Chapter 22. A Trifle of Management by Mr Carker the Manager

Dombey and Son

by Charles Dickens

Mr Carker the Manager sat at his desk, smooth and soft as usual,
reading those letters which were reserved for him to open, backing
them occasionally with such memoranda and references as their
business purport required, and parcelling them out into little heaps
for distribution through the several departments of the House. The
post had come in heavy that morning, and Mr Carker the Manager had a
good deal to do.

The general action of a man so engaged - pausing to look over a
bundle of papers in his hand, dealing them round in various portions,
taking up another bundle and examining its contents with knitted
brows and pursed-out lips - dealing, and sorting, and pondering by
turns - would easily suggest some whimsical resemblance to a player
at cards. The face of Mr Carker the Manager was in good keeping with
such a fancy. It was the face of a man who studied his play, warily:
who made himself master of all the strong and weak points of the
game: who registered the cards in his mind as they fell about him,
knew exactly what was on them, what they missed, and what they made:
who was crafty to find out what the other players held, and who never
betrayed his own hand.

The letters were in various languages, but Mr Carker the Manager
read them all. If there had been anything in the offices of Dombey
and Son that he could read, there would have been a card wanting in
the pack. He read almost at a glance, and made combinations of one
letter with another and one business with another as he went on,
adding new matter to the heaps - much as a man would know the cards
at sight, and work out their combinations in his mind after they were
turned. Something too deep for a partner, and much too deep for an
adversary, Mr Carker the Manager sat in the rays of the sun that came
down slanting on him through the skylight, playing his game alone.

And although it is not among the instincts wild or domestic of
the cat tribe to play at cards, feline from sole to crown was Mr
Carker the Manager, as he basked in the strip of summer-light and
warmth that shone upon his table and the ground as if they were a
crooked dial-plate, and himself the only figure on it. With hair and
whiskers deficient in colour at all times, but feebler than common in
the rich sunshine, and more like the coat of a sandy tortoise-shell
cat; with long nails, nicely pared and sharpened; with a natural
antipathy to any speck of dirt, which made him pause sometimes and
watch the falling motes of dust, and rub them off his smooth white
hand or glossy linen: Mr Carker the Manager, sly of manner, sharp of
tooth, soft of foot, watchful of eye, oily of tongue, cruel of heart,
nice of habit, sat with a dainty steadfastness and patience at his
work, as if he were waiting at a mouse's hole.

At length the letters were disposed of, excepting one which he
reserved for a particular audience. Having locked the more
confidential correspondence in a drawer, Mr Carker the Manager rang
his bell.

'Why do you answer it?' was his reception of his brother.

'The messenger is out, and I am the next,' was the submissive
reply.

'You are the next?' muttered the Manager. 'Yes! Creditable to
me! There!'

Pointing to the heaps of opened letters, he turned disdainfully
away, in his elbow-chair, and broke the seal of that one which he
held in his hand.

'I am sorry to trouble you, James,' said the brother, gathering
them up, 'but - '

'Oh! you have something to say. I knew that. Well?'

Mr Carker the Manager did not raise his eyes or turn them on his
brother, but kept them on his letter, though without opening it.

'Well?' he repeated sharply.

'I am uneasy about Harriet.'

'Harriet who? what Harriet? I know nobody of that name.'

'She is not well, and has changed very much of late.'

'She changed very much, a great many years ago,' replied the
Manager; 'and that is all I have to say.

'I think if you would hear me -

'Why should I hear you, Brother John?' returned the Manager,
laying a sarcastic emphasis on those two words, and throwing up his
head, but not lifting his eyes. 'I tell you, Harriet Carker made her
choice many years ago between her two brothers. She may repent it,
but she must abide by it.'

'Don't mistake me. I do not say she does repent it. It would be
black ingratitude in me to hint at such a thing,' returned the other.
'Though believe me, James, I am as sorry for her sacrifice as
you.'

'As I?' exclaimed the Manager. 'As I?'

'As sorry for her choice - for what you call her choice - as you
are angry at it,' said the Junior.

'Angry?' repeated the other, with a wide show of his teeth.

'Displeased. Whatever word you like best. You know my meaning.
There is no offence in my intention.'

'There is offence in everything you do,' replied his brother,
glancing at him with a sudden scowl, which in a moment gave place to
a wider smile than the last. 'Carry those papers away, if you please.
I am busy.

His politeness was so much more cutting than his wrath, that the
Junior went to the door. But stopping at it, and looking round, he
said:

'When Harriet tried in vain to plead for me with you, on your
first just indignation, and my first disgrace; and when she left you,
James, to follow my broken fortunes, and devote herself, in her
mistaken affection, to a ruined brother, because without her he had
no one, and was lost; she was young and pretty. I think if you could
see her now - if you would go and see her - she would move your
admiration and compassion.'

The Manager inclined his head, and showed his teeth, as who
should say, in answer to some careless small-talk, 'Dear me! Is that
the case?' but said never a word.

'We thought in those days: you and I both: that she would marry
young, and lead a happy and light-hearted life,' pursued the other.
'Oh if you knew how cheerfully she cast those hopes away; how
cheerfully she has gone forward on the path she took, and never once
looked back; you never could say again that her name was strange in
your ears. Never!'

Again the Manager inclined his head and showed his teeth, and
seemed to say, 'Remarkable indeed! You quite surprise me!' And again
he uttered never a word.

'May I go on?' said John Carker, mildly.

'On your way?' replied his smiling brother. 'If you will have
the goodness.

John Carker, with a sigh, was passing slowly out at the door,
when his brother's voice detained him for a moment on the
threshold.

'If she has gone, and goes, her own way cheerfully,' he said,
throwing the still unfolded letter on his desk, and putting his hands
firmly in his pockets, 'you may tell her that I go as cheerfully on
mine. If she has never once looked back, you may tell her that I
have, sometimes, to recall her taking part with you, and that my
resolution is no easier to wear away;' he smiled very sweetly here;
'than marble.'

'I tell her nothing of you. We never speak about you. Once a
year, on your birthday, Harriet says always, "Let us remember James
by name, and wish him happy," but we say no more'

'Tell it then, if you please,' returned the other, 'to yourself.
You can't repeat it too often, as a lesson to you to avoid the
subject in speaking to me. I know no Harriet Carker. There is no such
person. You may have a sister; make much of her. I have none.'

Mr Carker the Manager took up the letter again, and waved it
with a smile of mock courtesy towards the door. Unfolding it as his
brother withdrew, and looking darkly aiter him as he left the room,
he once more turned round in his elbow-chair, and applied himself to
a diligent perusal of its contents.

It was in the writing of his great chief, Mr Dombey, and dated
from Leamington. Though he was a quick reader of all other letters,
Mr Carker read this slowly; weighing the words as he went, and
bringing every tooth in his head to bear upon them. When he had read
it through once, he turned it over again, and picked out these
passages. 'I find myself benefited by the change, and am not yet
inclined to name any time for my return.' 'I wish, Carker, you would
arrange to come down once and see me here, and let me know how things
are going on, in person.' 'I omitted to speak to you about young Gay.
If not gone per Son and Heir, or if Son and Heir still lying in the
Docks, appoint some other young man and keep him in the City for the
present. I am not decided.' 'Now that's unfortunate!' said Mr Carker
the Manager, expanding his mouth, as if it were made of India-rubber:
'for he's far away.'

Still that passage, which was in a postscript, attracted his
attention and his teeth, once more.

'I think,' he said, 'my good friend Captain Cuttle mentioned
something about being towed along in the wake of that day. What a
pity he's so far away!'

He refolded the letter, and was sitting trifling with it,
standing it long-wise and broad-wise on his table, and turning it
over and over on all sides - doing pretty much the same thing,
perhaps, by its contents - when Mr Perch the messenger knocked softly
at the door, and coming in on tiptoe, bending his body at every step
as if it were the delight of his life to bow, laid some papers on the
table.

'Would you please to be engaged, Sir?' asked Mr Perch, rubbing
his hands, and deferentially putting his head on one side, like a man
who felt he had no business to hold it up in such a presence, and
would keep it as much out of the way as possible.

'Who wants me?'

'Why, Sir,' said Mr Perch, in a soft voice, 'really nobody, Sir,
to speak of at present. Mr Gills the Ship's Instrument-maker, Sir,
has looked in, about a little matter of payment, he says: but I
mentioned to him, Sir, that you was engaged several deep; several
deep.'

Mr Perch coughed once behind his hand, and waited for further
orders.

'Anybody else?'

'Well, Sir,' said Mr Perch, 'I wouldn't of my own self take the
liberty of mentioning, Sir, that there was anybody else; but that
same young lad that was here yesterday, Sir, and last week, has been
hanging about the place; and it looks, Sir,' added Mr Perch, stopping
to shut the door, 'dreadful unbusiness-like to see him whistling to
the sparrows down the court, and making of 'em answer him.'

'You said he wanted something to do, didn't you, Perch?' asked
Mr Carker, leaning back in his chair and looking at that officer.

'Why, Sir,' said Mr Perch, coughing behind his hand again, 'his
expression certainly were that he was in wants of a sitiwation, and
that he considered something might be done for him about the Docks,
being used to fishing with a rod and line: but - ' Mr Perch shook his
head very dubiously indeed.

'What does he say when he comes?' asked Mr Carker.

'Indeed, Sir,' said Mr Perch, coughing another cough behind his
hand, which was always his resource as an expression of humility when
nothing else occurred to him, 'his observation generally air that he
would humbly wish to see one of the gentlemen, and that he wants to
earn a living. But you see, Sir,' added Perch, dropping his voice to
a whisper, and turning, in the inviolable nature of his confidence,
to give the door a thrust with his hand and knee, as if that would
shut it any more when it was shut already, 'it's hardly to be bore,
Sir, that a common lad like that should come a prowling here, and
saying that his mother nursed our House's young gentleman, and that
he hopes our House will give him a chance on that account. I am sure,
Sir,' observed Mr Perch, 'that although Mrs Perch was at that time
nursing as thriving a little girl, Sir, as we've ever took the
liberty of adding to our family, I wouldn't have made so free as drop
a hint of her being capable of imparting nourishment, not if it was
never so!'

Mr Carker grinned at him like a shark, but in an absent,
thoughtful manner.

'Whether,' submitted Mr Perch, after a short silence, and
another cough, 'it mightn't be best for me to tell him, that if he
was seen here any more he would be given into custody; and to keep to
it! With respect to bodily fear,' said Mr Perch, 'I'm so timid,
myself, by nature, Sir, and my nerves is so unstrung by Mrs Perch's
state, that I could take my affidavit easy.'

'Let me see this fellow, Perch,' said Mr Carker. 'Bring him
in!'

'Yes, Sir. Begging your pardon, Sir,' said Mr Perch, hesitating
at the door, 'he's rough, Sir, in appearance.'

'Never mind. If he's there, bring him in. I'll see Mr Gills
directly. Ask him to wait.'

Mr Perch bowed; and shutting the door, as precisely and
carefully as if he were not coming back for a week, went on his quest
among the sparrows in the court. While he was gone, Mr Carker assumed
his favourite attitude before the fire-place, and stood looking at
the door; presenting, with his under lip tucked into the smile that
showed his whole row of upper teeth, a singularly crouching apace.

The messenger was not long in returning, followed by a pair of
heavy boots that came bumping along the passage like boxes. With the
unceremonious words 'Come along with you!' - a very unusual form of
introduction from his lips - Mr Perch then ushered into the presence
a strong-built lad of fifteen, with a round red face, a round sleek
head, round black eyes, round limbs, and round body, who, to carry
out the general rotundity of his appearance, had a round hat in his
hand, without a particle of brim to it.

Obedient to a nod from Mr Carker, Perch had no sooner confronted
the visitor with that gentleman than he withdrew. The moment they
were face to face alone, Mr Carker, without a word of preparation,
took him by the throat, and shook him until his head seemed loose
upon his shoulders.

The boy, who in the midst of his astonishment could not help
staring wildly at the gentleman with so many white teeth who was
choking him, and at the office walls, as though determined, if he
were choked, that his last look should be at the mysteries for his
intrusion into which he was paying such a severe penalty, at last
contrived to utter -

'Come, Sir! You let me alone, will you!'

'Let you alone!' said Mr Carker. 'What! I have got you, have I?'
There was no doubt of that, and tightly too. 'You dog,' said Mr
Carker, through his set jaws, 'I'll strangle you!'

Biler whimpered, would he though? oh no he wouldn't - and what
was he doing of - and why didn't he strangle some- body of his own
size and not him: but Biler was quelled by the extraordinary nature
of his reception, and, as his head became stationary, and he looked
the gentleman in the face, or rather in the teeth, and saw him
snarling at him, he so far forgot his manhood as to cry.

'I haven't done nothing to you, Sir,' said Biler, otherwise Rob,
otherwise Grinder, and always Toodle.

'You young scoundrel!' replied Mr Carker, slowly releasing him,
and moving back a step into his favourite position. 'What do you mean
by daring to come here?'

'I didn't mean no harm, Sir,' whimpered Rob, putting one hand to
his throat, and the knuckles of the other to his eyes. 'I'll never
come again, Sir. I only wanted work.'

'Work, young Cain that you are!' repeated Mr Carker, eyeing him
narrowly. 'Ain't you the idlest vagabond in London?'

The impeachment, while it much affected Mr Toodle Junior,
attached to his character so justly, that he could not say a word in
denial. He stood looking at the gentleman, therefore, with a
frightened, self-convicted, and remorseful air. As to his looking at
him, it may be observed that he was fascinated by Mr Carker, and
never took his round eyes off him for an instant.

'Ain't you a thief?' said Mr Carker, with his hands behind him
in his pockets.

'No, sir,' pleaded Rob.

'You are!' said Mr Carker.

'I ain't indeed, Sir,' whimpered Rob. 'I never did such a thing
as thieve, Sir, if you'll believe me. I know I've been a going wrong,
Sir, ever since I took to bird-catching' and walking-matching. I'm
sure a cove might think,' said Mr Toodle Junior, with a burst of
penitence, 'that singing birds was innocent company, but nobody knows
what harm is in them little creeturs and what they brings you down
to.'

They seemed to have brought him down to a velveteen jacket and
trousers very much the worse for wear, a particularly small red
waistcoat like a gorget, an interval of blue check, and the hat
before mentioned.

'I ain't been home twenty times since them birds got their will
of me,' said Rob, 'and that's ten months. How can I go home when
everybody's miserable to see me! I wonder,' said Biler, blubbering
outright, and smearing his eyes with his coat-cuff, 'that I haven't
been and drownded myself over and over again.'

All of which, including his expression of surprise at not having
achieved this last scarce performance, the boy said, just as if the
teeth of Mr Carker drew it out ofhim, and he had no power of
concealing anything with that battery of attraction in full play.

'You're a nice young gentleman!' said Mr Carker, shaking his
head at him. 'There's hemp-seed sown for you, my fine fellow!'

'I'm sure, Sir,' returned the wretched Biler, blubbering again,
and again having recourse to his coat-cuff: 'I shouldn't care,
sometimes, if it was growed too. My misfortunes all began in wagging,
Sir; but what could I do, exceptin' wag?'

'Excepting what?' said Mr Carker.

'Wag, Sir. Wagging from school.'

'Do you mean pretending to go there, and not going?' said Mr
Carker.

'Yes, Sir, that's wagging, Sir,' returned the quondam Grinder,
much affected. 'I was chivied through the streets, Sir, when I went
there, and pounded when I got there. So I wagged, and hid myself, and
that began it.'

'And you mean to tell me,' said Mr Carker, taking him by the
throat again, holding him out at arm's-length, and surveying him in
silence for some moments, 'that you want a place, do you?'

'I should be thankful to be tried, Sir,' returned Toodle Junior,
faintly.

Mr Carker the Manager pushed him backward into a corner - the
boy submitting quietly, hardly venturing to breathe, and never once
removing his eyes from his face - and rang the bell.

'Tell Mr Gills to come here.'

Mr Perch was too deferential to express surprise or recognition
of the figure in the corner: and Uncle Sol appeared immediately.

'Mr Gills!' said Carker, with a smile, 'sit down. How do you do?
You continue to enjoy your health, I hope?'

'Thank you, Sir,' returned Uncle Sol, taking out his
pocket-book, and handing over some notes as he spoke. 'Nothing ails
me in body but old age. Twenty-five, Sir.'

'You are as punctual and exact, Mr Gills,' replied the smiling
Manager, taking a paper from one of his many drawers, and making an
endorsement on it, while Uncle Sol looked over him, 'as one of your
own chronometers. Quite right.'

'The Son and Heir has not been spoken, I find by the list, Sir,'
said Uncle Sol, with a slight addition to the usual tremor in his
voice.

'The Son and Heir has not been spoken,' returned Carker. 'There
seems to have been tempestuous weather, Mr Gills, and she has
probably been driven out of her course.'

'She is safe, I trust in Heaven!' said old Sol.

'She is safe, I trust in Heaven!' assented Mr Carker in that
voiceless manner of his: which made the observant young Toodle
trernble again. 'Mr Gills,' he added aloud, throwing himself back in
his chair, 'you must miss your nephew very much?'

Uncle Sol, standing by him, shook his head and heaved a deep
sigh.

'Mr Gills,' said Carker, with his soft hand playing round his
mouth, and looking up into the Instrument-maker's face, 'it would be
company to you to have a young fellow in your shop just now, and it
would be obliging me if you would give one house-room for the
present. No, to be sure,' he added quickly, in anticipation of what
the old man was going to say, 'there's not much business doing there,
I know; but you can make him clean the place out, polish up the
instruments; drudge, Mr Gills. That's the lad!'

Sol Gills pulled down his spectacles from his forehead to his
eyes, and looked at Toodle Junior standing upright in the corner: his
head presenting the appearance (which it always did) of having been
newly drawn out of a bucket of cold water; his small waistcoat rising
and falling quickly in the play of his emotions; and his eyes
intently fixed on Mr Carker, without the least reference to his
proposed master.

'Will you give him house-room, Mr Gills?' said the Manager.

Old Sol, without being quite enthusiastic on the subject,
replied that he was glad of any opportunity, however slight, to
oblige Mr Carker, whose wish on such a point was a command: and that
the wooden Midshipman would consider himself happy to receive in his
berth any visitor of Mr Carker's selecting.

Mr Carker bared himself to the tops and bottoms of his gums:
making the watchful Toodle Junior tremble more and more: and
acknowledged the Instrument-maker's politeness in his most affable
manner.

'I'll dispose of him so, then, Mr Gills,' he answered, rising,
and shaking the old man by the hand, 'until I make up my mind what to
do with him, and what he deserves. As I consider myself responsible
for him, Mr Gills,' here he smiled a wide smile at Rob, who shook
before it: 'I shall be glad if you'll look sharply after him, and
report his behaviour to me. I'll ask a question or two of his parents
as I ride home this afternoon - respectable people - to confirm some
particulars in his own account of himself; and that done, Mr Gills,
I'll send him round to you to-morrow morning. Goodbye!'

His smile at parting was so full of teeth, that it confused old
Sol, and made him vaguely uncomfortable. He went home, thinking of
raging seas, foundering ships, drowning men, an ancient bottle of
Madeira never brought to light, and other dismal matters.

'Now, boy!' said Mr Carker, putting his hand on young Toodle's
shoulder, and bringing him out into the middle of the room. 'You have
heard me?'

Rob said, 'Yes, Sir.'

'Perhaps you understand,' pursued his patron, 'that if you ever
deceive or play tricks with me, you had better have drowned yourself,
indeed, once for all, before you came here?'

There was nothing in any branch of mental acquisition that Rob
seemed to understand better than that.

'If you have lied to me,' said Mr Carker, 'in anything, never
come in my way again. If not, you may let me find you waiting for me
somewhere near your mother's house this afternoon. I shall leave this
at five o'clock, and ride there on horseback. Now, give me the
address.'

Rob repeated it slowly, as Mr Carker wrote it down. Rob even
spelt it over a second time, letter by letter, as if he thought that
the omission of a dot or scratch would lead to his destruction. Mr
Carker then handed him out of the room; and Rob, keeping his round
eyes fixed upon his patron to the last, vanished for the time
being.

Mr Carker the Manager did a great deal of business in the course
of the day, and stowed his teeth upon a great many people. In the
office, in the court, in the street, and on 'Change, they glistened
and bristled to a terrible extent. Five o'clock arriving, and with it
Mr Carker's bay horse, they got on horseback, and went gleaming up
Cheapside.

As no one can easily ride fast, even if inclined to do so,
through the press and throng of the City at that hour, and as Mr
Carker was not inclined, he went leisurely along, picking his way
among the carts and carriages, avoiding whenever he could the wetter
and more dirty places in the over-watered road, and taking infinite
pains to keep himself and his steed clean. Glancing at the passersby
while he was thus ambling on his way, he suddenly encountered the
round eyes of the sleek-headed Rob intently fixed upon his face as if
they had never been taken off, while the boy himself, with a
pocket-handkerchief twisted up like a speckled eel and girded round
his waist, made a very conspicuous demonstration of being prepared to
attend upon him, at whatever pace he might think proper to go.

This attention, however flattering, being one of an unusual
kind, and attracting some notice from the other passengers, Mr Carker
took advantage of a clearer thoroughfare and a cleaner road, and
broke into a trot. Rob immediately did the same. Mr Carker presently
tried a canter; Rob Was still in attendance. Then a short gallop; it
Was all one to the boy. Whenever Mr Carker turned his eyes to that
side of the road, he still saw Toodle Junior holding his course,
apparently without distress, and working himself along by the elbows
after the most approved manner of professional gentlemen who get over
the ground for wagers.

Ridiculous as this attendance was, it was a sign of an influence
established over the boy, and therefore Mr Carker, affecting not to
notice it, rode away into the neighbourhood of Mr Toodle's house. On
his slackening his pace here, Rob appeared before him to point out
the turnings; and when he called to a man at a neighbouring gateway
to hold his horse, pending his visit to the buildings that had
succeeded Staggs's Gardens, Rob dutifully held the stirrup, while the
Manager dismounted.

'Now, Sir,' said Mr Carker, taking him by the shoulder, 'come
along!'

The prodigal son was evidently nervous of visiting the parental
abode; but Mr Carker pushing him on before, he had nothing for it but
to open the right door, and suffer himself to be walked into the
midst of his brothers and sisters, mustered in overwhelming force
round the family tea-table. At sight of the prodigal in the grasp of
a stranger, these tender relations united in a general howl, which
smote upon the prodigal's breast so sharply when he saw his mother
stand up among them, pale and trembling, with the baby in her arms,
that he lent his own voice to the chorus.

Nothing doubting now that the stranger, if not Mr Ketch' in
person, was one of that company, the whole of the young family wailed
the louder, while its more infantine members, unable to control the
transports of emotion appertaining to their time of life, threw
themselves on their backs like young birds when terrified by a hawk,
and kicked violently. At length, poor Polly making herself audible,
said, with quivering lips, 'Oh Rob, my poor boy, what have you done
at last!'

'Nothing, mother,' cried Rob, in a piteous voice, 'ask the
gentleman!'

'Don't be alarmed,' said Mr Carker, 'I want to do him good.'

At this announcement, Polly, who had not cried yet, began to do
so. The elder Toodles, who appeared to have been meditating a rescue,
unclenched their fists. The younger Toodles clustered round their
mother's gown, and peeped from under their own chubby arms at their
desperado brother and his unknown friend. Everybody blessed the
gentleman with the beautiful teeth, who wanted to do good.

'This fellow,' said Mr Carker to Polly, giving him a gentle
shake, 'is your son, eh, Ma'am?'

'Yes, Sir,' sobbed Polly, with a curtsey; 'yes, Sir.'

'A bad son, I am afraid?' said Mr Carker.

'Never a bad son to me, Sir,' returned Polly.

'To whom then?' demanded Mr Carker.

'He has been a little wild, Sir,' returned Polly, checking the
baby, who was making convulsive efforts with his arms and legs to
launch himself on Biler, through the ambient air, 'and has gone with
wrong companions: but I hope he has seen the misery of that, Sir, and
will do well again.'

Mr Carker looked at Polly, and the clean room, and the clean
children, and the simple Toodle face, combined of father and mother,
that was reflected and repeated everywhere about him - and seemed to
have achieved the real purpose of his visit.

'Your husband, I take it, is not at home?' he said.

'No, Sir,' replied Polly. 'He's down the line at present.'

The prodigal Rob seemed very much relieved to hear it: though
still in the absorption of all his faculties in his patron, he hardly
took his eyes from Mr Carker's face, unless for a moment at a time to
steal a sorrowful glance at his mother.

'Then,' said Mr Carker, 'I'll tell you how I have stumbled on
this boy of yours, and who I am, and what I am going to do for
him.'

This Mr Carker did, in his own way; saying that he at first
intended to have accumulated nameless terrors on his presumptuous
head, for coming to the whereabout of Dombey and Son. That he had
relented, in consideration of his youth, his professed contrition,
and his friends. That he was afraid he took a rash step in doing
anything for the boy, and one that might expose him to the censure of
the prudent; but that he did it of himself and for himself, and
risked the consequences single-handed; and that his mother's past
connexion with Mr Dombey's family had nothing to do with it, and that
Mr Dombey had nothing to do with it, but that he, Mr Carker, was the
be-all and the end-all of this business. Taking great credit to
himself for his goodness, and receiving no less from all the family
then present, Mr Carker signified, indirectly but still pretty
plainly, that Rob's implicit fidelity, attachment, and devotion, were
for evermore his due, and the least homage he could receive. And with
this great truth Rob himself was so impressed, that, standing gazing
on his patron with tears rolling down his cheeks, he nodded his shiny
head until it seemed almost as loose as it had done under the same
patron's hands that morning.

Polly, who had passed Heaven knows how many sleepless nights on
account of this her dissipated firstborn, and had not seen him for
weeks and weeks, could have almost kneeled to Mr Carker the Manager,
as to a Good Spirit - in spite of his teeth. But Mr Carker rising to
depart, she only thanked him with her mother's prayers and blessings;
thanks so rich when paid out of the Heart's mint, especially for any
service Mr Carker had rendered, that he might have given back a large
amount of change, and yet been overpaid.

As that gentleman made his way among the crowding children to
the door, Rob retreated on his mother, and took her and the baby in
the same repentant hug.

'I'll try hard, dear mother, now. Upon my soul I will!' said
Rob.

'Oh do, my dear boy! I am sure you will, for our sakes and your
own!' cried Polly, kissing him. 'But you're coming back to speak to
me, when you have seen the gentleman away?'

'I don't know, mother.' Rob hesitated, and looked down. 'Father
- when's he coming home?'

'Not till two o'clock to-morrow morning.'

'I'll come back, mother dear!' cried Rob. And passing through
the shrill cry of his brothers and sisters in reception of this
promise, he followed Mr Carker out.

'What!' said Mr Carker, who had heard this. 'You have a bad
father, have you?'

'No, Sir!' returned Rob, amazed. 'There ain't a better nor a
kinder father going, than mine is.'

'Why don't you want to see him then?' inquired his patron.

'There's such a difference between a father and a mother, Sir,'
said Rob, after faltering for a moment. 'He couldn't hardly believe
yet that I was doing to do better - though I know he'd try to but a
mother - she always believes what's,' good, Sir; at least I know my
mother does, God bless her!'

Mr Carker's mouth expanded, but he said no more until he was
mounted on his horse, and had dismissed the man who held it, when,
looking down from the saddle steadily into the attentive and watchful
face of the boy, he said:

'You'll come to me tomorrow morning, and you shall be shown
where that old gentleman lives; that old gentleman who was with me
this morning; where you are going, as you heard me say.'

'Yes, Sir,' returned Rob.

'I have a great interest in that old gentleman, and in serving
him, you serve me, boy, do you understand? Well,' he added,
interrupting him, for he saw his round face brighten when he was told
that: 'I see you do. I want to know all about that old gentleman, and
how he goes on from day to day - for I am anxious to be of service to
him - and especially who comes there to see him. Do you
understand?'

Rob nodded his steadfast face, and said 'Yes, Sir,' again.

'I should like to know that he has friends who are attentive to
him, and that they don't desert him - for he lives very much alone
now, poor fellow; but that they are fond of him, and of his nephew
who has gone abroad. There is a very young lady who may perhaps come
to see him. I want particularly to know all about her.'

'I'll take care, Sir,' said the boy.

'And take care,' returned his patron, bending forward to advance
his grinning face closer to the boy's, and pat him on the shoulder
with the handle of his whip: 'take care you talk about affairs of
mine to nobody but me.'

'To nobody in the world, Sir,' replied Rob, shaking his head.

'Neither there,' said Mr CarHer, pointing to the place they had
just left, 'nor anywhere else. I'll try how true and grateful you can
be. I'll prove you!' Making this, by his display of teeth and by the
action of his head, as much a threat as a promise, he turned from
Rob's eyes, which were nailed upon him as if he had won the boy by a
charm, body and soul, and rode away. But again becoming conscious,
after trotting a short distance, that his devoted henchman, girt as
before, was yielding him the same attendance, to the great amusement
of sundry spectators, he reined up, and ordered him off. To ensure
his obedience, he turned in the saddle and watched him as he retired.
It was curious to see that even then Rob could not keep his eyes
wholly averted from his patron's face, but, constantly turning and
turning again to look after him' involved himself in a tempest of
buffetings and jostlings from the other passengers in the street: of
which, in the pursuit of the one paramount idea, he was perfectly
heedless.

Mr Carker the Manager rode on at a foot-pace, with the easy air
of one who had performed all the business of the day in a
satisfactory manner, and got it comfortably off his mind. Complacent
and affable as man could be, Mr Carker picked his way along the
streets and hummed a soft tune as he went He seemed to purr, he was
so glad.

And in some sort, Mr Carker, in his fancy, basked upon a hearth
too. Coiled up snugly at certain feet, he was ready for a spring, Or
for a tear, or for a scratch, or for a velvet touch, as the humour
took him and occasion served. Was there any bird in a cage, that came
in for a share ofhis regards?

'A very young lady!' thought Mr Carker the Manager, through his
song. 'Ay! when I saw her last, she was a little child. With dark
eyes and hair, I recollect, and a good face; a very good face! I
daresay she's pretty.'

More affable and pleasant yet, and humming his song until his
many teeth vibrated to it, Mr Carker picked his way along, and turned
at last into the shady street where Mr Dombey's house stood. He had
been so busy, winding webs round good faces, and obscuring them with
meshes, that he hardly thought of being at this point of his ride,
until, glancing down the cold perspective of tall houses, he reined
in his horse quickly within a few yards of the door. But to explain
why Mr Carker reined in his horse quickly, and what he looked at in
no small surprise, a few digressive words are necessary.

Mr Toots, emancipated from the Blimber thraldom and coming into
the possession of a certain portion of his wordly wealth, 'which,' as
he had been wont, during his last half-year's probation, to
communicate to Mr Feeder every evening as a new discovery, 'the
executors couldn't keep him out of' had applied himself with great
diligence, to the science of Life. Fired with a noble emulation to
pursue a brilliant and distinguished career, Mr Toots had furnished a
choice set of apartments; had established among them a sporting
bower, embellished with the portraits of winning horses, in which he
took no particle of interest; and a divan, which made him poorly. In
this delicious abode, Mr Toots devoted himself to the cultivation of
those gentle arts which refine and humanise existence, his chief
instructor in which was an interesting character called the Game
Chicken, who was always to be heard of at the bar of the Black
Badger, wore a shaggy white great-coat in the warmest weather, and
knocked Mr Toots about the head three times a week, for the small
consideration of ten and six per visit.

The Game Chicken, who was quite the Apollo of Mr Toots's
Pantheon, had introduced to him a marker who taught billiards, a Life
Guard who taught fencing, a jobmaster who taught riding, a Cornish
gentleman who was up to anything in the athletic line, and two or
three other friends connected no less intimately with the fine arts.
Under whose auspices Mr Toots could hardly fail to improve apace, and
under whose tuition he went to work.

But however it came about, it came to pass, even while these
gentlemen had the gloss of novelty upon them, that Mr Toots felt, he
didn't know how, unsettled and uneasy. There were husks in his corn,
that even Game Chickens couldn't peck up; gloomy giants in his
leisure, that even Game Chickens couldn't knock down. Nothing seemed
to do Mr Toots so much good as incessantly leaving cards at Mr
Dombey's door. No taxgatherer in the British Dominions - that
wide-spread territory on which the sun never sets, and where the
tax-gatherer never goes to bed - was more regular and persevering in
his calls than Mr Toots.

Mr Toots never went upstairs; and always performed the same
ceremonies, richly dressed for the purpose, at the hall door.

'Oh! Good morning!' would be Mr Toots's first remark to the
servant. 'For Mr Dombey,' would be Mr Toots's next remark, as he
handed in a card. 'For Miss Dombey,' would be his next, as he handed
in another.

Mr Toots would then turn round as if to go away; but the man
knew him by this time, and knew he wouldn't.

'Oh, I beg your pardon,' Mr Toots would say, as if a thought had
suddenly descended on him. 'Is the young woman at home?'

The man would rather think she was;, but wouldn't quite know.
Then he would ring a bell that rang upstairs, and would look up the
staircase, and would say, yes, she was at home, and was coming down.
Then Miss Nipper would appear, and the man would retire.

'Oh! How de do?' Mr Toots would say, with a chuckle and a
blush.

Susan would thank him, and say she was very well.

'How's Diogenes going on?' would be Mr Toots's second
interrogation.

Very well indeed. Miss Florence was fonder and fonder of him
every day. Mr Toots was sure to hail this with a burst of chuckles,
like the opening of a bottle of some effervescent beverage.

'Miss Florence is quite well, Sir,' Susan would add.

Oh, it's of no consequence, thank'ee,' was the invariable reply
of Mr Toots; and when he had said so, he always went away very
fast.

Now it is certain that Mr Toots had a filmy something in his
mind, which led him to conclude that if he could aspire successfully
in the fulness of time, to the hand of Florence, he would be
fortunate and blest. It is certain that Mr Toots, by some remote and
roundabout road, had got to that point, and that there he made a
stand. His heart was wounded; he was touched; he was in love. He had
made a desperate attempt, one night, and had sat up all night for the
purpose, to write an acrostic on Florence, which affected him to
tears in the conception. But he never proceeded in the execution
further than the words 'For when I gaze,' - the flow of imagination
in which he had previously written down the initial letters of the
other seven lines, deserting him at that point.

Beyond devising that very artful and politic measure of leaving
a card for Mr Dombey daily, the brain of Mr Toots had not worked much
in reference to the subject that held his feelings prisoner. But deep
consideration at length assured Mr Toots that an important step to
gain, was, the conciliation of Miss Susan Nipper, preparatory to
giving her some inkling of his state of mind.

A little light and playful gallantry towards this lady seemed
the means to employ in that early chapter of the history, for winning
her to his interests. Not being able quite to make up his mind about
it, he consulted the Chicken - without taking that gentleman into his
confidence; merely informing him that a friend in Yorkshire had
written to him (Mr Toots) for his opinion on such a question. The
Chicken replying that his opinion always was, 'Go in and win,' and
further, 'When your man's before you and your work cut out, go in and
do it,' Mr Toots considered this a figurative way of supporting his
own view of the case, and heroically resolved to kiss Miss Nipper
next day.

Upon the next day, therefore, Mr Toots, putting into requisition
some of the greatest marvels that Burgess and Co. had ever turned
out, went off to Mr Dotnbey's upon this design. But his heart failed
him so much as he approached the scene of action, that, although he
arrived on the ground at three o'clock in the afternoon, it was six
before he knocked at the door.

Everything happened as usual, down to the point where Susan said
her young mistress was well, and Mr Toots said it was ofno
consequence. To her amazement, Mr Toots, instead of going off, like a
rocket, after that observation, lingered and chuckled.

'Perhaps you'd like to walk upstairs, Sir!' said Susan.

'Well, I think I will come in!' said Mr Toots.

But instead of walking upstairs, the bold Toots made an awkward
plunge at Susan when the door was shut, and embracing that fair
creature, kissed her on the cheek

'Go along with you!' cried Susan, 'or Ill tear your eyes
out.'

'Just another!' said Mr Toots.

'Go along with you!' exclaimed Susan, giving him a push
'Innocents like you, too! Who'll begin next? Go along, Sir!'

Susan was not in any serious strait, for she could hardly speak
for laughing; but Diogenes, on the staircase, hearing a rustling
against the wall, and a shuffling of feet, and seeing through the
banisters that there was some contention going on, and foreign
invasion in the house, formed a different opinion, dashed down to the
rescue, and in the twinkling of an eye had Mr Toots by the leg.

Susan screamed, laughed, opened the street-door, and ran
downstairs; the bold Toots tumbled staggering out into the street,
with Diogenes holding on to one leg of his pantaioons, as if Burgess
and Co. were his cooks, and had provided that dainty morsel for his
holiday entertainment; Diogenes shaken off, rolled over and over in
the dust, got up' again, whirled round the giddy Toots and snapped at
him: and all this turmoil Mr Carker, reigning up his horse and
sitting a little at a distance, saw to his amazement, issue from the
stately house of Mr Dombey.

Mr Carker remained watching the discomfited Toots, when Diogenes
was called in, and the door shut: and while that gentleman, taking
refuge in a doorway near at hand, bound up the torn leg of his
pantaloons with a costly silk handkerchief that had formed part of
his expensive outfit for the advent

'I beg your pardon, Sir,' said Mr Carker, riding up, with his
most propitiatory smile. 'I hope you are not hurt?'

'Oh no, thank you,' replied Mr Toots, raising his flushed face,
'it's of no consequence' Mr Toots would have signified, if he could,
that he liked it very much.

'If the dog's teeth have entered the leg, Sir - ' began Carker,
with a display of his own'

'No, thank you,' said Mr Toots, 'it's all quite right. It's very
comfortable, thank you.'

'I have the pleasure of knowing Mr Dombey,' observed Carker.

'Have you though?' rejoined the blushing Took

'And you will allow me, perhaps, to apologise, in his absence,'
said Mr Carker, taking off his hat, 'for such a misadventure, and to
wonder how it can possibly have happened.'

Mr Toots is so much gratified by this politeness, and the lucky
chance of making frends with a friend of Mr Dombey, that he pulls out
his card-case which he never loses an opportunity of using, and hands
his name and address to Mr Carker: who responds to that courtesy by
giving him his own, and with that they part.

As Mr Carker picks his way so softly past the house, looking up
at the windows, and trying to make out the pensive face behind the
curtain looking at the children opposite, the rough head of Diogenes
came clambering up close by it, and the dog, regardless of all
soothing, barks and growls, and makes at him from that height, as
ifhe would spring down and tear him limb from limb.

Well spoken, Di, so near your Mistress! Another, and another
with your head up, your eyes flashing, and your vexed mouth worrying
itself, for want of him! Another, as he picks his way along! You have
a good scent, Di, - cats, boy, cats!