scheme. In every single circumstance, whether it were cruel, cowardly, or false, he saw the flowering of the same pregnant seed. Self; grasping, eager, narrowranging, overreaching self; with its long train of suspicions, lusts, deceits, and all their growing consequences; was the root of the vile tree. Mr Pecksniff had so presented his character before the old man's eyes, that he—the good, the tolerant, enduring Pecksniff—had become the incarnation of all selfishness and treachery; and the more odious the shapes in which those vices ranged themselves before him now, the sterner consolation he had in his design of setting Mr Pecksniff right and Mr Pecksniff's victims too.
To this work he brought, not only the energy and determination natural to his character (which, as the reader may have observed in the beginning of his or her acquaintance with this gentleman, was remarkable for the strong development of those qualities), but all the forced and unnaturally nurtured energy consequent upon their long suppression. And these two tides of resolution setting into one and sweeping on, became so strong and vigorous, that, to prevent themselves from being carried away before it, Heaven knows where, was as much as John Westlock and Mark Tapley together (though they were tolerably energetic too) could manage to effect.
He had sent for John Westlock immediately on his arrival; and John, under the conduct of Tom Pinch, had waited on him. Having a lively recollection of Mr Tapley, he had caused that gentleman's attendance to be secured, through John's means, without delay; and thus, as we have seen, they had all repaired together to the City. But his grandson he had refused to see until to-morrow, when Mr Tapley was instructed to summon him to the Temple at ten o'clock in the forenoon. Tom he would not allow to be employed in anything, lest he should be wrongfully suspected; but he was a party to all their proceedings, and was with them until late at night—until after they knew of the death of Jonas; when he went home to tell all these wonders to little Ruth, and to prepare her for accompanying him to the Temple in the morning, agreeably to Mr Chuzzlewit's particular injunction.
It was characteristic of old Martin, and his looking on to something which he had distinctly before him, that he communicated to them nothing of his intentions, beyond such hints of reprisal on Mr Pecksniff as they gathered from the game he had played in that gentleman's house, and the brightening of his eyes whenever his name was mentioned. Even to John Westlock, in whom he was evidently disposed to place great confidence (which may indeed be said of every one of them), he gave no explanation whatever. He merely requested him to return in the morning; and with this for their utmost satisfaction, they left him, when the night was far advanced, alone.
The events of such a day might have worn out the body and spirit of a much younger man than he, but he sat in deep and painful meditation until the morning was bright. Nor did he even then seek any prolonged repose, but merely slumbered in his chair, until seven o'clock, when Mr Tapley had appointed to come to him by his desire; and came—as fresh and clean and cheerful as the morning itself.
“You are punctual,” said Mr Chuzzlewit, opening the door to him in reply to his light knock, which had roused him instantly.
“My wishes, sir,” replied Mr Tapley, whose mind would appear from the context to have been running on the matrimonial service, “is to love, honour, and obey. The clock's a-striking now, sir.”
“Come in!”
“Thank'ee, sir,” rejoined Mr Tapley, “what could I do for you first, sir?”
“You gave my message to Martin?” said the old man, bending his eyes upon him.
“I did, sir,” returned Mark; “and you never see a gentleman more surprised in all your born days than he was.”
“What more did you tell him?” Mr Chuzzlewit inquired.
“Why, sir,” said Mr Tapley, smiling, “I should have liked to tell him a deal more, but not being able, sir, I didn't tell it him.”
“You told him all you knew?”
“But it was precious little, sir,” retorted Mr Tapley. “There was very little respectin” you that I was able to tell him, sir. I only mentioned my opinion that Mr Pecksniff would find himself deceived, sir, and that you would find yourself deceived, and that he would find himself deceived, sir.”
“In what?” asked Mr Chuzzlewit.
“Meaning him, sir?”
“Meaning both him and me.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr Tapley. “In your old opinions of each other. As to him, sir, and his opinions, I know he's a altered man. I know it. I know'd it long afore he spoke to you t'other day, and I must say it. Nobody don't know half as much of him as I do. Nobody can't. There was always a deal of good in him, but a little of it got crusted over, somehow. I can't say who rolled the paste of that “ere crust myself, but—”
“Go on,” said Martin. “Why do you stop?”
“But it—well! I beg your pardon, but I think it may have been you, sir. Unintentional I think it may have been you. I don't believe that neither of you gave the other quite a fair chance. There! Now I've got rid on it,” said Mr Tapley in a fit of desperation: “I can't go a-carryin” it about in my own mind, bustin” myself with it; yesterday was quite long enough. It's out now. I can't help it. I'm sorry for it. Don't wisit on him, sir, that's all.”
It was clear that Mark expected to be ordered out immediately, and was quite prepared to go.
“So you think,” said Martin, “that his old faults are, in some degree, of my creation, do you?”
“Well, sir,” retorted Mr Tapley, “I'm werry sorry, but I can't unsay it. It's hardly fair of you, sir, to make a ignorant man conwict himself in this way, but I DO think so. I am as respectful disposed to you, sir, as a man can be; but I DO think so.”
The light of a faint smile seemed to break through the dull steadiness of Martin's face, as he looked attentively at him, without replying.
“Yet you are an ignorant man, you say,” he observed after a long pause.
“Werry much so,” Mr Tapley replied.
“And I a learned, well-instructed man, you think?”
“Likewise wery much so,” Mr Tapley answered.
The old man, with his chin resting on his hand, paced the room twice or thrice before he added:
“You have left him this morning?”
“Come straight from him now, sir.”
“For what does he suppose?”
“He don't know what to suppose, sir, no more than myself. I told him jest wot passed yesterday, sir, and that you had said to me, “Can you be here by seven in the morning?” and that you had said to him, through me, “Can you be here by ten in the morning?” and that I had said “Yes” to both. That's all, sir.”
His frankness was so genuine that it plainly WAS all.
“Perhaps,” said Martin, “he may think you are going to desert him, and to serve me?”
“I have served him in that sort of way, sir,” replied Mark, without the loss of any atom of his self-possession; “and we have been that sort of companions in misfortune, that my opinion is, he don't believe a word on it. No more than you do, sir.”
“Will you help me to dress, and get me some breakfast from the hotel?” asked Martin.
“With pleasure, sir,” said Mark.
“And by-and-bye,” said Martin, “remaining in the room, as I wish you to do, will you attend to the door yonder—give admission to visitors, I mean, when they knock?”
“Certainly, sir,” said Mr Tapley.
“You will not find it necessary to express surprise at their appearance,” Martin suggested.
“Oh dear no, sir!” said Mr Tapley, “not at all.”
Although he pledged himself to this with perfect confidence, he was in a state of unbounded astonishment even now. Martin appeared to observe it, and to have some sense of the ludicrous bearing of Mr Tapley under these perplexing circumstances; for, in spite of the composure of his voice and the gravity of his face, the same indistinct light flickered on the latter several times. Mark bestirred himself, however, to execute the offices with which he was entrusted; and soon lost all tendency to any outward expression of his surprise, in the occupation of being brisk and busy.
But when he had put Mr Chuzzlewit's clothes in good order for dressing, and when that gentleman was dressed and sitting at his breakfast, Mr Tapley's feelings of wonder began to return upon him with great violence; and, standing beside the old man with a napkin under his arm (it was as natural and easy to joke to Mark to be a butler in the Temple, as it had been to volunteer as cook on board the Screw), he found it difficult to resist the
