Our Mutual Friend

Greek and Spanish and India and Mexican and par and premium and discount and three quarters and seven eighths. There were other friends who seemed to be always lolling and lounging in and out of the City, on questions of the Bourse, and Greek and Spanish and India and Mexican and par and premium and discount and three quarters and seven eighths. They were all feverish, boastful, and indefinably loose; and they all ate and drank a great deal; and made bets in eating and drinking. They all spoke of sums of money, and only mentioned the sums and left the money to be understood; as “five and forty thousand Tom,” or “Two hundred and twenty-two on every individual share in the lot Joe.” They seemed to divide the world into two classes of people; people who were making enormous fortunes, and people who were being enormously ruined. They were always in a hurry, and yet seemed to have nothing tangible to do; except a few of them (these, mostly asthmatic and thick-lipped) who were forever demonstrating to the rest, with gold pencil-cases which they could hardly hold because of the big rings on their forefingers, how money was to be made. Lastly, they all swore at their grooms, and the grooms were not quite as respectful or complete as other men’s grooms; seeming somehow to fall short of the groom point as their masters fell short of the gentleman point.

Young Fledgeby was none of these. Young Fledgeby had a peachy cheek, or a cheek compounded of the peach and the red red red wall on which it grows, and was an awkward, sandy-haired, small-eyed youth, exceeding slim (his enemies would have said lanky), and prone to self-examination in the articles of whisker and moustache. While feeling for the whisker that he anxiously expected, Fledgeby underwent remarkable fluctuations of spirits, ranging along the whole scale from confidence to despair. There were times when he started, as exclaiming “By Jupiter here it is at last!” There were other times when, being equally depressed, he would be seen to shake his head, and give up hope. To see him at those periods leaning on a chimneypiece, like as on an urn containing the ashes of his ambition, with the cheek that would not sprout, upon the hand on which that cheek had forced conviction, was a distressing sight.

Not so was Fledgeby seen on this occasion. Arrayed in superb raiment, with his opera hat under his arm, he concluded his self-examination hopefully, awaited the arrival of Miss Podsnap, and talked small-talk with Mrs. Lammle. In facetious homage to the smallness of his talk, and the jerky nature of his manners, Fledgeby’s familiars had agreed to confer upon him (behind his back) the honorary title of Fascination Fledgeby.

“Warm weather, Mrs. Lammle,” said Fascination Fledgeby. Mrs. Lammle thought it scarcely as warm as it had been yesterday. “Perhaps not,” said Fascination Fledgeby, with great quickness of repartee; “but I expect it will be devilish warm tomorrow.”

He threw off another little scintillation. “Been out today, Mrs. Lammle?”

Mrs. Lammle answered, for a short drive.

“Some people,” said Fascination Fledgeby, “are accustomed to take long drives; but it generally appears to me that if they make ’em too long, they overdo it.”

Being in such feather, he might have surpassed himself in his next sally, had not Miss Podsnap been announced. Mrs. Lammle flew to embrace her darling little Georgy, and when the first transports were over, presented Mr. Fledgeby. Mr. Lammle came on the scene last, for he was always late, and so were the frequenters always late; all hands being bound to be made late, by private information about the Bourse, and Greek and Spanish and India and Mexican and par and premium and discount and three quarters and seven eighths.

A handsome little dinner was served immediately, and Mr. Lammle sat sparkling at his end of the table, with his servant behind his chair, and his ever-lingering doubts upon the subject of his wages behind himself. Mr. Lammle’s utmost powers of sparkling were in requisition today, for Fascination Fledgeby and Georgiana not only struck each other speechless, but struck each other into astonishing attitudes; Georgiana, as she sat facing Fledgeby, making such efforts to conceal her elbows as were totally incompatible with the use of a knife and fork; and Fledgeby, as he sat facing Georgiana, avoiding her countenance by every possible device, and betraying the discomposure of his mind in feeling for his whiskers with his spoon, his wine glass, and his bread.

So, Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Lammle had to prompt, and this is how they prompted.

“Georgiana,” said Mr. Lammle, low and smiling, and sparkling all over, like a harlequin; “you are not in your usual spirits. Why are you not in your usual spirits, Georgiana?”

Georgiana faltered that she was much the same as she was in general; she was not aware of being different.

“Not aware of being different!” retorted Mr. Alfred Lammle. “You, my dear Georgiana! Who are always so natural and unconstrained with us! Who are such a relief from the crowd that are all alike! Who are the embodiment of gentleness, simplicity, and reality!”

Miss Podsnap looked at the door, as if she entertained confused thoughts of taking refuge from these compliments in flight.

“Now, I will be judged,” said Mr. Lammle, raising his voice a little, “by my friend Fledgeby.”

“Oh don’t!” Miss Podsnap faintly ejaculated: when Mrs. Lammle took the promptbook.

“I beg your pardon, Alfred, my dear, but I cannot part with Mr. Fledgeby quite yet; you must wait for him a moment. Mr. Fledgeby and I are engaged in a personal discussion.”

Fledgeby must have conducted it on his side with immense art, for no appearance of uttering one syllable had escaped him.

“A personal discussion, Sophronia, my love? What discussion? Fledgeby, I am jealous. What discussion, Fledgeby?”

“Shall I tell him, Mr. Fledgeby?” asked Mrs. Lammle.

Trying to look as if he knew anything about it, Fascination replied, “Yes, tell him.”

“We were discussing then,” said Mrs. Lammle,