“Well, sir, I’ve thought of that, too,” he replied. “There might be some credit in being jolly with a wife, ’specially if the children had the measles and that, and was very fractious indeed. But I’m a’most afraid to try it. I don’t see my way clear.”
“You’re not very fond of anybody, perhaps?” said Pinch.
“Not particular, sir, I think.”
“But the way would be, you know, Mark, according to your views of things,” said Mr. Pinch, “to marry somebody you didn’t like, and who was very disagreeable.”
“So it would, sir; but that might be carrying out a principle a little too far, mightn’t it?”
“Perhaps it might,” said Mr. Pinch. At which they both laughed gaily.
“Lord bless you, sir,” said Mark, “you don’t half know me, though. I don’t believe there ever was a man as could come out so strong under circumstances that would make other men miserable, as I could, if I could only get a chance. But I can’t get a chance. It’s my opinion that nobody never will know half of what’s in me, unless something very unexpected turns up. And I don’t see any prospect of that. I’m a-going to leave the Dragon, sir.”
“Going to leave the Dragon!” cried Mr. Pinch, looking at him with great astonishment. “Why, Mark, you take my breath away!”
“Yes, sir,” he rejoined, looking straight before him and a long way off, as men do sometimes when they cogitate profoundly. “What’s the use of my stopping at the Dragon? It an’t at all the sort of place for me. When I left London (I’m a Kentish man by birth, though), and took that situation here, I quite made up my mind that it was the dullest little out-of-the-way corner in England, and that there would be some credit in being jolly under such circumstances. But, Lord, there’s no dullness at the Dragon! Skittles, cricket, quoits, ninepins, comic songs, choruses, company round the chimney corner every winter’s evening. Any man could be jolly at the Dragon. There’s no credit in that.”
“But if common report be true for once, Mark, as I think it is, being able to confirm it by what I know myself,” said Mr. Pinch, “you are the cause of half this merriment, and set it going.”
“There may be something in that, too, sir,” answered Mark. “But that’s no consolation.”
“Well!” said Mr. Pinch, after a short silence, his usually subdued tone being even now more subdued than ever. “I can hardly think enough of what you tell me. Why, what will become of Mrs. Lupin, Mark?”
Mark looked more fixedly before him, and further off still, as he answered that he didn’t suppose it would be much of an object to her. There were plenty of smart young fellows as would be glad of the place. He knew a dozen himself.
“That’s probable enough,” said Mr. Pinch, “but I am not at all sure that Mrs. Lupin would be glad of them. Why, I always supposed that Mrs. Lupin and you would make a match of it, Mark; and so did everyone, as far as I know.”
“I never,” Mark replied, in some confusion, “said nothing as was in a direct way courting-like to her, nor she to me, but I don’t know what I mightn’t do one of these odd times, and what she mightn’t say in answer. Well, sir, that wouldn’t suit.”
“Not to be landlord of the Dragon, Mark?” cried Mr. Pinch.
“No, sir, certainly not,” returned the other, withdrawing his gaze from the horizon, and looking at his fellow-traveller. “Why that would be the ruin of a man like me. I go and sit down comfortably for life, and no man never finds me out. What would be the credit of the landlord of the Dragon’s being jolly? Why, he couldn’t help it, if he tried.”
“Does Mrs. Lupin know you are going to leave her?” Mr. Pinch inquired.
“I haven’t broke it to her yet, sir, but I must. I’m looking out this morning for something new and suitable,” he said, nodding towards the city.
“What kind of thing now?” Mr. Pinch demanded.
“I was thinking,” Mark replied, “of something in the grave-digging way.”
“Good gracious, Mark!” cried Mr. Pinch.
“It’s a good damp, wormy sort of business, sir,” said Mark, shaking his head argumentatively, “and there might be some credit in being jolly, with one’s mind in that pursuit, unless gravediggers is usually given that way; which would be a drawback. You don’t happen to know how that is in general, do you, sir?”
“No,” said Mr. Pinch, “I don’t indeed. I never thought upon the subject.”
“In case of that not turning out as well as one could wish, you know,” said Mark, musing again, “there’s other businesses. Undertaking now. That’s gloomy. There might be credit to be gained there. A broker’s man in a poor neighbourhood wouldn’t be bad perhaps. A jailor sees a deal of misery. A doctor’s man is in the very midst of murder. A bailiff’s an’t a lively office nat’rally. Even a tax-gatherer must find his feelings rather worked upon, at times. There’s lots of trades in which I should have an opportunity, I think.”
Mr. Pinch was so perfectly overwhelmed by these remarks that he could do nothing but occasionally exchange a word or two on some indifferent subject, and cast sidelong glances at the bright face of his odd friend (who seemed quite unconscious of his observation), until they reached a certain corner of the road, close upon the outskirts of the city, when Mark said he would jump down there, if he pleased.
“But bless my soul, Mark,” said Mr. Pinch, who in the progress of his observation just then made the discovery that the bosom of his companion’s shirt was as much exposed as if it was Midsummer, and was ruffled by every breath of air, “why don’t you wear a waistcoat?”
“What’s the good of one, sir?” asked Mark.
“Good of one?” said Mr. Pinch. “Why, to keep your chest warm.”
“Lord love you, sir!”
