Chapter Six

Martin Chuzzlewit

by Charles Dickens

COMPRISES, AMONG OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS, PECKSNIFFIAN AND
ARCHITECTURAL, AND EXACT RELATION OF THE PROGRESS MADE BY MR PINCH IN
THE CONFIDENCE AND FRIENDSHIP OF THE NEW PUPIL

It was morning; and the beautiful Aurora, of whom so much hath
been written, said, and sung, did, with her rosy fingers, nip and
tweak Miss Pecksniff's nose. It was the frolicsome custom of the
Goddess, in her intercourse with the fair Cherry, so to do; or in
more prosaic phrase, the tip of that feature in the sweet girl's
countenance was always very red at breakfast-time. For the most
part, indeed, it wore, at that season of the day, a scraped and
frosty look, as if it had been rasped; while a similar phenomenon
developed itself in her humour, which was then observed to be of a
sharp and acid quality, as though an extra lemon (figuratively
speaking) had been squeezed into the nectar of her disposition, and
had rather damaged its flavour.

This additional pungency on the part of the fair young creature
led, on ordinary occasions, to such slight consequences as the
copious dilution of Mr Pinch's tea, or to his coming off uncommonly
short in respect of butter, or to other the like results. But on the
morning after the Installation Banquet, she suffered him to wander to
and fro among the eatables and drinkables, a perfectly free and
unchecked man; so utterly to Mr Pinch's wonder and confusion, that
like the wretched captive who recovered his liberty in his old age,
he could make but little use of his enlargement, and fell into a
strange kind of flutter for want of some kind hand to scrape his
bread, and cut him off in the article of sugar with a lump, and pay
him those other little attentions to which he was accustomed. There
was something almost awful, too, about the self-possession of the new
pupil; who 'troubled' Mr Pecksniff for the loaf, and helped himself
to a rasher of that gentleman's own particular and private bacon,
with all the coolness in life. He even seemed to think that he was
doing quite a regular thing, and to expect that Mr Pinch would follow
his example, since he took occasion to observe of that young man
'that he didn't get on'; a speech of so tremendous a character, that
Tom cast down his eyes involuntarily, and felt as if he himself had
committed some horrible deed and heinous breach of Mr Pecksniff's
confidence. Indeed, the agony of having such an indiscreet remark
addressed to him before the assembled family, was breakfast enough in
itself, and would, without any other matter of reflection, have
settled Mr Pinch's business and quenched his appetite, for one meal,
though he had been never so hungry.

The young ladies, however, and Mr Pecksniff likewise, remained
in the very best of spirits in spite of these severe trials, though
with something of a mysterious understanding among themselves. When
the meal was nearly over, Mr Pecksniff smilingly explained the cause
of their common satisfaction.

'It is not often,' he said, 'Martin, that my daughters and I
desert our quiet home to pursue the giddy round of pleasures that
revolves abroad. But we think of doing so to-day.'

'Indeed, sir!' cried the new pupil.

'Yes,' said Mr Pecksniff, tapping his left hand with a letter
which he held in his right. 'I have a summons here to repair to
London; on professional business, my dear Martin; strictly on
professional business; and I promised my girls, long ago, that
whenever that happened again, they should accompany me. We shall go
forth to- night by the heavy coach--like the dove of old, my dear
Martin--and it will be a week before we again deposit our
olive-branches in the passage. When I say olive-branches,' observed
Mr Pecksniff, in explanation, 'I mean, our unpretending luggage.'

'I hope the young ladies will enjoy their trip,' said Martin.

'Oh! that I'm sure we shall!' cried Mercy, clapping her hands.
'Good gracious, Cherry, my darling, the idea of London!'

'Ardent child!' said Mr Pecksniff, gazing on her in a dreamy
way. 'And yet there is a melancholy sweetness in these youthful
hopes! It is pleasant to know that they never can be realised. I
remember thinking once myself, in the days of my childhood, that
pickled onions grew on trees, and that every elephant was born with
an impregnable castle on his back. I have not found the fact to be
so; far from it; and yet those visions have comforted me under
circumstances of trial. Even when I have had the anguish of
discovering that I have nourished in my breast on ostrich, and not a
human pupil--even in that hour of agony, they have soothed me.'

At this dread allusion to John Westlock, Mr Pinch precipitately
choked in his tea; for he had that very morning received a letter
from him, as Mr Pecksniff very well knew.

'You will take care, my dear Martin,' said Mr Pecksniff,
resuming his former cheerfulness, 'that the house does not run away
in our absence. We leave you in charge of everything. There is no
mystery; all is free and open. Unlike the young man in the Eastern
tale--who is described as a one-eyed almanac, if I am not mistaken,
Mr Pinch?--'

'A one-eyed calender, I think, sir,' faltered Tom.

'They are pretty nearly the same thing, I believe,' said Mr
Pecksniff, smiling compassionately; 'or they used to be in my time.
Unlike that young man, my dear Martin, you are forbidden to enter no
corner of this house; but are requested to make yourself perfectly at
home in every part of it. You will be jovial, my dear Martin, and
will kill the fatted calf if you please!'

There was not the least objection, doubtless, to the young man's
slaughtering and appropriating to his own use any calf, fat or lean,
that he might happen to find upon the premises; but as no such animal
chanced at that time to be grazing on Mr Pecksniff's estate, this
request must be considered rather as a polite compliment that a
substantial hospitality. It was the finishing ornament of the
conversation; for when he had delivered it, Mr Pecksniff rose and led
the way to that hotbed of architectural genius, the two-pair
front.

'Let me see,' he said, searching among the papers, 'how you can
best employ yourself, Martin, while I am absent. Suppose you were to
give me your idea of a monument to a Lord Mayor of London; or a tomb
for a sheriff; or your notion of a cow-house to be erected in a
nobleman's park. Do you know, now,' said Mr Pecksniff, folding his
hands, and looking at his young relation with an air of pensive
interest, 'that I should very much like to see your notion of a
cow-house?'

But Martin by no means appeared to relish this suggestion.

'A pump,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'is very chaste practice. I have
found that a lamp post is calculated to refine the mind and give it a
classical tendency. An ornamental turnpike has a remarkable effect
upon the imagination. What do you say to beginning with an
ornamental turnpike?'

'Whatever Mr Pecksniff pleased,' said Martin, doubtfully.

'Stay,' said that gentleman. 'Come! as you're ambitious, and
are a very neat draughtsman, you shall--ha ha!--you shall try your
hand on these proposals for a grammar-school; regulating your plan,
of course, by the printed particulars. Upon my word, now,' said Mr
Pecksniff, merrily, 'I shall be very curious to see what you make of
the grammar-school. Who knows but a young man of your taste might
hit upon something, impracticable and unlikely in itself, but which I
could put into shape? For it really is, my dear Martin, it really is
in the finishing touches alone, that great experience and long study
in these matters tell. Ha, ha, ha! Now it really will be,'
continued Mr Pecksniff, clapping his young friend on the back in his
droll humour, 'an amusement to me, to see what you make of the
grammar-school.'

Martin readily undertook this task, and Mr Pecksniff forthwith
proceeded to entrust him with the materials necessary for its
execution; dwelling meanwhile on the magical effect of a few
finishing touches from the hand of a master; which, indeed, as some
people said (and these were the old enemies again!) was
unquestionably very surprising, and almost miraculous; as there were
cases on record in which the masterly introduction of an additional
back window, or a kitchen door, or half-a-dozen steps, or even a
water spout, had made the design of a pupil Mr Pecksniff's own work,
and had brought substantial rewards into that gentleman's pocket. But
such is the magic of genius, which changes all it handles into
gold!

'When your mind requires to be refreshed by change of
occupation,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'Thomas Pinch will instruct you in
the art of surveying the back garden, or in ascertaining the dead
level of the road between this house and the finger-post, or in any
other practical and pleasing pursuit. There are a cart-load of loose
bricks, and a score or two of old flower-pots, in the back yard. If
you could pile them up my dear Martin, into any form which would
remind me on my return say of St. Peter's at Rome, or the Mosque of
St. Sophia at Constantinople, it would be at once improving to you
and agreeable to my feelings. And now,' said Mr Pecksniff, in
conclusion, 'to drop, for the present, our professional relations and
advert to private matters, I shall be glad to talk with you in my own
room, while I pack up my portmanteau.'

Martin attended him; and they remained in secret conference
together for an hour or more; leaving Tom Pinch alone. When the
young man returned, he was very taciturn and dull, in which state he
remained all day; so that Tom, after trying him once or twice with
indifferent conversation, felt a delicacy in obtruding himself upon
his thoughts, and said no more.

He would not have had leisure to say much, had his new friend
been ever so loquacious; for first of all Mr Pecksniff called him
down to stand upon the top of his portmanteau and represent ancient
statues there, until such time as it would consent to be locked; and
then Miss Charity called him to come and cord her trunk; and then
Miss Mercy sent for him to come and mend her box; and then he wrote
the fullest possible cards for all the luggage; and then he
volunteered to carry it all downstairs; and after that to see it
safely carried on a couple of barrows to the old finger-post at the
end of the lane; and then to mind it till the coach came up. In
short, his day's work would have been a pretty heavy one for a
porter, but his thorough good-will made nothing of it; and as he sat
upon the luggage at last, waiting for the Pecksniffs, escorted by the
new pupil, to come down the lane, his heart was light with the hope
of having pleased his benefactor.

'I was almost afraid,' said Tom, taking a letter from his pocket
and wiping his face, for he was hot with bustling about though it was
a cold day, 'that I shouldn't have had time to write it, and that
would have been a thousand pities; postage from such a distance being
a serious consideration, when one's not rich. She will be glad to
see my hand, poor girl, and to hear that Pecksniff is as kind as
ever. I would have asked John Westlock to call and see her, and tell
her all about me by word of mouth, but I was afraid he might speak
against Pecksniff to her, and make her uneasy. Besides, they are
particular people where she is, and it might have rendered her
situation uncomfortable if she had had a visit from a young man like
John. Poor Ruth!'

Tom Pinch seemed a little disposed to be melancholy for half a
minute or so, but he found comfort very soon, and pursued his
ruminations thus:

'I'm a nice man, I don't think, as John used to say (John was a
kind, merry-hearted fellow; I wish he had liked Pecksniff better), to
be feeling low, on account of the distance between us, when I ought
to be thinking, instead, of my extraordinary good luck in having ever
got here. I must have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I
am sure, to have ever come across Pecksniff. And here have I fallen
again into my usual good luck with the new pupil! Such an affable,
generous, free fellow, as he is, I never saw. Why, we were
companions directly! and he a relation of Pecksniff's too, and a
clever, dashing youth who might cut his way through the world as if
it were a cheese! Here he comes while the words are on my lips' said
Tom; 'walking down the lane as if the lane belonged to him.'

In truth, the new pupil, not at all disconcerted by the honour
of having Miss Mercy Pecksniff on his arm, or by the affectionate
adieux of that young lady, approached as Mr Pinch spoke, followed by
Miss Charity and Mr Pecksniff. As the coach appeared at the same
moment, Tom lost no time in entreating the gentleman last mentioned,
to undertake the delivery of his letter.

'Oh!' said Mr Pecksniff, glancing at the superscription. 'For
your sister, Thomas. Yes, oh yes, it shall be delivered, Mr Pinch.
Make your mind easy upon that score. She shall certainly have it, Mr
Pinch.'

He made the promise with so much condescension and patronage,
that Tom felt he had asked a great deal (this had not occurred to his
mind before), and thanked him earnestly. The Miss Pecksniffs,
according to a custom they had, were amused beyond description at the
mention of Mr Pinch's sister. Oh the fright! The bare idea of a
Miss Pinch! Good heavens!

Tom was greatly pleased to see them so merry, for he took it as
a token of their favour, and good-humoured regard. Therefore he
laughed too and rubbed his hands and wished them a pleasant journey
and safe return, and was quite brisk. Even when the coach had rolled
away with the olive-branches in the boot and the family of doves
inside, he stood waving his hand and bowing; so much gratified by the
unusually courteous demeanour of the young ladies, that he was quite
regardless, for the moment, of Martin Chuzzlewit, who stood leaning
thoughtfully against the finger-post, and who after disposing of his
fair charge had hardly lifted his eyes from the ground.

The perfect silence which ensued upon the bustle and departure
of the coach, together with the sharp air of the wintry afternoon,
roused them both at the same time. They turned, as by mutual
consent, and moved off arm-in-arm.

'How melancholy you are!' said Tom; 'what is the matter?'

'Nothing worth speaking of,' said Martin. 'Very little more
than was the matter yesterday, and much more, I hope, than will be
the matter to-morrow. I'm out of spirits, Pinch.'

'Well,' cried Tom, 'now do you know I am in capital spirits
today, and scarcely ever felt more disposed to be good company. It
was a very kind thing in your predecessor, John, to write to me, was
it not?'

'Why, yes,' said Martin carelessly; 'I should have thought he
would have had enough to do to enjoy himself, without thinking of
you, Pinch.'

'Just what I felt to be so very likely,' Tom rejoined; 'but no,
he keeps his word, and says, "My dear Pinch, I often think of you,"
and all sorts of kind and considerate things of that description.'

'He must be a devilish good-natured fellow,' said Martin,
somewhat peevishly: 'because he can't mean that, you know.'

'I don't suppose he can, eh?' said Tom, looking wistfully in his
companion's face. 'He says so to please me, you think?'

'Why, is it likely,' rejoined Martin, with greater earnestness,
'that a young man newly escaped from this kennel of a place, and
fresh to all the delights of being his own master in London, can have
much leisure or inclination to think favourably of anything or
anybody he has left behind him here? I put it to you, Pinch, is it
natural?'

After a short reflection, Mr Pinch replied, in a more subdued
tone, that to be sure it was unreasonable to expect any such thing,
and that he had no doubt Martin knew best.

'Of course I know best,' Martin observed.

'Yes, I feel that,' said Mr Pinch mildly. 'I said so.' And
when he had made this rejoinder, they fell into a blank silence
again, which lasted until they reached home; by which time it was
dark.

Now, Miss Charity Pecksniff, in consideration of the
inconvenience of carrying them with her in the coach, and the
impossibility of preserving them by artificial means until the
family's return, had set forth, in a couple of plates, the fragments
of yesterday's feast. In virtue of which liberal arrangement, they
had the happiness to find awaiting them in the parlour two chaotic
heaps of the remains of last night's pleasure, consisting of certain
filmy bits of oranges, some mummied sandwiches, various disrupted
masses of the geological cake, and several entire captain's biscuits.
That choice liquor in which to steep these dainties might not be
wanting, the remains of the two bottles of currant wine had been
poured together and corked with a curl-paper; so that every material
was at hand for making quite a heavy night of it.

Martin Chuzzlewit beheld these roystering preparations with
infinite contempt, and stirring the fire into a blaze (to the great
destruction of Mr Pecksniff's coals), sat moodily down before it, in
the most comfortable chair he could find. That he might the better
squeeze himself into the small corner that was left for him, Mr Pinch
took up his position on Miss Mercy Pecksniff's stool, and setting his
glass down upon the hearthrug and putting his plate upon his knees,
began to enjoy himself.

If Diogenes coming to life again could have rolled himself, tub
and all, into Mr Pecksniff's parlour and could have seen Tom Pinch as
he sat on Mercy Pecksniff's stool with his plate and glass before him
he could not have faced it out, though in his surliest mood, but must
have smiled good-temperedly. The perfect and entire satisfaction of
Tom; his surpassing appreciation of the husky sandwiches, which
crumbled in his mouth like saw-dust; the unspeakable relish with
which he swallowed the thin wine by drops, and smacked his lips, as
though it were so rich and generous that to lose an atom of its
fruity flavour were a sin; the look with which he paused sometimes,
with his glass in his hand, proposing silent toasts to himself; and
the anxious shade that came upon his contented face when, after
wandering round the room, exulting in its uninvaded snugness, his
glance encountered the dull brow of his companion; no cynic in the
world, though in his hatred of its men a very griffin, could have
withstood these things in Thomas Pinch.

Some men would have slapped him on the back, and pledged him in
a bumper of the currant wine, though it had been the sharpest vinegar
--aye, and liked its flavour too; some would have seized him by his
honest hand, and thanked him for the lesson that his simple nature
taught them. Some would have laughed with, and others would have
laughed at him; of which last class was Martin Chuzzlewit, who,
unable to restrain himself, at last laughed loud and long.

'That's right,' said Tom, nodding approvingly. 'Cheer up!
That's capital!'

At which encouragement young Martin laughed again; and said, as
soon as he had breath and gravity enough:

'I never saw such a fellow as you are, Pinch.'

'Didn't you though?' said Tom. 'Well, it's very likely you do
find me strange, because I have hardly seen anything of the world,
and you have seen a good deal I dare say?'

'Pretty well for my time of life,' rejoined Martin, drawing his
chair still nearer to the fire, and spreading his feet out on the
fender. 'Deuce take it, I must talk openly to somebody. I'll talk
openly to you, Pinch.'

'Do!' said Tom. 'I shall take it as being very friendly of
you,'

'I'm not in your way, am I?' inquired Martin, glancing down at
Mr Pinch, who was by this time looking at the fire over his leg.

'Not at all!' cried Tom.

'You must know then, to make short of a long story,' said
Martin, beginning with a kind of effort, as if the revelation were
not agreeable to him; 'that I have been bred up from childhood with
great expectations, and have always been taught to believe that I
should be, one day, very rich. So I should have been, but for
certain brief reasons which I am going to tell you, and which have
led to my being disinherited.'

'By your father?' inquired Mr Pinch, with open eyes.

'By my grandfather. I have had no parents these many years.
Scarcely within my remembrance.'

'Neither have I,' said Tom, touching the young man's hand with
his own and timidly withdrawing it again. 'Dear me!'

'Why, as to that, you know, Pinch,' pursued the other, stirring
the fire again, and speaking in his rapid, off-hand way; 'it's all
very right and proper to be fond of parents when we have them, and to
bear them in remembrance after they're dead, if you have ever known
anything of them. But as I never did know anything about mine
personally, you know, why, I can't be expected to be very sentimental
about 'em. And I am not; that's the truth.'

Mr Pinch was just then looking thoughtfully at the bars. But on
his companion pausing in this place, he started, and said 'Oh! of
course'--and composed himself to listen again.

'In a word,' said Martin, 'I have been bred and reared all my
life by this grandfather of whom I have just spoken. Now, he has a
great many good points--there is no doubt about that; I'll not
disguise the fact from you--but he has two very great faults, which
are the staple of his bad side. In the first place, he has the most
confirmed obstinacy of character you ever met with in any human
creature. In the second, he is most abominably selfish.'

'Is he indeed?' cried Tom.

'In those two respects,' returned the other, 'there never was
such a man. I have often heard from those who know, that they have
been, time out of mind, the failings of our family; and I believe
there's some truth in it. But I can't say of my own knowledge. All
I have to do, you know, is to be very thankful that they haven't
descended to me, and, to be very careful that I don't contract
'em.'

'To be sure,' said Mr Pinch. 'Very proper.'

'Well, sir,' resumed Martin, stirring the fire once more, and
drawing his chair still closer to it, 'his selfishness makes him
exacting, you see; and his obstinacy makes him resolute in his
exactions. The consequence is that he has always exacted a great
deal from me in the way of respect, and submission, and self-denial
when his wishes were in question, and so forth. I have borne a great
deal from him, because I have been under obligations to him (if one
can ever be said to be under obligations to one's own grandfather),
and because I have been really attached to him; but we have had a
great many quarrels for all that, for I could not accommodate myself
to his ways very often--not out of the least reference to myself, you
understand, but because--' he stammered here, and was rather at a
loss.

Mr Pinch being about the worst man in the world to help anybody
out of a difficulty of this sort, said nothing.

'Well! as you understand me,' resumed Martin, quickly, 'I
needn't hunt for the precise expression I want. Now I come to the
cream of my story, and the occasion of my being here. I am in love,
Pinch.'

Mr Pinch looked up into his face with increased interest.

'I say I am in love. I am in love with one of the most
beautiful girls the sun ever shone upon. But she is wholly and
entirely dependent upon the pleasure of my grandfather; and if he
were to know that she favoured my passion, she would lose her home
and everything she possesses in the world. There is nothing very
selfish in that love, I think?'

'Selfish!' cried Tom. 'You have acted nobly. To love her as I
am sure you do, and yet in consideration for her state of dependence,
not even to disclose--'

'What are you talking about, Pinch?' said Martin pettishly:
'don't make yourself ridiculous, my good fellow! What do you mean by
not disclosing?'

'I beg your pardon,' answered Tom. 'I thought you meant that,
or I wouldn't have said it.'

'If I didn't tell her I loved her, where would be the use of my
being in love?' said Martin: 'unless to keep myself in a perpetual
state of worry and vexation?'

'That's true,' Tom answered. 'Well! I can guess what she said
when you told her,' he added, glancing at Martin's handsome face.

'Why, not exactly, Pinch,' he rejoined, with a slight frown;
'because she has some girlish notions about duty and gratitude, and
all the rest of it, which are rather hard to fathom; but in the main
you are right. Her heart was mine, I found.'

'Just what I supposed,' said Tom. 'Quite natural!' and, in his
great satisfaction, he took a long sip out of his wine-glass.

'Although I had conducted myself from the first with the utmost
circumspection,' pursued Martin, 'I had not managed matters so well
but that my grandfather, who is full of jealousy and distrust,
suspected me of loving her. He said nothing to her, but straightway
attacked me in private, and charged me with designing to corrupt the
fidelity to himself (there you observe his selfishness), of a young
creature whom he had trained and educated to be his only
disinterested and faithful companion, when he should have disposed of
me in marriage to his heart's content. Upon that, I took fire
immediately, and told him that with his good leave I would dispose of
myself in marriage, and would rather not be knocked down by him or
any other auctioneer to any bidder whomsoever.'

Mr Pinch opened his eyes wider, and looked at the fire harder
than he had done yet.

'You may be sure,' said Martin, 'that this nettled him, and that
he began to be the very reverse of complimentary to myself.
Interview succeeded interview; words engendered words, as they always
do; and the upshot of it was, that I was to renounce her, or be
renounced by him. Now you must bear in mind, Pinch, that I am not
only desperately fond of her (for though she is poor, her beauty and
intellect would reflect great credit on anybody, I don't care of what
pretensions who might become her husband), but that a chief
ingredient in my composition is a most determined--'

'Obstinacy,' suggested Tom in perfect good faith. But the
suggestion was not so well received as he had expected; for the young
man immediately rejoined, with some irritation,

'What a fellow you are, Pinch!'

'I beg your pardon,' said Tom, 'I thought you wanted a word.'

'I didn't want that word,' he rejoined. 'I told you obstinacy
was no part of my character, did I not? I was going to say, if you
had given me leave, that a chief ingredient in my composition is a
most determined firmness.'

'Oh!' cried Tom, screwing up his mouth, and nodding. 'Yes, yes;
I see!'

'And being firm,' pursued Martin, 'of course I was not going to
yield to him, or give way by so much as the thousandth part of an
inch.'

'No, no,' said Tom.

'On the contrary, the more he urged, the more I was determined
to oppose him.'

'To be sure!' said Tom.

'Very well,' rejoined Martin, throwing himself back in his
chair, with a careless wave of both hands, as if the subject were
quite settled, and nothing more could be said about it--'There is an
end of the matter, and here am I!'

Mr Pinch sat staring at the fire for some minutes with a puzzled
look, such as he might have assumed if some uncommonly difficult
conundrum had been proposed, which he found it impossible to guess.
At length he said:

'Pecksniff, of course, you had known before?'

'Only by name. No, I had never seen him, for my grandfather
kept not only himself but me, aloof from all his relations. But our
separation took place in a town in the adjoining country. From that
place I came to Salisbury, and there I saw Pecksniff's advertisement,
which I answered, having always had some natural taste, I believe, in
the matters to which it referred, and thinking it might suit me. As
soon as I found it to be his, I was doubly bent on coming to him if
possible, on account of his being--'

'Such an excellent man,' interposed Tom, rubbing his hands: 'so
he is. You were quite right.'

'Why, not so much on that account, if the truth must be spoken,'
returned Martin, 'as because my grandfather has an inveterate dislike
to him, and after the old man's arbitrary treatment of me, I had a
natural desire to run as directly counter to all his opinions as I
could. Well! As I said before, here I am. My engagement with the
young lady I have been telling you about is likely to be a tolerably
long one; for neither her prospects nor mine are very bright; and of
course I shall not think of marrying until I am well able to do so.
It would never do, you know, for me to be plunging myself into
poverty and shabbiness and love in one room up three pair of stairs,
and all that sort of thing.'

'To say nothing of her,' remarked Tom Pinch, in a low voice.

'Exactly so,' rejoined Martin, rising to warm his back, and
leaning against the chimney-piece. 'To say nothing of her. At the
same time, of course it's not very hard upon her to be obliged to
yield to the necessity of the case; first, because she loves me very
much; and secondly, because I have sacrificed a great deal on her
account, and might have done much better, you know.'

It was a very long time before Tom said 'Certainly;' so long,
that he might have taken a nap in the interval, but he did say it at
last.

'Now, there is one odd coincidence connected with this
love-story,' said Martin, 'which brings it to an end. You remember
what you told me last night as we were coming here, about your pretty
visitor in the church?'

'Surely I do,' said Tom, rising from his stool, and seating
himself in the chair from which the other had lately risen, that he
might see his face. 'Undoubtedly.'

'That was she.'

'I knew what you were going to say,' cried Tom, looking fixedly
at him, and speaking very softly. 'You don't tell me so?'

'That was she,' repeated the young man. 'After what I have
heard from Pecksniff, I have no doubt that she came and went with my
grandfather.--Don't you drink too much of that sour wine, or you'll
have a fit of some sort, Pinch, I see.'

'It is not very wholesome, I am afraid,' said Tom, setting down
the empty glass he had for some time held. 'So that was she, was
it?'

Martin nodded assent; and adding, with a restless impatience,
that if he had been a few days earlier he would have seen her; and
that now she might be, for anything he knew, hundreds of miles away;
threw himself, after a few turns across the room, into a chair, and
chafed like a spoilt child.

Tom Pinch's heart was very tender, and he could not bear to see
the most indifferent person in distress; still less one who had
awakened an interest in him, and who regarded him (either in fact, or
as he supposed) with kindness, and in a spirit of lenient
construction. Whatever his own thoughts had been a few moments
before--and to judge from his face they must have been pretty
serious--he dismissed them instantly, and gave his young friend the
best counsel and comfort that occurred to him.

'All will be well in time,' said Tom, 'I have no doubt; and some
trial and adversity just now will only serve to make you more
attached to each other in better days. I have always read that the
truth is so, and I have a feeling within me, which tells me how
natural and right it is that it should be. That never ran smooth
yet,' said Tom, with a smile which, despite the homeliness of his
face, was pleasanter to see than many a proud beauty's brightest
glance; 'what never ran smooth yet, can hardly be expected to change
its character for us; so we must take it as we find it, and fashion
it into the very best shape we can, by patience and good-humour. I
have no power at all; I needn't tell you that; but I have an
excellent will; and if I could ever be of use to you, in any way
whatever, how very glad I should be!'

'Thank you,' said Martin, shaking his hand. 'You're a good
fellow, upon my word, and speak very kindly. Of course you know,' he
added, after a moment's pause, as he drew his chair towards the fire
again, 'I should not hesitate to avail myself of your services if you
could help me at all; but mercy on us!'--Here he rumpled his hair
impatiently with his hand, and looked at Tom as if he took it rather
ill that he was not somebody else--'you might as well be a toasting-
fork or a frying-pan, Pinch, for any help you can render me.'

'Except in the inclination,' said Tom, gently.

'Oh! to be sure. I meant that, of course. If inclination went
for anything, I shouldn't want help. I tell you what you may do,
though, if you will, and at the present moment too.'

'What is that?' demanded Tom.

'Read to me.'

'I shall be delighted,' cried Tom, catching up the candle with
enthusiasm. 'Excuse my leaving you in the dark a moment, and I'll
fetch a book directly. What will you like? Shakespeare?'

'Aye!' replied his friend, yawning and stretching himself.
'He'll do. I am tired with the bustle of to-day, and the novelty of
everything about me; and in such a case, there's no greater luxury in
the world, I think, than being read to sleep. You won't mind my
going to sleep, if I can?'

'Not at all!' cried Tom.

'Then begin as soon as you like. You needn't leave off when you
see me getting drowsy (unless you feel tired), for it's pleasant to
wake gradually to the sounds again. Did you ever try that?'

'No, I never tried that,' said Tom

'Well! You can, you know, one of these days when we're both in
the right humour. Don't mind leaving me in the dark. Look
sharp!'

Mr Pinch lost no time in moving away; and in a minute or two
returned with one of the precious volumes from the shelf beside his
bed. Martin had in the meantime made himself as comfortable as
circumstances would permit, by constructing before the fire a
temporary sofa of three chairs with Mercy's stool for a pillow, and
lying down at full-length upon it.

'Don't be too loud, please,' he said to Pinch.

'No, no,' said Tom.

'You're sure you're not cold'

'Not at all!' cried Tom.

'I am quite ready, then.'

Mr Pinch accordingly, after turning over the leaves of his book
with as much care as if they were living and highly cherished
creatures, made his own selection, and began to read. Before he had
completed fifty lines his friend was snoring.

'Poor fellow!' said Tom, softly, as he stretched out his head to
peep at him over the backs of the chairs. 'He is very young to have
so much trouble. How trustful and generous in him to bestow all this
confidence in me. And that was she, was it?'

But suddenly remembering their compact, he took up the poem at
the place where he had left off, and went on reading; always
forgetting to snuff the candle, until its wick looked like a
mushroom. He gradually became so much interested, that he quite
forgot to replenish the fire; and was only reminded of his neglect by
Martin Chuzzlewit starting up after the lapse of an hour or so, and
crying with a shiver.

'Why, it's nearly out, I declare! No wonder I dreamed of being
frozen. Do call for some coals. What a fellow you are, Pinch!'