directly he was gone, uprose Miss Sally Brass, and smiling sweetly at her brother (who nodded and smote his nose in return) withdrew also.
Sampson Brass was no sooner left alone, than he set the office-door wide open, and establishing himself at his desk directly opposite, so that he could not fail to see anybody who came downstairs and passed out at the street door, began to write with extreme cheerfulness and assiduity; humming as he did so, in a voice that was anything but musical, certain vocal snatches which appeared to have reference to the union between Church and State, inasmuch as they were compounded of the Evening Hymn and God save the King.
Thus, the attorney of Bevis Marks sat, and wrote, and hummed, for
