In short, the night’s work had so exhausted and worn out this actor in it, that he had become a mere somnambulist. He was too tired to rest in his sleep, until he was even tired out of being too tired, and dropped into oblivion. Late in the afternoon he awoke, and in some anxiety sent round to Eugene’s lodging hard by, to inquire if he were up yet?
Oh yes, he was up. In fact, he had not been to bed. He had just come home. And here he was, close following on the heels of the message.
“Why what bloodshot, draggled, dishevelled spectacle is this!” cried Mortimer.
“Are my feathers so very much rumpled?” said Eugene, coolly going up to the looking-glass. They are rather out of sorts. But consider. Such a night for plumage!”
“Such a night?” repeated Mortimer. “What became of you in the morning?”
“My dear fellow,” said Eugene, sitting on his bed, “I felt that we had bored one another so long, that an unbroken continuance of those relations must inevitably terminate in our flying to opposite points of the earth. I also felt that I had committed every crime in the Newgate Calendar. So, for mingled considerations of friendship and felony, I took a walk.”
XV
Two New Servants
Mr. and Mrs. Boffin sat after breakfast, in the Bower, a prey to prosperity. Mr. Boffin’s face denoted care and complication. Many disordered papers were before him, and he looked at them about as hopefully as an innocent civilian might look at a crowd of troops whom he was required at five minutes’ notice to manoeuvre and review. He had been engaged in some attempts to make notes of these papers; but being troubled (as men of his stamp often are) with an exceedingly distrustful and corrective thumb, that busy member had so often interposed to smear his notes, that they were little more legible than the various impressions of itself; which blurred his nose and forehead. It is curious to consider, in such a case as Mr. Boffin’s, what a cheap article ink is, and how far it may be made to go. As a grain of musk will scent a drawer for many years, and still lose nothing appreciable of its original weight, so a halfpennyworth of ink would blot Mr. Boffin to the roots of his hair and the calves of his legs, without inscribing a line on the paper before him, or appearing to diminish in the inkstand.
Mr. Boffin was in such severe literary difficulties that his eyes were prominent and fixed, and his breathing was stertorous, when, to the great relief of Mrs. Boffin, who observed these symptoms with alarm, the yard bell rang.
“Who’s that, I wonder!” said Mrs. Boffin.
Mr. Boffin drew a long breath, laid down his pen, looked at his notes as doubting whether he had the pleasure of their acquaintance, and appeared, on a second perusal of their countenances, to be confirmed in his impression that he had not, when there was announced by the hammer-headed young man:
“Mr. Rokesmith.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Boffin. “Oh indeed! Our and the Wilfers’ Mutual Friend, my dear. Yes. Ask him to come in.”
Mr. Rokesmith appeared.
“Sit down, sir,” said Mr. Boffin, shaking hands with him. “Mrs. Boffin you’re already acquainted with. Well, sir, I am rather unprepared to see you, for, to tell you the truth, I’ve been so busy with one thing and another, that I’ve not had time to turn your offer over.”
“That’s apology for both of us: for Mr. Boffin, and for me as well,” said the smiling Mrs. Boffin. “But Lor! we can talk it over now; can’t us?”
Mr. Rokesmith bowed, thanked her, and said he hoped so.
“Let me see then,” resumed Mr. Boffin, with his hand to his chin. “It was Secretary that you named; wasn’t it?”
“I said Secretary,” assented Mr. Rokesmith.
“It rather puzzled me at the time,” said Mr. Boffin, “and it rather puzzled me and Mrs. Boffin when we spoke of it afterwards, because (not to make a mystery of our belief) we have always believed a Secretary to be a piece of furniture, mostly of mahogany, lined with green baize or leather, with a lot of little drawers in it. Now, you won’t think I take a liberty when I mention that you certainly ain’t that.”
Certainly not, said Mr. Rokesmith. But he had used the word in the sense of Steward.
“Why, as to Steward, you see,” returned Mr. Boffin, with his hand still to his chin, “the odds are that Mrs. Boffin and me may never go upon the water. Being both bad sailors, we should want a Steward if we did; but there’s generally one provided.”
Mr. Rokesmith again explained; defining the duties he sought to undertake, as those of general superintendent, or manager, or overlooker, or man of business.
“Now, for instance—come!” said Mr. Boffin, in his pouncing way. “If you entered my employment, what would you do?”
“I would keep exact accounts of all the expenditure you sanctioned, Mr. Boffin. I would write your letters, under your direction. I would transact your business with people in your pay or employment. I would,” with a glance and a half-smile at the table, “arrange your papers—”
Mr. Boffin rubbed his inky ear, and looked at his wife.
“—And so arrange them as to have them always in order for immediate reference, with a note of the contents of each outside it.”
“I tell you what,” said Mr. Boffin, slowly crumpling his own blotted note in his hand; “if you’ll turn to at these present papers, and see what you can make of ’em, I shall know better what I can make of you.”
No sooner said than done. Relinquishing his hat and gloves,
