Chapter 14

The Old Curiosity Shop

by Charles Dickens

As it was very easy for Kit to persuade himself that the old
house was in his way, his way being anywhere, he tried to look upon
his passing it once more as a matter of imperative and disagreeable
necessity, quite apart from any desire of his own, to which he could
not choose but yield. It is not uncommon for people who are much
better fed and taught than Christopher Nubbles had ever been, to make
duties of their inclinations in matters of more doubtful propriety,
and to take great credit for the self-denial with which they gratify
themselves.

There was no need of any caution this time, and no fear of being
detained by having to play out a return match with Daniel Quilp's
boy. The place was entirely deserted, and looked as dusty and dingy
as if it had been so for months. A rusty padlock was fastened on the
door, ends of discoloured blinds and curtains flapped drearily
against the half-opened upper windows, and the crooked holes cut in
the closed shutters below, were black with the darkness of the
inside. Some of the glass in the window he had so often watched, had
been broken in the rough hurry of the morning, and that room looked
more deserted and dull than any. A group of idle urchins had taken
possession of the door-steps; some were plying the knocker and
listening with delighted dread to the hollow sounds it spread through
the dismantled house; others were clustered about the keyhole,
watching half in jest and half in earnest for 'the ghost,' which an
hour's gloom, added to the mystery that hung about the late
inhabitants, had already raised. Standing all alone in the midst of
the business and bustle of the street, the house looked a picture of
cold desolation; and Kit, who remembered the cheerful fire that used
to burn there on a winter's night and the no less cheerful laugh that
made the small room ring, turned quite mournfully away.

It must be especially observed in justice to poor Kit that he
was by no means of a sentimental turn, and perhaps had never heard
that adjective in all his life. He was only a soft-hearted grateful
fellow, and had nothing genteel or polite about him; consequently,
instead of going home again, in his grief, to kick the children and
abuse his mother (for, when your finely strung people are out of
sorts, they must have everybody else unhappy likewise), he turned his
thoughts to the vulgar expedient of making them more comfortable if
he could.

Bless us, what a number of gentlemen on horseback there were
riding up and down, and how few of them wanted their horses held! A
good city speculator or a parliamentary commissioner could have told
to a fraction, from the crowds that were cantering about, what sum of
money was realised in London, in the course of a year, by holding
horses alone. And undoubtedly it would have been a very large one,
if only a twentieth part of the gentlemen without grooms had had
occasion to alight; but they had not; and it is often an ill-natured
circumstance like this, which spoils the most ingenious estimate in
the world.

Kit walked about, now with quick steps and now with slow; now
lingering as some rider slackened his horse's pace and looked about
him; and now darting at full speed up a bye-street as he caught a
glimpse of some distant horseman going lazily up the shady side of
the road, and promising to stop, at every door. But on they all
went, one after another, and there was not a penny stirring. 'I
wonder,' thought the boy, 'if one of these gentlemen knew there was
nothing in the cupboard at home, whether he'd stop on purpose, and
make believe that he wanted to call somewhere, that I might earn a
trifle?'

He was quite tired out with pacing the streets, to say nothing
of repeated disappointments, and was sitting down upon a step to
rest, when there approached towards him a little clattering jingling
four-wheeled chaise' drawn by a little obstinate-looking rough-coated
pony, and driven by a little fat placid-faced old gentleman. Beside
the little old gentleman sat a little old lady, plump and placid like
himself, and the pony was coming along at his own pace and doing
exactly as he pleased with the whole concern. If the old gentleman
remonstrated by shaking the reins, the pony replied by shaking his
head. It was plain that the utmost the pony would consent to do, was
to go in his own way up any street that the old gentleman
particularly wished to traverse, but that it was an understanding
between them that he must do this after his own fashion or not at
all.

As they passed where he sat, Kit looked so wistfully at the
little turn-out, that the old gentleman looked at him. Kit rising
and putting his hand to his hat, the old gentleman intimated to the
pony that he wished to stop, to which proposal the pony (who seldom
objected to that part of his duty) graciously acceded.

'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Kit. 'I'm sorry you stopped,
sir. I only meant did you want your horse minded.'

'I'm going to get down in the next street,' returned the old
gentleman. 'If you like to come on after us, you may have the
job.'

Kit thanked him, and joyfully obeyed. The pony ran off at a
sharp angle to inspect a lamp-post on the opposite side of the way,
and then went off at a tangent to another lamp-post on the other
side. Having satisfied himself that they were of the same pattern and
materials, he came to a stop apparently absorbed in meditation. 'Will
you go on, sir,' said the old gentleman, gravely, 'or are we to wait
here for you till it's too late for our appointment?'

The pony remained immoveable.

'Oh you naughty Whisker,' said the old lady. 'Fie upon you!
I'm ashamed of such conduct.'

The pony appeared to be touched by this appeal to his feelings,
for he trotted on directly, though in a sulky manner, and stopped no
more until he came to a door whereon was a brass plate with the words
'Witherden--Notary.' Here the old gentleman got out and helped out
the old lady, and then took from under the seat a nosegay resembling
in shape and dimensions a full-sized warming-pan with the handle cut
short off. This, the old lady carried into the house with a staid
and stately air, and the old gentleman (who had a club-foot) followed
close upon her.

They went, as it was easy to tell from the sound of their
voices, into the front parlour, which seemed to be a kind of office.
The day being very warm and the street a quiet one, the windows were
wide open; and it was easy to hear through the Venetian blinds all
that passed inside.

At first there was a great shaking of hands and shuffling of
feet, succeeded by the presentation of the nosegay; for a voice,
supposed by the listener to be that of Mr Witherden the Notary, was
heard to exclaim a great many times, 'oh, delicious!' 'oh, fragrant,
indeed!' and a nose, also supposed to be the property of that
gentleman, was heard to inhale the scent with a snuffle of exceeding
pleasure.

'I brought it in honour of the occasion, Sir,' said the old
lady.

'Ah! an occasion indeed, ma'am, an occasion which does honour to
me, ma'am, honour to me,' rejoined Mr Witherden, the notary. 'I have
had many a gentleman articled to me, ma'am, many a one. Some of them
are now rolling in riches, unmindful of their old companion and
friend, ma'am, others are in the habit of calling upon me to this day
and saying, "Mr Witherden, some of the pleasantest hours I ever spent
in my life were spent in this office--were spent, Sir, upon this very
stool"; but there was never one among the number, ma'am, attached as
I have been to many of them, of whom I augured such bright things as
I do of your only son.'

'Oh dear!' said the old lady. 'How happy you do make us when
you tell us that, to be sure!'

'I tell you, ma'am,' said Mr Witherden, 'what I think as an
honest man, which, as the poet observes, is the noblest work of God.
I agree with the poet in every particular, ma'am. The mountainous
Alps on the one hand, or a humming-bird on the other, is nothing, in
point of workmanship, to an honest man--or woman--or woman.'

'Anything that Mr Witherden can say of me,' observed a small
quiet voice, 'I can say, with interest, of him, I am sure.'

'It's a happy circumstance, a truly happy circumstance,' said
the Notary, 'to happen too upon his eight-and-twentieth birthday, and
I hope I know how to appreciate it. I trust, Mr Garland, my dear
Sir, that we may mutually congratulate each other upon this
auspicious occasion.'

To this the old gentleman replied that he felt assured they
might. There appeared to be another shaking of hands in consequence,
and when it was over, the old gentleman said that, though he said it
who should not, he believed no son had ever been a greater comfort to
his parents than Abel Garland had been to his.

'Marrying as his mother and I did, late in life, sir, after
waiting for a great many years, until we were well enough off--coming
together when we were no longer young, and then being blessed with
one child who has always been dutiful and affectionate--why, it's a
source of great happiness to us both, sir.'

'Of course it is, I have no doubt of it,' returned the Notary in
a sympathising voice. 'It's the contemplation of this sort of thing,
that makes me deplore my fate in being a bachelor. There was a young
lady once, sir, the daughter of an outfitting warehouse of the first
respectability--but that's a weakness. Chuckster, bring in Mr Abel's
articles.'

'You see, Mr Witherden,' said the old lady, 'that Abel has not
been brought up like the run of young men. He has always had a
pleasure in our society, and always been with us. Abel has never
been absent from us, for a day; has he, my dear?'

'Never, my dear,' returned the old gentleman, 'except when he
went to Margate one Saturday with Mr Tomkinley that had been a
teacher at that school he went to, and came back upon the Monday; but
he was very ill after that, you remember, my dear; it was quite a
dissipation.'

'He was not used to it, you know,' said the old lady, 'and he
couldn't bear it, that's the truth. Besides he had no comfort in
being there without us, and had nobody to talk to or enjoy himself
with.'

'That was it, you know,' interposed the same small quiet voice
that had spoken once before. 'I was quite abroad, mother, quite
desolate, and to think that the sea was between us--oh, I never shall
forget what I felt when I first thought that the sea was between
us!'

'Very natural under the circumstances,' observed the Notary.
'Mr Abel's feelings did credit to his nature, and credit to your
nature, ma'am, and his father's nature, and human nature. I trace
the same current now, flowing through all his quiet and unobtrusive
proceedings.---I am about to sign my name, you observe, at the foot
of the articles which Mr Chuckster will witness; and placing my
finger upon this blue wafer with the vandyked corners, I am
constrained to remark in a distinct tone of voice--don't be alarmed,
ma'am, it is merely a form of law--that I deliver this, as my act and
deed. Mr Abel will place his name against the other wafer, repeating
the same cabalistic words, and the business is over. Ha ha ha! You
see how easily these things are done!'

There was a short silence, apparently, while Mr Abel went
through the prescribed form, and then the shaking of hands and
shuffling of feet were renewed, and shortly afterwards there was a
clinking of wine-glasses and a great talkativeness on the part of
everybody. In about a quarter of an hour Mr Chuckster (with a pen
behind his ear and his face inflamed with wine) appeared at the door,
and condescending to address Kit by the jocose appellation of 'Young
Snob,' informed him that the visitors were coming out.

Out they came forthwith; Mr Witherden, who was short, chubby,
fresh-coloured, brisk, and pompous, leading the old lady with extreme
politeness, and the father and son following them, arm in arm. Mr
Abel, who had a quaint old-fashioned air about him, looked nearly of
the same age as his father, and bore a wonderful resemblance to him
in face and figure, though wanting something of his full, round,
cheerfulness, and substituting in its place a timid reserve. In all
other respects, in the neatness of the dress, and even in the
club-foot, he and the old gentleman were precisely alike.

Having seen the old lady safely in her seat, and assisted in the
arrangement of her cloak and a small basket which formed an
indispensable portion of her equipage, Mr Abel got into a little box
behind which had evidently been made for his express accommodation,
and smiled at everybody present by turns, beginning with his mother
and ending with the pony. There was then a great to-do to make the
pony hold up his head that the bearing-rein might be fastened; at
last even this was effected; and the old gentleman, taking his seat
and the reins, put his hand in his pocket to find a sixpence for
Kit.

He had no sixpence, neither had the old lady, nor Mr Abel, nor
the Notary, nor Mr Chuckster. The old gentleman thought a shilling
too much, but there was no shop in the street to get change at, so he
gave it to the boy.

'There,' he said jokingly, 'I'm coming here again next Monday at
the same time, and mind you're here, my lad, to work it out.'

'Thank you, Sir,' said Kit. 'I'll be sure to be here.'

He was quite serious, but they all laughed heartily at his
saying so, especially Mr Chuckster, who roared outright and appeared
to relish the joke amazingly. As the pony, with a presentiment that
he was going home, or a determination that he would not go anywhere
else (which was the same thing) trotted away pretty nimbly, Kit had
no time to justify himself, and went his way also. Having expended
his treasure in such purchases as he knew would be most acceptable at
home, not forgetting some seed for the wonderful bird, he hastened
back as fast as he could, so elated with his success and great good
fortune, that he more than half expected Nell and the old man would
have arrived before him.