“Jonas is a shrewd lad,” said the old man.
“He appears,” rejoined Mr. Pecksniff in his most candid manner, “to be very shrewd.”
“And careful,” said the old man.
“And careful, I have no doubt,” returned Mr. Pecksniff.
“Look ye!” said Anthony in his ear. “I think he is sweet upon you daughter.”
“Tut, my good sir,” said Mr. Pecksniff, with his eyes still closed; “young people, young people. A kind of cousins, too, no more sweetness than is in that, sir.”
“Why, there is very little sweetness in that, according to our experience,” returned Anthony. “Isn’t there a trifle more here?”
“Impossible to say,” rejoined Mr. Pecksniff. “Quite impossible! You surprise me.”
“Yes, I know that,” said the old man, drily. “It may last; I mean the sweetness, not the surprise; and it may die off. Supposing it should last, perhaps (you having feathered your nest pretty well, and I having done the same), we might have a mutual interest in the matter.”
Mr. Pecksniff, smiling gently, was about to speak, but Anthony stopped him.
“I know what you are going to say. It’s quite unnecessary. You have never thought of this for a moment; and in a point so nearly affecting the happiness of your dear child, you couldn’t, as a tender father, express an opinion; and so forth. Yes, quite right. And like you! But it seems to me, my dear Pecksniff,” added Anthony, laying his hand upon his sleeve, “that if you and I kept up the joke of pretending not to see this, one of us might possibly be placed in a position of disadvantage; and as I am very unwilling to be that party myself, you will excuse my taking the liberty of putting the matter beyond a doubt thus early; and having it distinctly understood, as it is now, that we do see it, and do know it. Thank you for your attention. We are now upon an equal footing; which is agreeable to us both, I am sure.”
He rose as he spoke; and giving Mr. Pecksniff a nod of intelligence, moved away from him to where the young people were sitting; leaving that good man somewhat puzzled and discomfited by such very plain dealing, and not quite free from a sense of having been foiled in the exercise of his familiar weapons.
But the night-coach had a punctual character, and it was time to join it at the office; which was so near at hand that they had already sent their luggage and arranged to walk. Thither the whole party repaired, therefore, after no more delay than sufficed for the equipment of the Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs. Todgers. They found the coach already at its starting-place, and the horses in; there, too, were a large majority of the commercial gentlemen, including the youngest, who was visibly agitated, and in a state of deep mental dejection.
Nothing could equal the distress of Mrs. Todgers in parting from the young ladies, except the strong emotions with which she bade adieu to Mr. Pecksniff. Never surely was a pocket-handkerchief taken in and out of a flat reticule so often as Mrs. Todgers’s was, as she stood upon the pavement by the coach-door, supported on either side by a commercial gentleman; and by the light of the coach-lamps caught such brief snatches and glimpses of the good man’s face, as the constant interposition of Mr. Jinkins allowed. For Jinkins, to the last the youngest gentleman’s rock ahead in life, stood upon the coachstep talking to the ladies. Upon the other step was Mr. Jonas, who maintained that position in right of his cousinship; whereas the youngest gentleman, who had been first upon the ground, was deep in the booking-office among the black and red placards, and the portraits of fast coaches, where he was ignominiously harassed by porters, and had to contend and strive perpetually with heavy baggage. This false position, combined with his nervous excitement, brought about the very consummation and catastrophe of his miseries; for when in the moment of parting he aimed a flower, a hothouse flower that had cost money, at the fair hand of Mercy, it reached, instead, the coachman on the box, who thanked him kindly, and stuck it in his buttonhole.
They were off now; and Todgers’s was alone again. The two young ladies, leaning back in their separate corners, resigned themselves to their own regretful thoughts. But Mr. Pecksniff, dismissing all ephemeral considerations of social pleasure and enjoyment, concentrated his meditations on the one great virtuous purpose before him, of casting out that ingrate and deceiver, whose presence yet troubled his domestic hearth, and was a sacrilege upon the altars of his household gods.
XII
Will be seen in the long run, if not in the short one, to concern Mr. Pinch and others, nearly. Mr. Pecksniff asserts the dignity of outraged virtue. Young Martin Chuzzlewit forms a desperate resolution.
Mr. Pinch and Martin, little dreaming of the stormy weather that impended, made themselves very comfortable in the Pecksniffian halls, and improved their friendship daily. Martin’s facility, both of invention and execution, being remarkable, the grammar-school proceeded with great vigour; and Tom repeatedly declared, that if there were anything like certainty in human affairs, or impartiality in human judges, a design so new and full of merit could not fail to carry off the first prize when the time of competition arrived. Without being quite so sanguine himself, Martin had his hopeful anticipations too; and they served to make him brisk and eager at his task.
“If I should turn out a great architect, Tom,” said the new pupil one day, as he stood at a little distance from his drawing, and eyed it with much complacency, “I’ll tell you what should be one of the things I’d build.”
“Aye!” cried Tom. “What?”
“Why, your fortune.”
“No!” said Tom Pinch, quite as much delighted as if the thing were done. “Would you though? How kind of you to say so.”
“I’d build it up, Tom,” returned Martin, “on such a
