“It’s a devil of a thing gentlemen,” said Mr. Swiveller, “when relations fall out and disagree. If the wing of friendship should never moult a feather, the wing of relationship should never be clipped but be always expanded and serene. Why should a grandson and grandfather peg away at each other with mutual wiolence when all might be bliss and concord? Why not jine hands and forgit it?”
“Hold your tongue,” said his friend.
“Sir,” replied Mr. Swiveller, “don’t you interrupt the chair. Gentlemen, how does the case stand, upon the present occasion? Here is a jolly old grandfather—I say it with the utmost respect—and here is a wild young grandson. The jolly old grandfather says to the wild young grandson, ‘I have brought you up and educated you, Fred; I have put you in the way of getting on in life; you have bolted a little out of the course as young fellows often do; and you shall never have another chance, nor the ghost of half a one.’ The wild young grandson makes answer to this and says, ‘You’re as rich as rich can be; you have been at no uncommon expense on my account, you’re saving up piles of money for my little sister that lives with you in a secret, stealthy, hugger-muggering kind of way and with no manner of enjoyment—why can’t you stand a trifle for your grownup relation?’ The jolly old grandfather unto this, retorts, not only that he declines to fork out with that cheerful readiness which is always so agreeable and pleasant in a gentleman of his time of life, but that he will blow up, and call names, and make reflections whenever they meet. Then the plain question is, an’t it a pity that this state of things should continue, and how much better would it be for the old gentleman to hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all right and comfortable?”
Having delivered this oration with a great many waves and flourishes of the hand, Mr. Swiveller abruptly thrust the head of his cane into his mouth as if to prevent himself from impairing the effect of his speech by adding one other word.
“Why do you hunt and persecute me, God help me?” said the old man turning to his grandson. “Why do you bring your profligate companions here? How often am I to tell you that my life is one of care and self-denial, and that I am poor?”
“How often am I to tell you,” returned the other, looking coldly at him, “that I know better?”
“You have chosen your own path,” said the old man. “Follow it. Leave Nell and I to toil and work.”
“Nell will be a woman soon,” returned the other, “and, bred in your faith, she’ll forget her brother unless he shows himself sometimes.”
“Take care,” said the old man with sparkling eyes, “that she does not forget you when you would have her memory keenest. Take care that the day don’t come when you walk barefoot in the streets, and she rides by in a gay carriage of her own.”
“You mean when she has your money?” retorted the other. “How like a poor man he talks!”
“And yet,” said the old man dropping his voice and speaking like one who thinks aloud, “how poor we are, and what a life it is! The cause is a young child’s, guiltless of all harm or wrong, but nothing goes well with it! Hope and patience, hope and patience!”
These words were uttered in too low a tone to reach the ears of the young men. Mr. Swiveller appeared to think that they implied some mental struggle consequent upon the powerful effect of his address, for he poked his friend with his cane and whispered his conviction that he had administered “a clincher,” and that he expected a commission on the profits. Discovering his mistake after a while, he appeared to grow rather sleepy and discontented, and had more than once suggested the propriety of an immediate departure, when the door opened, and the child herself appeared.
III
The child was closely followed by an elderly man of remarkably hard features and forbidding aspect, and so low in stature as to be quite a dwarf, though his head and face were large enough for the body of a giant. His black eyes were restless, sly, and cunning; his mouth and chin, bristly with the stubble of a coarse hard beard; and his complexion was one of that kind which never looks clean or wholesome. But what added most to the grotesque expression of his face, was a ghastly smile, which, appearing to be the mere result of habit and to have no connection with any mirthful or complacent feeling, constantly revealed the few discolored fangs that were yet scattered in his mouth, and gave him the aspect of a panting dog. His dress consisted of a large high-crowned hat, a worn dark suit, a pair of capacious shoes, and a dirty white neckerchief sufficiently limp and crumpled to disclose the greater portion of his wiry throat. Such hair as he had, was of a grizzled black, cut short and straight upon his temples, and hanging in a frowzy fringe about his ears. His hands, which were of a rough coarse grain, were very dirty; his fingernails were crooked, long, and yellow.
There was ample time to note these particulars, for besides that they were sufficiently obvious without very close observation, some moments elapsed before anyone broke silence. The child advanced timidly towards her brother and put her hand
