“Is anything the matter sir?” said Kit.
“Matter!” cried Brass. “No. Why anything the matter?”
“You are so very pale,” said Kit, “that I should hardly have known you.”
“Pooh pooh! mere fancy,” cried Brass, stooping to throw up the cinders. “Never better Kit, never better in all my life. Merry too. Ha ha! How’s our friend above-stairs, eh?”
“A great deal better” said Kit.
“I’m glad to hear it” rejoined Brass; “thankful, I may say. An excellent gentleman—worthy, liberal, generous, gives very little trouble—an admirable lodger. Ha ha! Mr. Garland—he’s well I hope, Kit—and the pony—my friend, my particular friend you know. Ha ha!”
Kit gave a satisfactory account of all the little household at Abel Cottage. Mr. Brass, who seemed remarkably inattentive and impatient, mounted on his stool, and beckoning him to come nearer, took him by the buttonhole.
“I have been thinking, Kit,” said the lawyer, “that I could throw some little emoluments into your mother’s way—You have a mother, I think? If I recollect right, you told me—”
“Oh yes sir, yes certainly.”
“A widow I think? an industrious widow?”
“A harder-working woman or a better mother never lived sir.”
“Ah!” cried Brass. “That’s affecting, truly affecting. A poor widow struggling to maintain her orphans in decency and comfort, is a delicious picture of human goodness.—Put down your hat, Kit.”
“Thank you sir, I must be going directly.”
“Put it down while you stay, at any rate,” said Brass, taking it from him and making some confusion among the papers, in finding a place for it on the desk. “I was thinking, Kit, that we have often houses to let for people we are concerned for, and matters of that sort. Now you know we’re obliged to put people into those houses to take care of ’em—very often undeserving people that we can’t depend upon. What’s to prevent our having a person that we can depend upon, and enjoying the delight of doing a good action at the same time? I say, what’s to prevent our employing this worthy woman, your mother? What with one job and another, there’s lodging—and good lodging too—pretty well all the year round, rent free, and a weekly allowance besides, Kit, that would provide them with a great many comforts they don’t at present enjoy. Now what do you think of that? Do you see any objection? My only desire is to serve you, Kit; therefore if you do, say so freely.”
As Brass spoke, he moved the hat twice or thrice, and shuffled among the papers again, as if in search of something.
“How can I see any objection to such a kind offer sir?” replied Kit with his whole heart. “I don’t know how to thank you sir, I don’t indeed.”
“Why then,” said Brass, suddenly turning upon him and thrusting his face close to Kit’s with such a repulsive smile that the latter, even in the very height of his gratitude, drew back quite startled. “Why then, it’s done.”
Kit looked at him in some confusion.
“Done, I say”—added Sampson, rubbing his hands and veiling himself again in his usual oily manner. “Ha ha! and so you shall find Kit, so you shall find. But dear me” said Brass, “what a time Mr. Richard is gone! A sad loiterer to be sure! Will you mind the office one minute while I run upstairs? Only one minute. I’ll not detain you an instant longer, on any account, Kit.”
Talking as he went, Mr. Brass bustled out of the office, and in a very short time returned. Mr. Swiveller came back almost at the same instant; and as Kit was leaving the room hastily to make up for lost time, Miss Brass herself encountered him in the doorway.
“Oh!” sneered Sally, looking after him as she entered. “There goes your pet, Sammy, eh?”
“Ah! There he goes” replied Brass. “My pet, if you please. An honest fellow, Mr. Richard sir—a worthy fellow indeed!”
“Hem!” coughed Miss Brass.
“I tell you, you aggravating vagabond” said the angry Sampson, “that I’d stake my life upon his honesty. Am I never to hear the last of this? Am I always to be baited, and beset, by your mean suspicions? Have you no regard for true merit, you malignant fellow? If you come to that, I’d sooner suspect your honesty than his.”
Miss Sally pulled out the tin snuffbox, and took a long, slow pinch, regarding her brother with a steady gaze all the time.
“She drives me wild, Mr. Richard sir” said Brass, “she exasperates me beyond all bearing. I am heated and exerted sir, I know I am. These are not business manners, sir, nor business looks, but she carries me out of myself.”
“Why don’t you leave him alone?” said Dick.
“Because she can’t sir,” retorted Brass; “because to chafe and vex me is a part of her nature sir, and she will and must do it, or I don’t believe she’d have her health. But never mind,” said Brass, “never mind. I’ve carried my point. I’ve shown my confidence in the lad. He has minded the office again. Ha ha! Ugh, you viper!”
The beautiful virgin took another pinch, and put the snuffbox in her pocket; still looking at her brother with perfect composure.
“He has minded the office again,” said Brass triumphantly; “he has had my confidence, and he shall continue to have it; he—why, where’s the—”
“What have you lost?” inquired Mr. Swiveller.
“Dear me!” said Brass, slapping all his pockets one after another, and looking into his desk, and under it, and upon it, and wildly tossing the papers about, “the note, Mr. Richard sir, the five-pound note—what can have become of it? I laid it down here—God bless me!”
“What!” cried Miss Sally, starting up, clapping her hands, and scattering the papers on the floor. “Gone! Now who’s right? Now, who’s got it? Never mind five pounds—what’s
