Chapter 3

The Old Curiosity Shop

by Charles Dickens

The child was closely followed by an elderly man of remarkably
hard features and forbidding aspect, and so low in stature as to be
quite a dwarf, though his head and face were large enough for the
body of a giant. His black eyes were restless, sly, and cunning; his
mouth and chin, bristly with the stubble of a coarse hard beard; and
his complexion was one of that kind which never looks clean or
wholesome. But what added most to the grotesque expression of his
face was a ghastly smile, which, appearing to be the mere result of
habit and to have no connection with any mirthful or complacent
feeling, constantly revealed the few discoloured fangs that were yet
scattered in his mouth, and gave him the aspect of a panting dog. His
dress consisted of a large high-crowned hat, a worn dark suit, a pair
of capacious shoes, and a dirty white neckerchief sufficiently limp
and crumpled to disclose the greater portion of his wiry throat. Such
hair as he had was of a grizzled black, cut short and straight upon
his temples, and hanging in a frowzy fringe about his ears. His
hands, which were of a rough, coarse grain, were very dirty; his
fingernails were crooked, long, and yellow.

There was ample time to note these particulars, for besides that
they were sufficiently obvious without very close observation, some
moments elapsed before any one broke silence. The child advanced
timidly towards her brother and put her hand in his, the dwarf (if we
may call him so) glanced keenly at all present, and the
curiosity-dealer, who plainly had not expected his uncouth visitor,
seemed disconcerted and embarrassed.

'Ah!' said the dwarf, who with his hand stretched out above his
eyes had been surveying the young man attentively, 'that should be
your grandson, neighbour!'

'Say rather that he should not be,' replied the old man. 'But he
is.'

'And that?' said the dwarf, pointing to Dick Swiveller.

'Some friend of his, as welcome here as he,' said the old
man.

'And that?' inquired the dwarf, wheeling round and pointing
straight at me.

'A gentleman who was so good as to bring Nell home the other
night when she lost her way, coming from your house.'

The little man turned to the child as if to chide her or express
his wonder, but as she was talking to the young man, held his peace,
and bent his head to listen.

'Well, Nelly,' said the young fellow aloud. 'Do they teach you
to hate me, eh?'

'No, no. For shame. Oh, no!' cried the child.

'To love me, perhaps?' pursued her brother with a sneer.

'To do neither,' she returned. 'They never speak to me about
you. Indeed they never do.'

'I dare be bound for that,' he said, darting a bitter look at
the grandfather. 'I dare be bound for that Nell. Oh! I believe you
there!'

'But I love you dearly, Fred,' said the child.

'No doubt!'

'I do indeed, and always will,' the child repeated with great
emotion, 'but oh! If you would leave off vexing him and making him
unhappy, then I could love you more.'

'I see!' said the young man, as he stooped carelessly over the
child, and having kissed her, pushed her from him: 'There--get you
away now you have said your lesson. You needn't whimper. We part good
friends enough, if that's the matter.'

He remained silent, following her with his eyes, until she had
gained her little room and closed the door; and then turning to the
dwarf, said abruptly,

'Harkee, Mr--'

'Meaning me?' returned the dwarf. 'Quilp is my name. You might
remember. It's not a long one--Daniel Quilp.'

'Harkee, Mr Quilp, then,' pursued the other, 'You have some
influence with my grandfather there.'

'Some,' said Mr Quilp emphatically.

'And are in a few of his mysteries and secrets.'

'A few,' replied Quilp, with equal dryness.

'Then let me tell him once for all, through you, that I will
come into and go out of this place as often as I like, so long as he
keeps Nell here; and that if he wants to be quit of me, he must first
be quit of her. What have I done to be made a bugbear of, and to be
shunned and dreaded as if I brought the plague? He'll tell you that I
have no natural affection; and that I care no more for Nell, for her
own sake, than I do for him. Let him say so. I care for the whim,
then, of coming to and fro and reminding her of my existence. I will
see her when I please. That's my point. I came here to-day to
maintain it, and I'll come here again fifty times with the same
object and always with the same success. I said I would stop till I
had gained it. I have done so, and now my visit's ended. Come
Dick.'

'Stop!' cried Mr Swiveller, as his companion turned toward the
door. 'Sir!'

'Sir, I am your humble servant,' said Mr Quilp, to whom the
monosyllable was addressed.

'Before I leave the gay and festive scene, and halls of dazzling
light, sir,' said Mr Swiveller, 'I will with your permission, attempt
a slight remark. I came here, sir, this day, under the impression
that the old min was friendly.'

'Proceed, sir,' said Daniel Quilp; for the orator had made a
sudden stop.

'Inspired by this idea and the sentiments it awakened, sir, and
feeling as a mutual friend that badgering, baiting, and bullying, was
not the sort of thing calculated to expand the souls and promote the
social harmony of the contending parties, I took upon myself to
suggest a course which is the course to be adopted to the present
occasion. Will you allow me to whisper half a syllable, sir?'

Without waiting for the permission he sought, Mr Swiveller
stepped up to the dwarf, and leaning on his shoulder and stooping
down to get at his ear, said in a voice which was perfectly audible
to all present,

'The watch-word to the old min is--fork.'

'Is what?' demanded Quilp.

'Is fork, sir, fork,' replied Mr Swiveller slapping his picket.
'You are awake, sir?'

The dwarf nodded. Mr Swiveller drew back and nodded likewise,
then drew a little further back and nodded again, and so on. By these
means he in time reached the door, where he gave a great cough to
attract the dwarf's attention and gain an opportunity of expressing
in dumb show, the closest confidence and most inviolable secrecy.
Having performed the serious pantomime that was necessary for the due
conveyance of these idea, he cast himself upon his friend's track,
and vanished.

'Humph!' said the dwarf with a sour look and a shrug of his
shoulders, 'so much for dear relations. Thank God I acknowledge none!
Nor need you either,' he added, turning to the old man, 'if you were
not as weak as a reed, and nearly as senseless.'

'What would you have me do?' he retorted in a kind of helpless
desperation. 'It is easy to talk and sneer. What would you have me
do?'

'What would I do if I was in your case?' said the dwarf.

'Something violent, no doubt.'

'You're right there,' returned the little man, highly gratified
by the compliment, for such he evidently considered it; and grinning
like a devil as he rubbed his dirty hands together. 'Ask Mrs Quilp,
pretty Mrs Quilp, obedient, timid, loving Mrs Quilp. But that reminds
me--I have left her all alone, and she will be anxious and know not a
moment's peace till I return. I know she's always in that condition
when I'm away, thought she doesn't dare to say so, unless I lead her
on and tell her she may speak freely and I won't be angry with her.
Oh! well-trained Mrs Quilp.

The creature appeared quite horrible with his monstrous head and
little body, as he rubbed his hands slowly round, and round, and
round again--with something fantastic even in his manner of
performing this slight action--and, dropping his shaggy brows and
cocking his chin in the air, glanced upward with a stealthy look of
exultation that an imp might have copied and appropriated to
himself.

'Here,' he said, putting his hand into his breast and sidling up
to the old man as he spoke; 'I brought it myself for fear of
accidents, as, being in gold, it was something large and heavy for
Nell to carry in her bag. She need be accustomed to such loads
betimes thought, neighbor, for she will carry weight when you are
dead.'

'Heaven send she may! I hope so,' said the old man with
something like a groan.'

'Hope so!' echoed the dwarf, approaching close to his ear;
'neighbour, I would I knew in what good investment all these supplies
are sunk. But you are a deep man, and keep your secret close.'

'My secret!' said the other with a haggard look. 'Yes, you're
right--I--I--keep it close--very close.'

He said no more, but taking the money turned away with a slow,
uncertain step, and pressed his hand upon his head like a weary and
dejected man. the dwarf watched him sharply, while he passed into the
little sitting-room and locked it in an iron safe above the
chimney-piece; and after musing for a short space, prepared to take
his leave, observing that unless he made good haste, Mrs Quilp would
certainly be in fits on his return.

'And so, neighbour,' he added, 'I'll turn my face homewards,
leaving my love for Nelly and hoping she may never lose her way
again, though her doing so has procured me an honour I didn't
expect.' With that he bowed and leered at me, and with a keen glance
around which seemed to comprehend every object within his range of
vision, however, small or trivial, went his way.

I had several times essayed to go myself, but the old man had
always opposed it and entreated me to remain. As he renewed his
entreaties on our being left along, and adverted with many thanks to
the former occasion of our being together, I willingly yielded to his
persuasions, and sat down, pretending to examine some curious
miniatures and a few old medals which he placed before me. It needed
no great pressing to induce me to stay, for if my curiosity has been
excited on the occasion of my first visit, it certainly was not
diminished now.

Nell joined us before long, and bringing some needle-work to the
table, sat by the old man's side. It was pleasant to observe the
fresh flowers in the room, the pet bird with a green bough shading
his little cage, the breath of freshness and youth which seemed to
rustle through the old dull house and hover round the child. It was
curious, but not so pleasant, to turn from the beauty and grace of
the girl, to the stooping figure, care-worn face, and jaded aspect of
the old man. As he grew weaker and more feeble, what would become of
this lonely litle creature; poor protector as he was, say that he
died--what we be her fate, then?

The old man almost answered my thoughts, as he laid his hand on
hers, and spoke aloud.

'I'll be of better cheer, Nell,' he said; 'there must be good
fortune in store for thee--I do not ask it for myself, but thee. Such
miseries must fall on thy innocent head without it, that I cannot
believe but that, being tempted, it will come at last!'

She looked cheerfully into his face, but made no answer.

'When I think,' said he, 'of the many years--many in thy short
life-- that thou has lived with me; of my monotonous existence,
knowing no companions of thy own age nor any childish pleasures; of
the solitutde in which thou has grown to be what thou art, and in
which thou hast lived apart from nearly all thy kind but one old man;
I sometimes fear I have dealt hardly by thee, Nell.'

'Grandfather!' cried the child in unfeigned surprise.

'Not in intention--no no,' said he. 'I have ever looked forward
to the time that should enable thee to mix among the gayest and
prettiest, and take thy station with the best. But I still look
forward, Nell, I still look forward, and if I should be forced to
leave thee, meanwhile, how have I fitted thee for struggles with the
world? The poor bird yonder is as well qualified to encounter it, and
be turned adrift upon its mercies--Hark! I hear Kit outside. Go to
him, Nell, go to him.'

She rose, and hurrying away, stopped, turned back, and put her
arms about the old man's neck, then left him and hurried away
again--but faster this time, to hide her falling tears.

'A word in your ear, sir,' said the old man in a hurried
whisper. 'I have been rendered uneasy by what you said the other
night, and can only plead that I have done all for the best--that it
is too late to retract, if I could (though I cannot)--and that I hope
to triumph yet. All is for her sake. I have borne great poverty
myself, and would spare her the sufferings that poverty carries with
it. I would spare her the miseries that brought her mother, my own
dear child, to an early grave. I would leave her--not with resources
which could be easily spent or squandered away, but with what would
place her beyond the reach of want for ever. you mark me sir? She
shall have no pittance, but a fortune--Hush! I can say no more than
that, now or at any other time, and she is here again!'

The eagerness with which all this was poured into my ear, the
trembling of the hand with which he clasped my arm, the strained and
starting eyes he fixed upon me, the wild vehemence and agitation of
his manner, filled me with amazement. All that I had heard and seen,
and a great part of what he had said himself, led me to suppose that
he was a wealthy man. I could form no comprehension of his character,
unless he were one of those miserable wretches who, having made gain
the sole end and object of their lives and having succeeded in
amassing great riches, are constantly tortured by the dread of
poverty, and best by fears of loss and ruin. Many things he had said
which I had been at a loss to understand, were quite reconcilable
with the idea thus presented to me, and at length I concluded that
beyond all doubt he was one of this unhappy race.

The opinion was not the result of hasty consideration, for which
indeed there was no opportunity at that time, as the child came
directly, and soon occupied herself in preparations for giving Kit a
writing lesson, of which it seemed he had a couple every week, and
one regularly on that evening, to the great mirth and enjoyment both
of himself and his instructress. To relate how it was a long time
before his modesty could be so far prevailed upon as it admit of his
sitting down in the parlour, in the presence of an unknown
gentleman--how, when he did set down, he tucked up his sleeves and
squared his elbows and put his face close to the copy-book and
squinted horribly at the lines--how, from the very first moment of
having the pen in his hand, he began to wallow in blots, and to daub
himself with ink up to the very roots of his hair--how, if he did by
accident form a letter properly, he immediately smeared it out again
with his arm in his preparations to make another -- how, at every
fresh mistake, there was a fresh burst of merriment from the child
and louder and not less hearty laugh from poor Kit himself--and how
there was all the way through, notwithstanding, a gentle wish on her
part to teach, and an anxious desire on his to learn--to relate all
these particulars would no doubt occupy more space and time than they
deserve. It will be sufficient to say that the lesson was given--that
evening passed and night came on--that the old man again grew
restless and impatient--that he quitted the house secretly at the
same hour as before--and that the child was once more left alone
within its gloomy walls.

And now that I have carried this history so far in my own
character and introduced these personages to the reader, I shall for
the convenience of the narrative detach myself from its further
course, and leave those who have prominent and necessary parts in it
to speak and act for themselves.