Tom laughed, and taking leave of his sister, hurried Mark and Martin out into the street, and away to John Westlock’s by the nearest road; for his hour of business was very near at hand, and he prided himself on always being exact to his time.
John Westlock was at home, but, strange to say, was rather embarrassed to see them; and when Tom was about to go into the room where he was breakfasting, said he had a stranger there. It appeared to be a mysterious stranger, for John shut that door as he said it, and led them into the next room.
He was very much delighted, though, to see Mark Tapley; and received Martin with his own frank courtesy. But Martin felt that he did not inspire John Westlock with any unusual interest; and twice or thrice observed that he looked at Tom Pinch doubtfully; not to say compassionately. He thought, and blushed to think, that he knew the cause of this.
“I apprehend you are engaged,” said Martin, when Tom had announced the purport of their visit. “If you will allow me to come again at your own time, I shall be glad to do so.”
“I am engaged,” replied John, with some reluctance; “but the matter on which I am engaged is one, to say the truth, more immediately demanding your knowledge than mine.”
“Indeed!” cried Martin.
“It relates to a member of your family, and is of a serious nature. If you will have the kindness to remain here, it will be a satisfaction to me to have it privately communicated to you, in order that you may judge of its importance for yourself.”
“And in the meantime,” said Tom, “I must really take myself off, without any further ceremony.”
“Is your business so very particular,” asked Martin, “that you cannot remain with us for half an hour? I wish you could. What is your business, Tom?”
It was Tom’s turn to be embarrassed now; but he plainly said, after a little hesitation:
“Why, I am not at liberty to say what it is, Martin; though I hope soon to be in a condition to do so, and am aware of no other reason to prevent my doing so now, than the request of my employer. It’s an awkward position to be placed in,” said Tom, with an uneasy sense of seeming to doubt his friend, “as I feel every day; but I really cannot help it, can I, John?”
John Westlock replied in the negative; and Martin, expressing himself perfectly satisfied, begged them not to say another word; though he could not help wondering very much what curious office Tom held, and why he was so secret, and embarrassed, and unlike himself, in reference to it. Nor could he help reverting to it, in his own mind, several times after Tom went away, which he did as soon as this conversation was ended, taking Mr. Tapley with him, who, as he laughingly said, might accompany him as far as Fleet Street without injury.
“And what do you mean to do, Mark?” asked Tom, as they walked on together.
“Mean to do, sir?” returned Mr. Tapley.
“Aye. What course of life do you mean to pursue?”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Tapley. “The fact is, that I have been a-thinking rather of the matrimonial line, sir.”
“You don’t say so, Mark!” cried Tom.
“Yes, sir. I’ve been a-turnin’ of it over.”
“And who is the lady, Mark?”
“The which, sir?” said Mr. Tapley.
“The lady. Come! You know what I said,” replied Tom, laughing, “as well as I do!”
Mr. Tapley suppressed his own inclination to laugh; and with one of his most whimsically-twisted looks, replied:
“You couldn’t guess, I suppose, Mr. Pinch?”
“How is it possible?” said Tom. “I don’t know any of your flames, Mark. Except Mrs. Lupin, indeed.”
“Well, sir!” retorted Mr. Tapley. “And supposing it was her!”
Tom stopping in the street to look at him, Mr. Tapley for a moment presented to his view an utterly stolid and expressionless face; a perfect dead wall of countenance. But opening window after window in it with astonishing rapidity, and lighting them all up as for a general illumination, he repeated:
“Supposin’, for the sake of argument, as it was her, sir!”
“Why I thought such a connection wouldn’t suit you, Mark, on any terms!” cried Tom.
“Well, sir! I used to think so myself, once,” said Mark. “But I ain’t so clear about it now. A dear, sweet creetur, sir!”
“A dear, sweet creature? To be sure she is,” cried Tom. “But she always was a dear, sweet creature, was she not?”
“Was she not!” assented Mr. Tapley.
“Then why on earth didn’t you marry her at first, Mark, instead of wandering abroad, and losing all this time, and leaving her alone by herself, liable to be courted by other people?”
“Why, sir,” retorted Mr. Tapley, in a spirit of unbounded confidence, “I’ll tell you how it come about. You know me, Mr. Pinch, sir; there ain’t a gentleman alive as knows me better. You’re acquainted with my constitution, and you’re acquainted with my weakness. My constitution is, to be jolly; and my weakness is, to wish to find a credit in it. Wery good, sir. In this state of mind, I gets a notion in my head that she looks on me with a eye of—with what you may call a favourable sort of a eye in fact,” said Mr. Tapley, with modest hesitation.
“No doubt,” replied Tom. “We knew that perfectly well when we spoke on this subject long ago; before you left the Dragon.”
Mr. Tapley nodded assent. “Well, sir! But bein’ at that time full of hopeful wisions, I arrives at the conclusion that no credit is to be got out of such a way of life as that, where everything agreeable would be ready to one’s hand. Lookin’ on the bright side of human life in short, one of my hopeful wisions is, that there’s a deal of misery a-waitin’ for me; in the midst of which I
