Chapter 18

The Old Curiosity Shop

by Charles Dickens

The Jolly Sandboys was a small road-side inn of pretty ancient
date, with a sign, representing three Sandboys increasing their
jollity with as many jugs of ale and bags of gold, creaking and
swinging on its post on the opposite side of the road. As the
travellers had observed that day many indications of their drawing
nearer and nearer to the race town, such as gipsy camps, carts laden
with gambling booths and their appurtenances, itinerant showmen of
various kinds, and beggars and trampers of every degree, all wending
their way in the same direction, Mr Codlin was fearful of finding the
accommodations forestalled; this fear increasing as he diminished the
distance between himself and the hostelry, he quickened his pace, and
notwithstanding the burden he had to carry, maintained a round trot
until he reached the threshold. Here he had the gratification of
finding that his fears were without foundation, for the landlord was
leaning against the door-post looking lazily at the rain, which had
by this time begun to descend heavily, and no tinkling of cracked
bell, nor boisterous shout, nor noisy chorus, gave note of company
within.

'All alone?' said Mr Codlin, putting down his burden and wiping
his forehead.

'All alone as yet,' rejoined the landlord, glancing at the sky,
'but we shall have more company to-night I expect. Here one of you
boys, carry that show into the barn. Make haste in out of the wet,
Tom; when it came on to rain I told 'em to make the fire up, and
there's a glorious blaze in the kitchen, I can tell you.'

Mr Codlin followed with a willing mind, and soon found that the
landlord had not commended his preparations without good reason. A
mighty fire was blazing on the hearth and roaring up the wide chimney
with a cheerful sound, which a large iron cauldron, bubbling and
simmering in the heat, lent its pleasant aid to swell. There was a
deep red ruddy blush upon the room, and when the landlord stirred the
fire, sending the flames skipping and leaping up--when he took off
the lid of the iron pot and there rushed out a savoury smell, while
the bubbling sound grew deeper and more rich, and an unctuous steam
came floating out, hanging in a delicious mist above their
heads--when he did this, Mr Codlin's heart was touched. He sat down
in the chimney-corner and smiled.

Mr Codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner, eyeing the landlord
as with a roguish look he held the cover in his hand, and, feigning
that his doing so was needful to the welfare of the cookery, suffered
the delightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his guest. The glow of
the fire was upon the landlord's bald head, and upon his twinkling
eye, and upon his watering mouth, and upon his pimpled face, and upon
his round fat figure. Mr Codlin drew his sleeve across his lips, and
said in a murmuring voice, 'What is it?'

'It's a stew of tripe,' said the landlord smacking his lips,
'and cow-heel,' smacking them again, 'and bacon,' smacking them once
more, 'and steak,' smacking them for the fourth time, 'and peas,
cauliflowers, new potatoes, and sparrow-grass, all working up
together in one delicious gravy.' Having come to the climax, he
smacked his lips a great many times, and taking a long hearty sniff
of the fragrance that was hovering about, put on the cover again with
the air of one whose toils on earth were over.

'At what time will it be ready?' asked Mr Codlin faintly.

'It'll be done to a turn,' said the landlord looking up to the
clock--and the very clock had a colour in its fat white face, and
looked a clock for jolly Sandboys to consult--'it'll be done to a
turn at twenty-two minutes before eleven.'

'Then,' said Mr Codlin, 'fetch me a pint of warm ale, and don't
let nobody bring into the room even so much as a biscuit till the
time arrives.'

Nodding his approval of this decisive and manly course of
procedure, the landlord retired to draw the beer, and presently
returning with it, applied himself to warm the same in a small tin
vessel shaped funnel-wise, for the convenience of sticking it far
down in the fire and getting at the bright places. This was soon
done, and he handed it over to Mr Codlin with that creamy froth upon
the surface which is one of the happy circumstances attendant on
mulled malt.

Greatly softened by this soothing beverage, Mr Codlin now
bethought him of his companions, and acquainted mine host of the
Sandboys that their arrival might be shortly looked for. The rain
was rattling against the windows and pouring down in torrents, and
such was Mr Codlin's extreme amiability of mind, that he more than
once expressed his earnest hope that they would not be so foolish as
to get wet.

At length they arrived, drenched with the rain and presenting a
most miserable appearance, notwithstanding that Short had sheltered
the child as well as he could under the skirts of his own coat, and
they were nearly breathless from the haste they had made. But their
steps were no sooner heard upon the road than the landlord, who had
been at the outer door anxiously watching for their coming, rushed
into the kitchen and took the cover off. The effect was electrical.
They all came in with smiling faces though the wet was dripping from
their clothes upon the floor, and Short's first remark was, 'What a
delicious smell!'

It is not very difficult to forget rain and mud by the side of a
cheerful fire, and in a bright room. They were furnished with
slippers and such dry garments as the house or their own bundles
afforded, and ensconcing themselves, as Mr Codlin had already done,
in the warm chimney-corner, soon forgot their late troubles or only
remembered them as enhancing the delights of the present time.
Overpowered by the warmth and comfort and the fatigue they had
undergone, Nelly and the old man had not long taken their seats here,
when they fell asleep.

'Who are they?' whispered the landlord. Short shook his head,
and wished he knew himself. 'Don't you know?' asked the host,
turning to Mr Codlin. 'Not I,' he replied. 'They're no good, I
suppose.'

'They're no harm,' said Short. 'Depend upon that. I tell you
what-- it's plain that the old man an't in his right mind--'

'If you haven't got anything newer than that to say,' growled Mr
Codlin, glancing at the clock, 'you'd better let us fix our minds
upon the supper, and not disturb us.'

'Here me out, won't you?' retorted his friend. 'It's very plain
to me, besides, that they're not used to this way of life. Don't
tell me that that handsome child has been in the habit of prowling
about as she's done these last two or three days. I know better.'

'Well, who does tell you she has?' growled Mr Codlin, again
glancing at the clock and from it to the cauldron, 'can't you think
of anything more suitable to present circumstances than saying things
and then contradicting 'em?'

'I wish somebody would give you your supper,' returned Short,
'for there'll be no peace till you've got it. Have you seen how
anxious the old man is to get on--always wanting to be furder away--
furder away. Have you seen that?'

'Ah! what then?' muttered Thomas Codlin.

'This, then,' said Short. 'He has given his friends the slip.
Mind what I say--he has given his friends the slip, and persuaded
this delicate young creetur all along of her fondness for him to be
his guide and travelling companion--where to, he knows no more than
the man in the moon. Now I'm not a going to stand that.'

'You're not a going to stand that!' cried Mr Codlin, glancing at
the clock again and pulling his hair with both hands in a kind of
frenzy, but whether occasioned by his companion's observation or the
tardy pace of Time, it was difficult to determine. 'Here's a world
to live in!'

'I,' repeated Short emphatically and slowly, 'am not a-going to
stand it. I am not a-going to see this fair young child a falling
into bad hands, and getting among people that she's no more fit for,
than they are to get among angels as their ordinary chums. Therefore
when they dewelope an intention of parting company from us, I shall
take measures for detaining of 'em, and restoring 'em to their
friends, who I dare say have had their disconsolation pasted up on
every wall in London by this time.'

'Short,' said Mr Codlin, who with his head upon his hands, and
his elbows on his knees, had been shaking himself impatiently from
side to side up to this point and occasionally stamping on the
ground, but who now looked up with eager eyes; 'it's possible that
there may be uncommon good sense in what you've said. If there is,
and there should be a reward, Short, remember that we're partners in
everything!'

His companion had only time to nod a brief assent to this
position, for the child awoke at the instant. They had drawn close
together during the previous whispering, and now hastily separated
and were rather awkwardly endeavouring to exchange some casual
remarks in their usual tone, when strange footsteps were heard
without, and fresh company entered.

These were no other than four very dismal dogs, who came
pattering in one after the other, headed by an old bandy dog of
particularly mournful aspect, who, stopping when the last of his
followers had got as far as the door, erected himself upon his hind
legs and looked round at his companions, who immediately stood upon
their hind legs, in a grave and melancholy row. Nor was this the
only remarkable circumstance about these dogs, for each of them wore
a kind of little coat of some gaudy colour trimmed with tarnished
spangles, and one of them had a cap upon his head, tied very
carefully under his chin, which had fallen down upon his nose and
completely obscured one eye; add to this, that the gaudy coats were
all wet through and discoloured with rain, and that the wearers were
splashed and dirty, and some idea may be formed of the unusual
appearance of these new visitors to the Jolly Sandboys.

Neither Short nor the landlord nor Thomas Codlin, however, was
in the least surprised, merely remarking that these were Jerry's dogs
and that Jerry could not be far behind. So there the dogs stood,
patiently winking and gaping and looking extremely hard at the
boiling pot, until Jerry himself appeared, when they all dropped down
at once and walked about the room in their natural manner. This
posture it must be confessed did not much improve their appearance,
as their own personal tails and their coat tails--both capital things
in their way--did not agree together.

Jerry, the manager of these dancing dogs, was a tall black-
whiskered man in a velveteen coat, who seemed well known to the
landlord and his guests and accosted them with great cordiality.
Disencumbering himself of a barrel organ which he placed upon a
chair, and retaining in his hand a small whip wherewith to awe his
company of comedians, he came up to the fire to dry himself, and
entered into conversation.

'Your people don't usually travel in character, do they?' said
Short, pointing to the dresses of the dogs. 'It must come expensive
if they do?'

'No,' replied Jerry, 'no, it's not the custom with us. But
we've been playing a little on the road to-day, and we come out with
a new wardrobe at the races, so I didn't think it worth while to stop
to undress. Down, Pedro!'

This was addressed to the dog with the cap on, who being a new
member of the company, and not quite certain of his duty, kept his
unobscured eye anxiously on his master, and was perpetually starting
upon his hind legs when there was no occasion, and falling down
again.

'I've got a animal here,' said Jerry, putting his hand into the
capacious pocket of his coat, and diving into one corner as if he
were feeling for a small orange or an apple or some such article, 'a
animal here, wot I think you know something of, Short.'

'Ah!' cried Short, 'let's have a look at him.'

'Here he is,' said Jerry, producing a little terrier from his
pocket. 'He was once a Toby of yours, warn't he!'

In some versions of the great drama of Punch there is a small
dog-- a modern innovation--supposed to be the private property of
that gentleman, whose name is always Toby. This Toby has been stolen
in youth from another gentleman, and fraudulently sold to the
confiding hero, who having no guile himself has no suspicion that it
lurks in others; but Toby, entertaining a grateful recollection of
his old master, and scorning to attach himself to any new patrons,
not only refuses to smoke a pipe at the bidding of Punch, but to mark
his old fidelity more strongly, seizes him by the nose and wrings the
same with violence, at which instance of canine attachment the
spectators are deeply affected. This was the character which the
little terrier in question had once sustained; if there had been any
doubt upon the subject he would speedily have resolved it by his
conduct; for not only did he, on seeing Short, give the strongest
tokens of recognition, but catching sight of the flat box he barked
so furiously at the pasteboard nose which he knew was inside, that
his master was obliged to gather him up and put him into his pocket
again, to the great relief of the whole company.

The landlord now busied himself in laying the cloth, in which
process Mr Codlin obligingly assisted by setting forth his own knife
and fork in the most convenient place and establishing himself behind
them. When everything was ready, the landlord took off the cover for
the last time, and then indeed there burst forth such a goodly
promise of supper, that if he had offered to put it on again or had
hinted at postponement, he would certainly have been sacrificed on
his own hearth.

However, he did nothing of the kind, but instead thereof
assisted a stout servant girl in turning the contents of the cauldron
into a large tureen; a proceeding which the dogs, proof against
various hot splashes which fell upon their noses, watched with
terrible eagerness. At length the dish was lifted on the table, and
mugs of ale having been previously set round, little Nell ventured to
say grace, and supper began.

At this juncture the poor dogs were standing on their hind legs
quite surprisingly; the child, having pity on them, was about to cast
some morsels of food to them before she tasted it herself, hungry
though she was, when their master interposed.

'No, my dear, no, not an atom from anybody's hand but mine if
you please. That dog,' said Jerry, pointing out the old leader of
the troop, and speaking in a terrible voice, 'lost a halfpenny
to-day. He goes without his supper.'

The unfortunate creature dropped upon his fore-legs directly,
wagged his tail, and looked imploringly at his master.

'You must be more careful, Sir,' said Jerry, walking coolly to
the chair where he had placed the organ, and setting the stop. 'Come
here. Now, Sir, you play away at that, while we have supper, and
leave off if you dare.'

The dog immediately began to grind most mournful music. His
master having shown him the whip resumed his seat and called up the
others, who, at his directions, formed in a row, standing upright as
a file of soldiers.

'Now, gentlemen,' said Jerry, looking at them attentively. 'The
dog whose name's called, eats. The dogs whose names an't called,
keep quiet. Carlo!'

The lucky individual whose name was called, snapped up the
morsel thrown towards him, but none of the others moved a muscle. In
this manner they were fed at the discretion of their master.
Meanwhile the dog in disgrace ground hard at the organ, sometimes in
quick time, sometimes in slow, but never leaving off for an instant.
When the knives and forks rattled very much, or any of his fellows
got an unusually large piece of fat, he accompanied the music with a
short howl, but he immediately checked it on his master looking
round, and applied himself with increased diligence to the Old
Hundredth.