bitterness to you to hear it now, sir, but you will live to seek a consolation in it. May you find a consolation in it when you want it, sir! Good morning!”
With this sublime address, Mr Pecksniff departed. But the effect of his departure was much impaired by his being immediately afterwards run against, and nearly knocked down, by a monstrously excited little man in velveteen shorts and a very tall hat; who came bursting up the stairs, and straight into the chambers of Mr Chuzzlewit, as if he were deranged.
“Is there anybody here that knows him?” cried the little man. “Is there anybody here that knows him? Oh, my stars, is there anybody here that knows him?”
They looked at each other for an explanation; but nobody knew anything more than that here was an excited little man with a very tall hat on, running in and out of the room as hard as he could go; making his single pair of bright blue stockings appear at least a dozen; and constantly repeating in a shrill voice, “IS there anybody here that knows him?”
“If your brains is not turned topjy turjey, Mr Sweedlepipes!” exclaimed another voice, “hold that there nige of yourn, I beg you, sir.”
At the same time Mrs Gamp was seen in the doorway; out of breath from coming up so many stairs, and panting fearfully; but dropping curtseys to the last.
“Excuge the weakness of the man,” said Mrs Gamp, eyeing Mr Sweedlepipe with great indignation; “and well I might expect it, as I should have know'd, and wishin” he was drownded in the Thames afore I had brought him here, which not a blessed hour ago he nearly shaved the noge off from the father of as lovely a family as ever, Mr Chuzzlewit, was born three sets of twins, and would have done it, only he see it a-goin” in the glass, and dodged the rager. And never, Mr Sweedlepipes, I do assure you, sir, did I so well know what a misfortun it was to be acquainted with you, as now I do, which so I say, sir, and I don't deceive you!”
“I ask your pardon, ladies and gentlemen all,” cried the little barber, taking off his hat, “and yours too, Mrs Gamp. But—but,” he added this half laughing and half crying, “IS there anybody here that knows him?”
As the barber said these words, a something in top-boots, with its head bandaged up, staggered into the room, and began going round and round and round, apparently under the impression that it was walking straight forward.
“Look at him!” cried the excited little barber. “Here he is! That'll soon wear off, and then he'll be all right again. He's no more dead than I am. He's all alive and hearty. Aint you, Bailey?”
“R—r—reether so, Poll!” replied that gentleman.
“Look here!” cried the little barber, laughing and crying in the same breath. “When I steady him he comes all right. There! He's all right now. Nothing's the matter with him now, except that he's a little shook and rather giddy; is there, Bailey?”
“R—r—reether shook, Poll—reether so!” said Mr Bailey. “What, my lovely Sairey! There you air!”
“What a boy he is!” cried the tender-hearted Poll, actually sobbing over him. “I never see sech a boy! It's all his fun. He's full of it. He shall go into the business along with me. I am determined he shall. We'll make it Sweedlepipe and Bailey. He shall have the sporting branch (what a one he'll be for the matches!) and me the shavin”. I'll make over the birds to him as soon as ever he's well enough. He shall have the little bullfinch in the shop, and all. He's sech a boy! I ask your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, but I thought there might be some one here that know'd him!”
Mrs Gamp had observed, not without jealousy and scorn, that a favourable impression appeared to exist in behalf of Mr Sweedlepipe and his young friend; and that she had fallen rather into the background in consequence. She now struggled to the front, therefore, and stated her business.
“Which, Mr Chuzzlewit,” she said, “is well beknown to Mrs Harris as has one sweet infant (though she DO not wish it known) in her own family by the mother's side, kep in spirits in a bottle; and that sweet babe she see at Greenwich Fair, a-travelling in company with a pink-eyed lady, Prooshan dwarf, and livin” skelinton, which judge her feelings when the barrel organ played, and she was showed her own dear sister's child, the same not bein” expected from the outside picter, where it was painted quite contrairy in a livin” state, a many sizes larger, and performing beautiful upon the Arp, which never did that dear child know or do; since breathe it never did, to speak on in this wale! And Mrs Harris, Mr Chuzzlewit, has knowed me many year, and can give you information that the lady which is widdered can't do better and may do worse, than let me wait upon her, which I hope to do. Permittin” the sweet faces as I see afore me.”
“Oh!” said Mr Chuzzlewit. “Is that your business? Was this good person paid for the trouble we gave her?”
“I paid her, sir,” returned Mark Tapley; “liberal.”
“The young man's words is true,” said Mrs Gamp, “and thank you kindly.”
“Then here we will close our acquaintance, Mrs Gamp,” retorted Mr Chuzzlewit. “And Mr Sweedlepipe—is that your name?”
“That is my name, sir,” replied Poll, accepting with a profusion of gratitude, some chinking pieces which the old man slipped into his hand.
“Mr Sweedlepipe, take as much care of your lady-lodger as you can, and give her a word or two of good advice now and then. Such,” said old Martin, looking gravely at the astonished Mrs Gamp, “as hinting at the expediency of a little less liquor, and a little more humanity, and a little less regard for herself, and a little more regard for her patients, and perhaps a trifle of additional honesty. Or when Mrs Gamp gets into trouble, Mr Sweedlepipe, it had better not be at a time when I am near enough to the Old Bailey to volunteer myself as a witness to her character. Endeavour to impress that upon her at your leisure, if you please.”
Mrs Gamp clasped her hands, turned up her eyes until they were quite invisible, threw back her bonnet for the admission of fresh air to her heated brow; and in the act of saying faintly—'Less liquor!— Sairey Gamp—Bottle on the chimney-piece, and let me put my lips to it, when I am so dispoged!'—fell into one of the walking swoons; in which pitiable state she was conducted forth by Mr Sweedlepipe, who, between his two patients, the swooning Mrs Gamp and the revolving Bailey, had enough to do, poor fellow.
The old man looked about him, with a smile, until his eyes rested on Tom Pinch's sister; when he smiled the more.
“We will all dine here together,” he said; “and as you and Mary have enough to talk of, Martin, you shall keep house for us until the afternoon, with Mr and Mrs Tapley. I must see your lodgings in the meanwhile, Tom.”
Tom was quite delighted. So was Ruth. She would go with them.
“Thank you, my love,” said Mr Chuzzlewit. “But I am afraid I must take Tom a little out of the way, on business. Suppose you go on first, my dear?”
Pretty little Ruth was equally delighted to do that.
“But not alone,” said Martin, “not alone. Mr Westlock, I dare say, will escort you.”
Why, of course he would: what else had Mr Westlock in his mind? How dull these old men are!
“You are sure you have no engagement?” he persisted.
Engagement! As if he could have any engagement!
So they went off arm-in-arm. When Tom and Mr Chuzzlewit went off arm-in-arm a few minutes after them, the latter was still smiling; and really, for a gentleman of his habits, in rather a knowing manner.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
WHAT JOHN WESTLOCK SAID TO TOM PINCH'S SISTER; WHAT TOM PINCH'S SISTER SAID TO JOHN WESTLOCK; WHAT TOM PINCH SAID TO BOTH OF THEM; AND HOW THEY ALL PASSED THE REMAINDER OF THE DAY
Brilliantly the Temple Fountain sparkled in the sun, and laughingly its liquid music played, and merrily the idle drops of water danced and danced, and peeping out in sport among the trees, plunged lightly down to hide themselves, as little Ruth and her companion came toward it.
And why they came toward the Fountain at all is a mystery; for they had no business there. It was not in their way. It was quite out of their way. They had no more to do with the Fountain, bless you, than they had with —with Love, or any out-of-the-way thing of that sort.
