“All hail to the vessel of Pecksniff the sire!
And favouring breezes to fan;
While Tritons flock round it, and proudly admire
The architect, artist, and man!”
As they presented this beautiful picture to the imagination, the gentlemen gradually withdrew to bed to give the music the effect of distance; and so it died away, and Todgers’s was left to its repose.
Mr. Bailey reserved his vocal offering until the morning, when he put his head into the room as the young ladies were kneeling before their trunks, packing up, and treated them to an imitation of the voice of a young dog in trying circumstances; when that animal is supposed by persons of a lively fancy, to relieve his feelings by calling for pen and ink.
“Well, young ladies,” said the youth, “so you’re a-going home, are you, worse luck?”
“Yes, Bailey, we’re going home,” returned Mercy.
“An’t you a-going to leave none of ’em a lock of your hair?” inquired the youth. “It’s real, an’t it?”
They laughed at this, and told him of course it was.
“Oh, is it of course, though?” said Bailey. “I know better than that. Hers an’t. Why, I see it hanging up once, on that nail by the winder. Besides, I have gone behind her at dinnertime and pulled it; and she never know’d. I say, young ladies, I’m a-going to leave. I an’t a-going to stand being called names by her, no longer.”
Miss Mercy inquired what his plans for the future might be; in reply to whom Mr. Bailey intimated that he thought of going either into top-boots, or into the army.
“Into the army!” cried the young ladies, with a laugh.
“Ah!” said Bailey, “why not? There’s a many drummers in the Tower. I’m acquainted with ’em. Don’t their country set a valley on ’em, mind you! Not at all!”
“You’ll be shot, I see,” observed Mercy.
“Well!” cried Mr. Bailey, “wot if I am? There’s something gamey in it, young ladies, an’t there? I’d sooner be hit with a cannonball than a rolling-pin, and she’s always a-catching up something of that sort, and throwing it at me, when the gentlemans’ appetites is good. Wot,” said Mr. Bailey, stung by the recollection of his wrongs, “wot, if they do consume the per-vishuns. It an’t my fault, is it?”
“Surely no one says it is,” said Mercy.
“Don’t they though?” retorted the youth. “No. Yes. Ah! Oh! No one mayn’t say it is! but someone knows it is. But I an’t a-going to have every rise in prices wisited on me. I an’t a-going to be killed because the markets is dear. I won’t stop. And therefore,” added Mr. Bailey, relenting into a smile, “wotever you mean to give me, you’d better give me all at once, becos if ever you come back agin, I shan’t be here; and as to the other boy, he won’t deserve nothing, I know.”
The young ladies, on behalf of Mr. Pecksniff and themselves, acted on this thoughtful advice; and in consideration of their private friendship, presented Mr. Bailey with a gratuity so liberal that he could hardly do enough to show his gratitude; which found but an imperfect vent, during the remainder of the day, in divers secret slaps upon his pocket, and other such facetious pantomime. Nor was it confined to these ebullitions; for besides crushing a bandbox, with a bonnet in it, he seriously damaged Mr. Pecksniff’s luggage, by ardently hauling it down from the top of the house; and in short evinced, by every means in his power, a lively sense of the favours he had received from that gentleman and his family.
Mr. Pecksniff and Mr. Jinkins came home to dinner arm-in-arm; for the latter gentleman had made half-holiday on purpose; thus gaining an immense advantage over the youngest gentleman and the rest, whose time, as it perversely chanced, was all bespoke, until the evening. The bottle of wine was Mr. Pecksniff’s treat, and they were very sociable indeed; though full of lamentations on the necessity of parting. While they were in the midst of their enjoyment, old Anthony and his son were announced; much to the surprise of Mr. Pecksniff, and greatly to the discomfiture of Jinkins.
“Come to say goodbye, you see,” said Anthony, in a low voice, to Mr. Pecksniff, as they took their seats apart at the table, while the rest conversed among themselves. “Where’s the use of a division between you and me? We are the two halves of a pair of scissors, when apart, Pecksniff; but together we are something. Eh?”
“Unanimity, my good sir,” rejoined Mr. Pecksniff, “is always delightful.”
“I don’t know about that,” said the old man, “for there are some people I would rather differ from than agree with. But you know my opinion of you.”
Mr. Pecksniff, still having “Hypocrite” in his mind, only replied by a motion of his head, which was something between an affirmative bow, and a negative shake.
“Complimentary,” said Anthony. “Complimentary, upon my word. It was an involuntary tribute to your abilities, even at the time; and it was not a time to suggest compliments either. But we agreed in the coach, you know, that we quite understood each other.”
“Oh, quite!” assented Mr. Pecksniff, in a manner which implied that he himself was misunderstood most cruelly, but would not complain.
Anthony glanced at his son as he sat beside Miss Charity, and then at Mr. Pecksniff, and then at his son again, very many times. It happened that Mr. Pecksniff’s glances took a similar direction; but when he became aware of it, he first cast down his eyes, and then closed them; as if he were determined that the old man should
