It was a dirty little box, this countinghouse, with nothing in it but an old rickety desk and two stools, a hat-peg, an ancient almanac, an inkstand with no ink and the stump of one pen, and an eight-day clock which hadn’t gone for eighteen years at least and of which the minute-hand had been twisted off for a toothpick. Daniel Quilp pulled his hat over his brows, climbed on to the desk (which had a flat top), and stretching his short length upon it went to sleep with the ease of an old practitioner; intending, no doubt, to compensate himself for the deprivation of last night’s rest, by a long and sound nap.
Sound it might have been, but long it was not, for he had not been asleep a quarter of an hour when the boy opened the door and thrust in his head, which was like a bundle of badly-picked oakum. Quilp was a light sleeper and started up directly.
“Here’s somebody for you,” said the boy.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ask!” said Quilp, seizing the trifle of wood before mentioned and throwing it at him with such dexterity that it was well the boy disappeared before it reached the spot on which he had stood. “Ask, you dog.”
Not caring to venture within range of such missiles again, the boy discreetly sent in his stead the first cause of the interruption, who now presented herself at the door.
“What, Nelly!” cried Quilp.
“Yes,”—said the child, hesitating whether to enter or retreat, for the dwarf just roused, with his dishevelled hair hanging all about him and a yellow handkerchief over his head, was something fearful to behold; “it’s only me sir.”
“Come in,” said Quilp, without getting off the desk. “Come in. Stay. Just look out into the yard, and see whether there’s a boy standing on his head.”
“No sir,” replied Nell. “He’s on his feet.”
“You’re sure he is?” said Quilp. “Well. Now, come in and shut the door. What’s your message Nelly?”
The child handed him a letter; Mr. Quilp, without changing his position further than to turn over a little more on his side and rest his chin on his hand, proceeded to make himself acquainted with its contents.
VI
Little Nell stood timidly by, with her eyes raised to the countenance of Mr. Quilp as he read the letter, plainly showing by her looks that while she entertained some fear and distrust of the little man, she was much inclined to laugh at his uncouth appearance and grotesque attitude. And yet there was visible on the part of the child a painful anxiety for his reply, and a consciousness of his power to render it disagreeable or distressing, which was strongly at variance with this impulse and restrained it more effectually than she could possibly have done by any efforts of her own.
That Mr. Quilp was himself perplexed, and that in no small degree, by the contents of the letter, was sufficiently obvious. Before he had got through the first two or three lines he began to open his eyes very wide and to frown most horribly, the next two or three caused him to scratch his head in an uncommonly vicious manner, and when he came to the conclusion he gave a long dismal whistle indicative of surprise and dismay. After folding and laying it down beside him, he bit the nails of all his ten fingers with extreme voracity; and taking it up sharply, read it again. The second perusal was to all appearance as unsatisfactory as the first, and plunged him into a profound reverie from which he awakened to another assault upon his nails and a long stare at the child, who with her eyes turned towards the ground awaited his further pleasure.
“Halloa here!” he said at length, in a voice, and with a suddenness, which made the child start as though a gun had been fired off at her ear. “Nelly!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know what’s inside this letter, Nell?”
“No, sir!”
“Are you sure, quite sure, quite certain, upon your soul?”
“Quite sure, sir.”
“Do you wish you may die if you do know, hey?” said the dwarf.
“Indeed I don’t know,” returned the child.
“Well!” muttered Quilp as he marked her earnest look. “I believe you. Humph! Gone already? Gone in four-and-twenty hours! What the devil has he done with it, that’s the mystery!”
This reflection set him scratching his head and biting his nails once more. While he was thus employed his features gradually relaxed into what was with him a cheerful smile, but which in any other man would have been a ghastly grin of pain, and when the child looked up again she found that he was regarding her with extraordinary favour and complacency.
“You look very pretty today, Nelly, charmingly pretty. Are you tired, Nelly?”
“No, sir. I’m in a hurry to get back, for he will be anxious while I am away.”
“There’s no hurry, little Nell, no hurry at all,” said Quilp. “How should you like to be my number two, Nelly?”
“To be what, sir?”
“My number two, Nelly, my second, my Mrs. Quilp,” said the dwarf.
The child looked frightened, but seemed not to understand him, which Mr. Quilp observing, hastened to explain his meaning more distinctly.
“To be Mrs. Quilp the second, when Mrs. Quilp the first is dead, sweet Nell,” said Quilp, wrinkling up his eyes and luring her towards him with his bent forefinger, “to be my wife, my little cherry-cheeked, red-lipped wife. Say that Mrs. Quilp lives five years, or only four, you’ll be just the proper age for me. Ha ha! Be a good girl Nelly, a very good girl, and see if
