Chapter 38

The Old Curiosity Shop

by Charles Dickens

Kit--for it happens at this juncture, not only that we have
breathing time to follow his fortunes, but that the necessities of
these adventures so adapt themselves to our ease and inclination as
to call upon us imperatively to pursue the track we most desire to
take--Kit, while the matters treated of in the last fifteen chapters
were yet in progress, was, as the reader may suppose, gradually
familiarising himself more and more with Mr and Mrs Garland, Mr Abel,
the pony, and Barbara, and gradually coming to consider them one and
all as his particular private friends, and Abel Cottage, Finchley, as
his own proper home.

Stay--the words are written, and may go, but if they convey any
notion that Kit, in the plentiful board and comfortable lodging of
his new abode, began to think slightingly of the poor fare and
furniture of his old dwelling, they do their office badly and commit
injustice. Who so mindful of those he left at home--albeit they were
but a mother and two young babies--as Kit? What boastful father in
the fulness of his heart ever related such wonders of his infant
prodigy, as Kit never wearied of telling Barbara in the evening time,
concerning little Jacob? Was there ever such a mother as Kit's
mother, on her son's showing; or was there ever such comfort in
poverty as in the poverty of Kit's family, if any correct judgment
might be arrived at, from his own glowing account!

And let me linger in this place, for an instant, to remark that
if ever household affections and loves are graceful things, they are
graceful in the poor. The ties that bind the wealthy and the proud
to home may be forged on earth, but those which link the poor man to
his humble hearth are of the truer metal and bear the stamp of
Heaven. The man of high descent may love the halls and lands of his
inheritance as part of himself: as trophies of his birth and power;
his associations with them are associations of pride and wealth and
triumph; the poor man's attachment to the tenements he holds, which
strangers have held before, and may to-morrow occupy again, has a
worthier root, struck deep into a purer soil. His household gods are
of flesh and blood, with no alloy of silver, gold, or precious stone;
he has no property but in the affections of his own heart; and when
they endear bare floors and walls, despite of rags and toil and
scanty fare, that man has his love of home from God, and his rude hut
becomes a solemn place.

Oh! if those who rule the destinies of nations would but
remember this--if they would but think how hard it is for the very
poor to have engendered in their hearts, that love of home from which
all domestic virtues spring, when they live in dense and squalid
masses where social decency is lost, or rather never found--if they
would but turn aside from the wide thoroughfares and great houses,
and strive to improve the wretched dwellings in bye-ways where only
Poverty may walk--many low roofs would point more truly to the sky,
than the loftiest steeple that now rears proudly up from the midst of
guilt, and crime, and horrible disease, to mock them by its contrast.
In hollow voices from Workhouse, Hospital, and jail, this truth is
preached from day to day, and has been proclaimed for years. It is
no light matter--no outcry from the working vulgar-- no mere question
of the people's health and comforts that may be whistled down on
Wednesday nights. In love of home, the love of country has its rise;
and who are the truer patriots or the better in time of need--those
who venerate the land, owning its wood, and stream, and earth, and
all that they produce? or those who love their country, boasting not
a foot of ground in all its wide domain!

Kit knew nothing about such questions, but he knew that his old
home was a very poor place, and that his new one was very unlike it,
and yet he was constantly looking back with grateful satisfaction and
affectionate anxiety, and often indited square- folded letters to his
mother, enclosing a shilling or eighteenpence or such other small
remittance, which Mr Abel's liberality enabled him to make.
Sometimes being in the neighbourhood, he had leisure to call upon
her, and then great was the joy and pride of Kit's mother, and
extremely noisy the satisfaction of little Jacob and the baby, and
cordial the congratulations of the whole court, who listened with
admiring ears to the accounts of Abel Cottage, and could never be
told too much of its wonders and magnificence.

Although Kit was in the very highest favour with the old lady
and gentleman, and Mr Abel, and Barbara, it is certain that no member
of the family evinced such a remarkable partiality for him as the
self-willed pony, who, from being the most obstinate and opinionated
pony on the face of the earth, was, in his hands, the meekest and
most tractable of animals. It is true that in exact proportion as he
became manageable by Kit he became utterly ungovernable by anybody
else (as if he had determined to keep him in the family at all risks
and hazards), and that, even under the guidance of his favourite, he
would sometimes perform a great variety of strange freaks and capers,
to the extreme discomposure of the old lady's nerves; but as Kit
always represented that this was only his fun, or a way he had of
showing his attachment to his employers, Mrs Garland gradually
suffered herself to be persuaded into the belief, in which she at
last became so strongly confirmed, that if, in one of these
ebullitions, he had overturned the chaise, she would have been quite
satisfied that he did it with the very best intentions.

Besides becoming in a short time a perfect marvel in all stable
matters, Kit soon made himself a very tolerable gardener, a handy
fellow within doors, and an indispensable attendant on Mr Abel, who
every day gave him some new proof of his confidence and approbation.
Mr Witherden the notary, too, regarded him with a friendly eye; and
even Mr Chuckster would sometimes condescend to give him a slight
nod, or to honour him with that peculiar form of recognition which is
called 'taking a sight,' or to favour him with some other salute
combining pleasantry with patronage.

One morning Kit drove Mr Abel to the Notary's office, as he
sometimes did, and having set him down at the house, was about to
drive off to a livery stable hard by, when this same Mr Chuckster
emerged from the office door, and cried 'Woa-a-a-a-a-a!'--dwelling
upon the note a long time, for the purpose of striking terror into
the pony's heart, and asserting the supremacy of man over the
inferior animals.

'Pull up, Snobby,' cried Mr Chuckster, addressing himself to
Kit. 'You're wanted inside here.'

'Has Mr Abel forgotten anything, I wonder?' said Kit as he
dismounted.

'Ask no questions, Snobby,' returned Mr Chuckster, 'but go and
see. Woa-a-a then, will you? If that pony was mine, I'd break
him.'

'You must be very gentle with him, if you please,' said Kit, 'or
you'll find him troublesome. You'd better not keep on pulling his
ears, please. I know he won't like it.'

To this remonstrance Mr Chuckster deigned no other answer, than
addressing Kit with a lofty and distant air as 'young feller,' and
requesting him to cut and come again with all speed. The 'young
feller' complying, Mr Chuckster put his hands in his pockets, and
tried to look as if he were not minding the pony, but happened to be
lounging there by accident.

Kit scraped his shoes very carefully (for he had not yet lost
his reverence for the bundles of papers and the tin boxes,) and
tapped at the office-door, which was quickly opened by the Notary
himself.

'Oh! come in, Christopher,' said Mr Witherden.

'Is that the lad?' asked an elderly gentleman, but of a stout,
bluff figure--who was in the room.

'That's the lad,' said Mr Witherden. 'He fell in with my
client, Mr Garland, sir, at this very door. I have reason to think
he is a good lad, sir, and that you may believe what he says. Let me
introduce Mr Abel Garland, sir--his young master; my articled pupil,
sir, and most particular friend:--my most particular friend, sir,'
repeated the Notary, drawing out his silk handkerchief and
flourishing it about his face.

'Your servant, sir,' said the stranger gentleman.

'Yours, sir, I'm sure,' replied Mr Abel mildly. 'You were
wishing to speak to Christopher, sir?'

'Yes, I was. Have I your permission?'

'By all means.'

'My business is no secret; or I should rather say it need be no
secret here,' said the stranger, observing that Mr Abel and the
Notary were preparing to retire. 'It relates to a dealer in
curiosities with whom he lived, and in whom I am earnestly and warmly
interested. I have been a stranger to this country, gentlemen, for
very many years, and if I am deficient in form and ceremony, I hope
you will forgive me.'

'No forgiveness is necessary, sir;--none whatever,' replied the
Notary. And so said Mr Abel.

'I have been making inquiries in the neighbourhood in which his
old master lived,' said the stranger, 'and I learn that he was served
by this lad. I have found out his mother's house, and have been
directed by her to this place as the nearest in which I should be
likely to find him. That's the cause of my presenting myself here
this morning.'

'I am very glad of any cause, sir,' said the Notary, 'which
procures me the honour of this visit.'

'Sir,' retorted the stranger, 'you speak like a mere man of the
world, and I think you something better. Therefore, pray do not sink
your real character in paying unmeaning compliments to me.'

'Hem!' coughed the Notary. 'You're a plain speaker, sir.'

'And a plain dealer,' returned the stranger. 'It may be my long
absence and inexperience that lead me to the conclusion; but if plain
speakers are scarce in this part of the world, I fancy plain dealers
are still scarcer. If my speaking should offend you, sir, my
dealing, I hope, will make amends.'

Mr Witherden seemed a little disconcerted by the elderly
gentleman's mode of conducting the dialogue; and as for Kit, he
looked at him in open-mouthed astonishment: wondering what kind of
language he would address to him, if he talked in that free and easy
way to a Notary. It was with no harshness, however, though with
something of constitutional irritability and haste, that he turned to
Kit and said:

'If you think, my lad, that I am pursuing these inquiries with
any other view than that of serving and reclaiming those I am in
search of, you do me a very great wrong, and deceive yourself. Don't
be deceived, I beg of you, but rely upon my assurance. The fact is,
gentlemen,' he added, turning again to the Notary and his pupil,
'that I am in a very painful and wholly unexpected position. I came
to this city with a darling object at my heart, expecting to find no
obstacle or difficulty in the way of its attainment. I find myself
suddenly checked and stopped short, in the execution of my design, by
a mystery which I cannot penetrate. Every effort I have made to
penetrate it, has only served to render it darker and more obscure;
and I am afraid to stir openly in the matter, lest those whom I
anxiously pursue, should fly still farther from me. I assure you that
if you could give me any assistance, you would not be sorry to do so,
if you knew how greatly I stand in need of it, and what a load it
would relieve me from.'

There was a simplicity in this confidence which occasioned it to
find a quick response in the breast of the good-natured Notary, who
replied, in the same spirit, that the stranger had not mistaken his
desire, and that if he could be of service to him, he would, most
readily.

Kit was then put under examination and closely questioned by the
unknown gentleman, touching his old master and the child, their
lonely way of life, their retired habits, and strict seclusion. The
nightly absence of the old man, the solitary existence of the child
at those times, his illness and recovery, Quilp's possession of the
house, and their sudden disappearance, were all the subjects of much
questioning and answer. Finally, Kit informed the gentleman that the
premises were now to let, and that a board upon the door referred all
inquirers to Mr Sampson Brass, Solicitor, of Bevis Marks, from whom
he might perhaps learn some further particulars.

'Not by inquiry,' said the gentleman shaking his head. 'I live
there.'

'Live at Brass's the attorney's!' cried Mr Witherden in some
surprise: having professional knowledge of the gentleman in
question.

'Aye,' was the reply. 'I entered on his lodgings t'other day,
chiefly because I had seen this very board. it matters little to me
where I live, and I had a desperate hope that some intelligence might
be cast in my way there, which would not reach me elsewhere. Yes, I
live at Brass's--more shame for me, I suppose?'

'That's a mere matter of opinion,' said the Notary, shrugging
his shoulders. 'He is looked upon as rather a doubtful
character.'

'Doubtful?' echoed the other. 'I am glad to hear there's any
doubt about it. I supposed that had been thoroughly settled, long
ago. But will you let me speak a word or two with you in private?'

Mr Witherden consenting, they walked into that gentleman's
private closet, and remained there, in close conversation, for some
quarter of an hour, when they returned into the outer office. The
stranger had left his hat in Mr Witherden's room, and seemed to have
established himself in this short interval on quite a friendly
footing.

'I'll not detain you any longer now,' he said, putting a crown
into Kit's hand, and looking towards the Notary. 'You shall hear
from me again. Not a word of this, you know, except to your master
and mistress.'

'Mother, sir, would be glad to know--' said Kit, faltering.

'Glad to know what?'

'Anything--so that it was no harm--about Miss Nell.'

'Would she? Well then, you may tell her if she can keep a
secret. But mind, not a word of this to anybody else. Don't forget
that. Be particular.'

'I'll take care, sir,' said Kit. 'Thankee, sir, and good
morning.'

Now, it happened that the gentleman, in his anxiety to impress
upon Kit that he was not to tell anybody what had passed between
them, followed him out to the door to repeat his caution, and it
further happened that at that moment the eyes of Mr Richard Swiveller
were turned in that direction, and beheld his mysterious friend and
Kit together.

It was quite an accident, and the way in which it came about was
this. Mr Chuckster, being a gentleman of a cultivated taste and
refined spirit, was one of that Lodge of Glorious Apollos whereof Mr
Swiveller was Perpetual Grand. Mr Swiveller, passing through the
street in the execution of some Brazen errand, and beholding one of
his Glorious Brotherhood intently gazing on a pony, crossed over to
give him that fraternal greeting with which Perpetual Grands are, by
the very constitution of their office, bound to cheer and encourage
their disciples. He had scarcely bestowed upon him his blessing, and
followed it with a general remark touching the present state and
prospects of the weather, when, lifting up his eyes, he beheld the
single gentleman of Bevis Marks in earnest conversation with
Christopher Nubbles.

'Hallo!' said Dick, 'who is that?'

'He called to see my Governor this morning,' replied Mr
Chuckster; 'beyond that, I don't know him from Adam.'

'At least you know his name?' said Dick.

To which Mr Chuckster replied, with an elevation of speech
becoming a Glorious Apollo, that he was 'everlastingly blessed' if he
did.

'All I know, my dear feller,' said Mr Chuckster, running his
fingers through his hair, 'is, that he is the cause of my having
stood here twenty minutes, for which I hate him with a mortal and
undying hatred, and would pursue him to the confines of eternity if I
could afford the time.'

While they were thus discoursing, the subject of their
conversation (who had not appeared to recognise Mr Richard Swiveller)
re-entered the house, and Kit came down the steps and joined them; to
whom Mr Swiveller again propounded his inquiry with no better
success.

'He is a very nice gentleman, Sir,' said Kit, 'and that's all I
know about him.'

Mr Chuckster waxed wroth at this answer, and without applying
the remark to any particular case, mentioned, as a general truth,
that it was expedient to break the heads of Snobs, and to tweak their
noses. Without expressing his concurrence in this sentiment, Mr
Swiveller after a few moments of abstraction inquired which way Kit
was driving, and, being informed, declared it was his way, and that
he would trespass on him for a lift. Kit would gladly have declined
the proffered honour, but as Mr Swiveller was already established in
the seat beside him, he had no means of doing so, otherwise than by a
forcible ejectment, and therefore, drove briskly off--so briskly
indeed, as to cut short the leave-taking between Mr Chuckster and his
Grand Master, and to occasion the former gentleman some inconvenience
from having his corns squeezed by the impatient pony.

As Whisker was tired of standing, and Mr Swiveller was kind
enough to stimulate him by shrill whistles, and various sporting
cries, they rattled off at too sharp a pace to admit of much
conversation: especially as the pony, incensed by Mr Swiveller's
admonitions, took a particular fancy for the lamp-posts and
cart-wheels, and evinced a strong desire to run on the pavement and
rasp himself against the brick walls. It was not, therefore, until
they had arrived at the stable, and the chaise had been extricated
from a very small doorway, into which the pony dragged it under the
impression that he could take it along with him into his usual stall,
that Mr Swiveller found time to talk.

'It's hard work,' said Richard. 'What do you say to some
beer?'

Kit at first declined, but presently consented, and they
adjourned to the neighbouring bar together.

'We'll drink our friend what's-his-name,' said Dick, holding up
the bright frothy pot; '--that was talking to you this morning, you
know--I know him--a good fellow, but eccentric--very--here's
what's-his-name!'

Kit pledged him.

'He lives in my house,' said Dick; 'at least in the house
occupied by the firm in which I'm a sort of a--of a managing
partner--a difficult fellow to get anything out of, but we like
him--we like him.'

'I must be going, sir, if you please,' said Kit, moving away.

'Don't be in a hurry, Christopher,' replied his patron, 'we'll
drink your mother.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'An excellent woman that mother of yours, Christopher,' said Mr
Swiveller. 'Who ran to catch me when I fell, and kissed the place to
make it well? My mother. A charming woman. He's a liberal sort of
fellow. We must get him to do something for your mother. Does he
know her, Christopher?'

Kit shook his head, and glancing slyly at his questioner,
thanked him, and made off before he could say another word.

'Humph!' said Mr Swiveller pondering, 'this is queer. Nothing
but mysteries in connection with Brass's house. I'll keep my own
counsel, however. Everybody and anybody has been in my confidence as
yet, but now I think I'll set up in business for myself. Queer--
very queer!'

After pondering deeply and with a face of exceeding wisdom for
some time, Mr Swiveller drank some more of the beer, and summoning a
small boy who had been watching his proceedings, poured forth the few
remaining drops as a libation on the gravel, and bade him carry the
empty vessel to the bar with his compliments, and above all things to
lead a sober and temperate life, and abstain from all intoxicating
and exciting liquors. Having given him this piece of moral advice
for his trouble (which, as he wisely observed, was far better than
half-pence) the Perpetual Grand Master of the Glorious Apollos thrust
his hands into his pockets and sauntered away: still pondering as he
went.