A Trifle of Management by Mr. Carker the Manager
MR. CARKER the Manager sat at his desk, smooth and soft as usual, reading
those letters which were reserved for him to open, backing them occasionally
with such memoranda and references as their business purport required, and
parcelling them out into little heaps for distribution through the several
departments of the House. The post had come in heavy that morning, and Mr.
Carker the Manager had a good deal to do.
The general action of a man so engaged--pausing to look over a bundle of
papers in his hand, dealing them round in various portions, taking up another
bundle and examining its contents with knitted brows and pursed-out
lips--dealing, and sorting, and pondering by turns--would easily suggest some
whimsical resemblance to a player at cards. The face of Mr. Carker the Manager
was in good keeping with such a fancy. It was the face of a man who studied his
play, warily: who made himself master of all the strong and weak points of the
game: who registered the cards in his mind as they fell about him, knew exactly
what was on them, what they missed, and what they made: who was crafty to find
out what the other players held, and who never betrayed his own hand.
The letters were in various languages, but Mr. Carker the Manager read them
all. If there had been anything in the offices of Dombey and Son that he could
not read, there would have been a card wanting in the pack. He read almost at a
glance, and made combinations of one letter with another and one business with
another as he went on, adding new matter to the heaps--much as a man would know
the cards at sight, and work out their combinations in his mind after they were
turned. Something too deep for a partner, and much too deep for an adversary,
Mr. Carker the Manager sat in the rays of the sun that came down slanting on him
through the skylight, playing his game alone.
And although it is not among the instincts wild or domestic of the cat tribe
to play at cards, feline from sole to crown was Mr. Carker the Manager, as he
basked in the strip of summer-light and warmth that shone upon his table and the
ground as if they were a crooked dial-plate, and himself the only figure on it.
With hair and whiskers deficient in colour at all times, but feebler than common
in the rich sunshine, and more like the coat of a sandy tortoise-shell cat; with
long nails, nicely pared and sharpened; with a natural antipathy to any speck of
dirt, which made him pause sometimes and watch the falling motes of dust, and
rub them off his smooth white hand or glossy linen: Mr. Carker the Manager, sly
of manner, sharp of tooth, soft of foot, watchful of eye, oily of tongue, cruel
of heart, nice of habit, sat with a dainty steadfastness and patience at his
work, as if he were waiting at a mouse's hole.
At length the letter were disposed of, excepting one which he reserved for a
particular audience. Having locked the more confidential correspondence in a
drawer, Mr. Carker the Manager rang his bell.
`Why do youanswer it?' was his reception of his brother.
`The messenger is out, and I am the next,' was the submissive reply.
`You are the next?' muttered the Manager. `Yes! Creditable to me! There!'
Pointing to the heaps of opened letters, he turned disdainfully away, in his
elbow-chair, and broke the seal of that one which he held in his hand.
`I am sorry to trouble you, James,' said the brother, gathering them up,
`but'
`Oh! you have something to say. I knew that. Well?'
Mr. Carker the Manager did not raise his eyes or turn them on his brother,
but kept them on his letter, though without opening it.
`Well?' he repeated sharply.
`I am uneasy about Harriet.'
`Harriet who? what Harriet? I know nobody of that name.'
`She is not well, and has changed very much of late.'
`She changed very much, a great many years ago,' replied the Manager; `and
that is all I have to say.'
`I think if you would hear me--'
`Why should I hear you, Brother John?' returned the Manager, laying a
sarcastic emphasis on those two words, and throwing up his head, but not lifting
his eyes. `I tell you, Harriet Carker made her choice many years ago between her
two brothers. She may repent it, but she must abide by it.'
`Don't mistake me. I do not say she does repent it. It would be black
ingratitude in me to hint at such a thing,' returned the other. `Though believe
me, James, I am as sorry for her sacrifice as you.'
`As I?' exclaimed the Manager. `As I?'
`As sorry for her choice--for what you call her choice--as you are angry at
it,' said the Junior.
`Angry?' repeated the other, with a wide show of his teeth.
`Displeased. Whatever word you like best. You know my meaning. There is no
offence in my intention.'
`There is offence in everything you do,' replied his brother, glancing at him
with a sudden scowl, which in a moment gave place to a wider smile than the
last. `Carry those papers away, if you please. I am busy.'
His politeness was so much more cutting than his wrath, that the Junior went
to the door. But stopping at it, and looking round, he said:
`When Harriet tried in vain to plead for me with you, on your first just
indignation, and my first disgrace; and when she left you, James, to follow my
broken fortunes, and devote herself, in her mistaken affection, to a ruined
brother, because without her he had no one, and was lost; she was young and
pretty. I think if you could see her now--if you would go and see her--she would
move your admiration and compassion.'
The Manager inclined his head, and showed his teeth, as who should say, in
answer to some careless small-talk, `Dear me! Is that the case?' but said never
a word.
`We thought in those days: you and I both: that she would marry young, and
lead a happy and light-hearted life,' pursued the other. `Oh if you knew how
cheerfully she cast those hopes away; how cheerfully she has gone forward on the
path she took, and never once looked back; you never could say again that her
name was strange in your ears. Never!'
Again the Manager inclined his head, and showed his teeth, and seemed to say,
`Remarkable indeed! You quite surprise me!' And again he uttered never a word.
`May I go on?' said John Carker, mildly.
`On your way?' replied his smiling brother. `If you will have the goodness.'
John Carker, with a sigh, was passing slowly out at the door, when his
brother's voice detained him for a moment on the threshold.
`If she has gone, and goes, her own way cheerfully,' he said, throwing the
still unfolded letter on his desk, and putting his hands firmly in his pockets,
`you may tell her that I go as cheerfully on mine. If she has never once looked
back, you may tell her that I have, sometimes, to recall her taking part with
you, and that my resolution is no easier to wear away;' he smiled very sweetly
here; `than marble.'
`I tell her nothing of you. We never speak about you. Once a year, on your
birthday, Harriet says always, "Let us remember James by name, and wish him
happy," but we say no more.'
`Tell it then, if you please,' returned the other, `to yourself. You can't
repeat it too often, as a lesson to you to avoid the subject in speaking to me.
I know no Harriet Carker. There is no such person. Youmay have a sister; make
much of her. I have none.'
Mr. Carker the Manager took up the letter again, and waved it with a smile of
mock courtesy towards the door. Unfolding it as his brother withdrew, and
looking darkly after him as he left the room, he once more turned round in his
elbow-chair, and applied himself to a diligent perusal of its contents.
It was in the writing of his great chief, Mr. Dombey, and dated from
Leamington. Though he was a quick reader of all other letters, Mr. Carker read
this slowly; weighing the words as he went, and bringing every tooth in his head
to bear upon them. When he had read it through once, he turned it over again,
and picked out these passages. `I find myself benefited by the change, and am
not yet inclined to name any time for my return.' `I wish, Carker, you would
arrange to come down once and see me here, and let me know how things are going
on, in person.' `I omitted to speak to you about young Gay. If not gone per Son
and Heir, or if Son and Heir still lying in the Docks, appoint some other young
man and keep him in the City for the present. I am not decided.' `Now that's
unfortunate!' said Mr. Carker the Manager, expanding his mouth, as if it were
made of India-rubber: `for he is far away.'
Still that passage, which was in a postscript, attracted his attention and
his teeth, once more.
`I think,' he said, `my good friend Captain Cuttle mentioned something about
being towed along in the wake of that day. What a pity he's so far away!'
He refolded the letter, and was sitting trifling with it, standing it
long-wise and broad-wise on his table, and turning it over and over on all
sides--doing pretty much the same thing, perhaps, by its contents--when Mr.
Perch the messenger knocked softly at the door, and coming in on tiptoe, bending
his body at every step as if it were the delight of his life to bow, laid some
papers on the table.
`Would you please to be engaged, Sir?' asked Mr. Perch, rubbing his hands,
and deferentially putting his head on one side, like a man who felt he had no
business to hold it up in such a presence, and would keep it as much out of the
way as possible.
`Who wants me?'
`Why, Sir,' said Mr. Perch, in a soft voice, `really nobody, Sir, to speak of
at present. Mr. Gills the Ship's Instrument-maker, Sir, has looked in, about a
little matter of payment, he says: but I mentioned to him, Sir, that you was
engaged several deep; several deep.'
Mr. Perch coughed once behind his hand, and waited for further orders.
`Anybody else?'
`Well, Sir,' said Mr. Perch, `I wouldn't of my own self take the liberty of
mentioning, Sir, that there was anybody else; but that same young lad that was
here yesterday, Sir, and last week, has been hanging about the place; and it
looks, Sir,' added Mr. Perch, stopping to shut the door, `dreadful
unbusiness-like to see him whistling to the sparrows down the court, and making
of 'em answer him.'
`You said he wanted something to do, didn't you, Perch?' asked Mr. Carker,
leaning back in his chair and looking at that officer.
`Why, Sir,' said Mr. Perch, coughing behind his hand again, `his expression
certainly were that he was in wants of a sitiwation, and that he considered
something might be done for him about the Docks, being used to fishing with a
rod and line: but--' Mr. Perch shock his head very dubiously indeed.
`What does he say when he comes?' asked Mr. Carker.
`Indeed, Sir,' said Mr. Perch, coughing another cough behind his hand, which
was always his resource as an expression of humility when nothing else occurred
to him, `his observation generally air that he would humbly wish to see one of
the gentlemen, and that he wants to earn a living. But you see, Sir,' added
Perch, dropping his voice to a whisper, and turning, in the inviolable nature of
his confidence, to give the door a thrust with his hand and knee, as if that
would shut it any more when it was shut already, `it's hardly to be bore, Sir,
that a common lad like that should come a prowling here, and saying that his
mother nursed our House's young gentleman, and that he hopes our House will give
him a chance on that account. I am sure, Sir,' observed Mr. Perch, `that
although Mrs. Perch was at that time nursing as thriving a little girl, Sir, as
we've ever took the liberty of adding to our family, I wouldn't have made so
free as drop a hint of her being capable of imparting nourishment, not if it was
never so!'
Mr. Carker grinned at him like a shark, but in an absent, thoughtful manner.
`Whether,' submitted Mr. Perch, after a short silence, and another cough, `it
mightn't be best for me to tell him, that if he was seen here any more he would
be given into custody; and to keep to it! With respect to bodily fear,' said Mr.
Perch, `I'm so timid, myself, by nature, Sir, and my nerves is so unstrung by
Mrs. Perch's state, that I could take my affidavit easy.'
`Let me see this fellow, Perch,' said Mr. Carker. `Bring him in!'
`Yes, Sir. Begging your pardon, Sir,' said Mr. Perch, hesitating at the door,
`he's rough, Sir, in appearance.'
`Never mind. If he's there, bring him in. I'll see Mr. Gills directly. Ask
him to wait.'
Mr. Perch bowed; and shutting the door, as precisely and carefully as if he
were not coming back for a week, went on his quest among the sparrows in the
court. While he was gone, Mr. Carker assumed his favourite attitude before the
fire-place, and stood looking at the door; presenting, with his under lip tucked
into the smile that showed his whole row of upper teeth, a singularly crouching
appearance.
The messenger was not long in returning, followed by a pair of heavy boots
that came bumping along the passage like boxes. With the unceremonious words
`Come along with you!'--a very unusual form of introduction from his lips--Mr.
Perch then ushered into the presence a strong-built lad of fifteen, with a round
red face, a round sleek head, round black eyes, round limbs, and round body,
who, to carry out the general rotundity of his appearance, had a round hat in
his hand, without a particle of brim to it.
Obedient to a nod from Mr. Carker, Perch had no sooner confronted the visitor
with that gentleman than he withdrew. The moment they were face to face alone,
Mr. Carker, without a word of preparation, took him by the throat, and shook him
until his head seemed loose upon his shoulders.
The boy, who in the midst of his astonishment could not help staring wildly
at the gentleman with so many white teeth who was choking him, and at the office
walls, as though determined, if he were choked, that his last look should be at
the mysteries for his intrusion into which he was paying such a severe penalty,
at last contrived to utter--
`Come, Sir! You let me alone, will you!'
`Let you alone!' said Mr. Carker. `What! I have got you, have I?' There was
no doubt of that, and tightly too. `You dog,' said Mr. Carker, through his set
jaws, `I'll strangle you!'
Biler whimpered, would he though? oh no he wouldn't--and what was he doing
of--and why didn't he strangle somebody of his own size and not him: but Biler
was quelled by the extraordinary nature of his reception, and, as his head
became stationary, and he looked the gentleman in the face, or rather in the
teeth, and saw him snarling at him, he so far forgot his manhood as to cry.
`I haven't done nothing to you, Sir,' said Biler, otherwise Rob, otherwise
Grinder, and always Toodle.
`You young scoundrel!' replied Mr. Carker, slowly releasing him, and moving
back a step into his favourite position. `What do you mean by daring to come
here?'
`I didn't mean no harm, Sir,' whimpered Rob, putting one hand to his throat,
and the knuckles of the other to his eyes. `I'll never come again, Sir. I only
wanted work.'
`Work, young Cain that you are!' repeated Mr. Carker, eyeing him narrowly.
`An't you the idlest vagabond in London?'
The impeachment, while it much affected Mr. Toodle Junior, attached to his
character so justly, that he could not say a word in denial. He stood looking at
the gentleman, therefore, with a frightened, self-convicted, and remorseful air.
As to his looking at him, it may be observed that he was fascinated by Mr.
Carker, and never took his round eyes off him for an instant.
`An't you a thief?' said Mr. Carker, with his hands behind him in his
pockets.
`No, Sir,' pleaded Rob.
`You are!' said Mr. Carker.
`I an't indeed, Sir,' whimpered Rob. `I never did such a thing as thieve,
Sir, if you'll believe me. I know I've been going wrong, Sir, ever since I took
to bird-catching and walking-matching. I'm sure a cove might think,' said Mr.
Toodle Junior, with a burst of penitence, `that singing birds was innocent
company, but nobody knows what harm is in them little creeturs and what they
brings you down to.'
They seemed to have brought him down to a velveteen jacket and trousers very
much the worse for wear, a particularly small red waistcoat like a gorget, an
interval of blue check, and the hat before mentioned.
`I an't been home twenty times since them birds got their will of me,' said
Rob, `and that's ten months. How can I go home when everybody's miserable to see
me! I wonder,' said Biler, blubbering outright, and smearing his eyes with his
coat-cuff, `that I haven't been and drownded myself over and over again.'
All of which, including his expression of surprise at not having achieved
this last scarce performance, the boy said, just as if the teeth of Mr. Carker
drew it out of him, and he had no power of concealing anything with that battery
of attraction in full play.
`You're a nice young gentleman!' said Mr. Carker, shaking his head at him.
`There's hemp-seed sown for you, my fine fellow!'
`I'm sure, Sir,' returned the wretched Biler, blubbering again, and again
having recourse to his coat-cuff: `I shouldn't care, sometimes, if it was growed
too. My misfortunes all began in wagging, Sir; but what could I do, exceptin'
wag?'
`Excepting what?' said Mr. Carker.
`Wag, Sir. Wagging from school.'
`Do you mean pretending to go there, and not going?' said Mr. Carker.
`Yes, Sir, that's wagging, Sir,' returned the quondam Grinder, much affected.
`I was chivied through the streets, Sir, when I went there, and pounded when I
got there. So I wagged and hid myself, and that began it.'
`And you mean to tell me,' said Mr. Carker, taking him by the throat again,
holding him out at arm's-length, and surveying him in silence for some moments,
`that you want a place, do you?'
`I should be thankful to be tried, Sir,' returned Toodle Junior, faintly.
Mr. Carker the Manager pushed him backward into a corner--the boy submitting
quietly, hardly venturing to breathe, and never once removing his eyes from his
face--and rang the bell.
`Tell Mr. Gills to come here.'
Mr. Perch was too deferential to express surprise or recognition of the
figure in the corner: and Uncle Sol appeared immediately.
`Mr. Gills!' said Carker, with a smile, `sit down. How do you do? You
continue to enjoy your health, I hope?'
`Thank you, Sir,' returned Uncle Sol, taking out his pocket-book, and handing
over some notes as he spoke. `Nothing ails me in body but old age. Twenty-five,
Sir.'
`You are as punctual and exact, Mr. Gills,' replied the smiling Manager,
taking a paper from one of his many drawers, and making an endorsement on it,
while Uncle Sol looked over him, `as one of your own chronometers. Quite right.'
`The Son and Heir has not been spoken, I find by the list, Sir,' said Uncle
Sol, with a slight addition to the usual tremor in his voice.
`The Son and Heir has not been spoken,' returned Carker. `There seems to have
been tempestuous weather, Mr. Gills, and she has probably been driven out of her
course.'
`She is safe, I trust in Heaven!' said old Sol.
`She is safe, I trust in Heaven!' assented Mr. Carker in that voiceless
manner of his: which made the observant young Toodle tremble again. `Mr. Gills,'
he added aloud, throwing himself back in his chair, `you must miss your nephew
very much?'
Uncle Sol, standing by him, shook his head and heaved a deep sigh.
`Mr. Gills,' said Carker, with his soft hand playing round his mouth, and
looking up into the Instrument-maker's face, `it would be company to you to have
a young fellow in your shop just now, and it would be obliging me if you would
give one house-room for the present. No, to be sure,' he added quickly, in
anticipation of what the old man was going to say, `there's not much business
doing there, I know; but you can make him clean the place out, polish up the
instruments; drudge, Mr. Gills. That's the lad!'
Sol Gills pulled down his spectacles from his forehead to his eyes, and
looked at Toodle Junior standing upright in the corner: his head presenting the
appearance (which it always did) of having been newly drawn out of a bucket of
cold water; his small waistcoat rising and falling quickly in the play of this
emotions; and his eyes intently fixed on Mr. Carker, without the least reference
to his proposed master.
`Will you give him house-room, Mr. Gills?' said the Manager.
Old Sol, without being quite enthusiastic on the subject, replied that he was
glad of any opportunity, however slight, to oblige Mr. Carker, whose wish on
such a point was a command: and that the Wooden Midshipman would consider
himself happy to receive in his berth any visitor of Mr. Carker's selecting.
Mr. Carker bared himself to the tops and bottoms of his gums: making the
watchful Toodle Junior tremble more and more: and acknowledged the
Instrument-maker's politeness in his most affable manner.
`I'll dispose of him so, then, Mr. Gills,' he answered, rising, and shaking
the old man by the hand, `until I make up my mind what to do with him, and what
he deserves. As I consider myself responsible for him, Mr. Gills,' here he
smiled a wide smile at Rob, who shock before it: `I shall be glad if you'll look
sharply after him, and report his behaviour to me. I'll ask a question or two of
his parents as I ride home this afternoon--respectable people--to confirm some
particulars in his own account of himself; and that done, Mr. Gills, I'll send
him round to you to-morrow morning. Good-bye!'
His smile at parting was so full of teeth, that it confused old Sol, and made
him vaguely uncomfortable. He went home, thinking of raging seas, foundering
ships, drowning men, an ancient bottle of Madeira never brought to light, and
other dismal matter.
`Now, boy!' said Mr. Carker, putting his hand on young Toodle's shoulder, and
bringing him out into the middle of the room. `You have heard me?'
Rob said, `Yes, Sir.'
`Perhaps you understand,' pursued his patron, `that if you ever deceive or
play tricks with me, you had better have drowned yourself, indeed, once for all,
before you came here?'
There was nothing in any branch of mental acquisition that Rob seemed to
understand better than that.
`If you have lied to me,' said Mr. Carker, `in anything, never come in my way
again. If not, you may let me find you waiting for me somewhere near your
mother's house this afternoon. I shall leave this at five o'clock, and ride
there on horseback. Now, give me the address.'
Rob repeated it slowly, as Mr. Carker wrote it down. Rob even spelt it over a
second time, letter by letter, as if he thought that the omission of a dot or
scratch would lead to his destruction. Mr. Carker then handed him out of the
room; and Rob, keeping his round eyes fixed upon his patron to the last,
vanished for the time being.
Mr. Carker the Manager did a great deal of business in the course of the day,
and bestowed his teeth upon a great many people. In the office, in the court, in
the street, and on 'Change, they glistened and bristled to a terrible extent.
Five o'clock arriving, and with it Mr. Carker's bay horse, they got on
horseback, and went gleaming up Cheapside.
As no one can easily ride fast, even if inclined to do so, through the press
and throng of the City at that hour, and as Mr. Carker was not inclined, he went
leisurely along, picking his way among the carts and carriages, avoiding
whenever he could the wetter and more dirty places in the over-watered road, and
taking infinite pains to keep himself and his steed clean. Glancing at the
passers-by while he was thus ambling on his way, he suddenly encountered the
round eyes of the sleek-headed Rob intently fixed upon his face as if they had
never been taken off, while the boy himself, with a pocket-handkerchief twisted
up like a speckled eel and girded round his waist, made a very conspicuous
demonstration of being prepared to attend upon him, at whatever pace he might
think proper to go.
This attention, however flattering, being one of an unusual kind, and
attracting some notice from the other passengers, Mr. Carker took advantage of a
clearer thoroughfare and a cleaner road, and broke into a trot. Rob immediately
did the same. Mr. Carker presently tried a canter; Rob was still in attendance.
Then a short gallop; it was all one to the boy. Whenever Mr. Carker turned his
eyes to that side of the road, he still saw Toodle Junior holding his course,
apparently without distress, and working himself along by the elbows after the
most approved manner of professional gentlemen who get over the ground for
wagers.
Ridiculous as this attendance was, it was a sign of an influence established
over the boy, and therefore Mr. Carker, affecting not to notice it, rode away
into the neighbourhood of Mr. Toodle's house. On his slackening his pace here,
Rob appeared before him to point out the turnings; and when he called to a man
at a neighbouring gateway to hold his horse, pending his visit to the Buildings
that had succeeded Staggs's Gardens, Rob dutifully held the stirrup, while the
Manager dismounted.
`Now, Sir,' said Mr. Carker, taking him by the shoulder, `come along!'
The prodigal son was evidently nervous of visiting the parental abode; but
Mr. Carker pushing him on before, he had nothing for it but to open the right
door, and suffer himself to be walked into the midst of his brothers and
sisters, mustered in overwhelming force round the family tea-table. At sight of
the prodigal in the grasp of a stranger, these tender relations united in a
general howl, which smote upon the prodigal's breast so sharply when he saw his
mother stand up among them, pale and trembling, with the baby in her arms, that
he lent his own voice to the chorus.
Nothing doubting now that the stranger, if not Mr. Ketch in person, was one
of that company, the whole of the young family wailed the louder, while its more
infantine members, unable to control the transports of emotion appertaining to
their time of life, threw themselves on their backs like young birds when
terrified by a hawk, and kicked violently. At length, poor Polly making herself
audible, said, with quivering lips, `Oh Rob, my poor boy, what have you done at
last!'
`Nothing, mother,' cried Rob, in a piteous voice, `ask the gentleman!'
`Don't be alarmed,' said Mr. Carker, `I want to do him good.'
At this announcement, Polly, who had not cried yet, began to do so. The elder
Toodles, who appeared to have been meditating a rescue, unclenched their fists.
The younger Toodles clustered round their mother's gown, and peeped from under
their own chubby arms at their desperado brother and his unknown friend.
Everybody blessed the gentleman with the beautiful teeth, who wanted to do good.
`This fellow,' said Mr. Carker to Polly, giving him a gentle shake, `is your
son, eh, Ma'am?'
`Yes, Sir,' sobbed Polly, with a curtsey; `yes, Sir,'
`A bad son, I am afraid?' said Mr. Carker.
`Never a bad son to me, Sir,' returned Polly.
`To whom then?' said Mr. Carker.
`He has been a little wild, Sir,' returned Polly, checking the baby, who was
making convulsive efforts with his arms and legs to launch himself on Biler,
through the ambient air, `and has gone with wrong companions: but I hope he has
seen the misery of that, Sir, and will do well again.'
Mr. Carker looked at Polly, and the clean room, and the clean children, and
the simple Toodle face, combined of father and mother, that was reflected and
repeated everywhere about him--and seemed to have achieved the real purpose of
his visit.
`Your husband, I take it, is not at home?' he said.
`No, Sir,' replied Polly. `He's down the line at present.'
The prodigal Rob seemed very much relieved to hear it: though still in the
absorption of all his faculties in his patron, he hardly took his eyes from Mr.
Carker's face, unless for a moment at a time to steal a sorrowful glance at his
mother.
`Then,' said Mr. Carker, `I'll tell you how I have stumbled on this boy of
yours, and who I am, and what I am going to do for him.'
This Mr. Carker did, in his own way; saying that he at first intended to have
accumulated nameless terrors on his presumptuous head, for coming to the
whereabout of Dombey and Son. That he had relented, in consideration of his
youth, his professed contribution, and his friends. That he was afraid he took a
rash step in doing anything for the boy, and one that might expose him to the
censure of the prudent; but that he did it of himself and for himself, and
risked the consequences single-handed; and that his mother's past connection
with Mr. Dombey's family had nothing to do with it, and that Mr. Dombey had
nothing to do with it, but that he, Mr. Carker, was the be-all and the end-all
of this business. Taking great credit to himself for his goodness, and receiving
no less from all the family then present, Mr. Carker signified, indirectly but
still pretty plainly, that Rob's implicit fidelity, attachment, and devotion,
were for evermore his due, and the least homage he could receive. And with this
great truth Rob himself was so impressed, that standing gazing on his patron
with tears rolling down his cheeks, he nodded his shiny head until it seemed
almost as loose as it had done under the same patron's hands that morning.
Polly, who had passed Heaven knows how many sleepless nights on account of
this her dissipated firstborn, and had not seen him for weeks and weeks, could
have almost kneeled to Mr. Carker the Manager, as to a Good Spirit--in spite of
his teeth. But Mr. Carker rising to depart, she only thanked him with her
mother's prayers and blessings; thanks so rich when paid out of the Heart's
mint, especially for any service Mr. Carker had rendered, that he might have
given back a large amount of change, and yet been overpaid.
As that gentleman made his way among the crowding children to the door, Rob
retreated on his mother, and took her and the baby in the same repentant hug.
`I'll try hard, dear mother, now. Upon my soul I will!' said Rob.
`Oh do, my dear boy! I am sure you will, for our sakes and your own!' cried
Polly, kissing him. `But you're coming back to speak to me, when you have seen
the gentleman away?'
`I don't know, mother.' Rob hesitated, and looked down. `Father--when's he
coming home?'
`Not till two o'clock to-morrow morning.'
`I'll come back, mother dear!' cried Rob. And passing through the shrill cry
of his brothers and sisters in reception of this promise, he followed Mr. Carker
out.
`What!' said Mr. Carker, who had heard this. `You have a bad father, have
you?'
`No, Sir!' returned Rob, amazed. `There ain't a better nor a kinder father
going, than mine is.'
`Why don't you want to see him then?' inquired his patron.
`There's such a difference between a father and a mother, Sir,' said Rob,
after faltering for a moment. `He couldn't hardly believe yet that I was going
to do better--though I know he'd try to--but a mother--she always believes
what's good, Sir; at least I know my mother does, God bless her!'
Mr. Carker's mouth expanded, but he said no more until he was mounted on his
horse, and had dismissed the man who held it, when, looking down from the saddle
steadily into the attentive and watchful face of the boy, he said:
`You'll come to me to-morrow morning, and you shall be shown where that old
gentleman lives; that old gentleman who was with me this morning; where you are
going, as you heard me say.'
`Yes, Sir,' returned Rob.
`I have a great interest in that old gentleman, and in serving him, you serve
me, boy, do you understand? Well,' he added, interrupting him, for he saw his
round face brighten when he was told that: `I see you do. I want to know all
about that old gentleman, and how he goes on from day to day--for I am anxious
to be of service to him--and especially who comes there to see him. Do you
understand?'
Rob nodded his steadfast face, and said `Yes, Sir,' again.
`I should like to know that he has friends who are attentive to him, and that
they don't desert him--for he lives very much alone now, poor fellow; but that
they are fond of him, and of his nephew who has gone abroad. There is a very
young lady who may perhaps come to see him. I want particularly to know all
about her.'
`I'll take care, Sir,' said the boy.
`And take care,' returned his patron, bending forward to advance his grinning
face closer to the boy's, and pat him on the shoulder with the handle of his
whip: `take care you talk about affairs of mine to nobody but me.'
`To nobody in the world, Sir,' replied Rob, shaking his head.
`Neither there,' said Mr. Carker, pointing to the place they had just left,
`nor anywhere else. I'll try how true and grateful you can be. I'll prove you!'
Making this, by his display of teeth and by the action of his head, as much a
threat as a promise, he turned from Rob's eyes, which were nailed upon him as if
he had won the boy by a charm, body and soul, and rode away. But again becoming
conscious, after trotting a short distance, that his devoted henchman, girt as
before, was yielding him the same attendance, to the great amusement of sundry
spectators, he reined up, and ordered him off. To insure his obedience, he
turned in the saddle and watched him as he retired. It was curious to see that
even then Rob could not keep his eyes wholly averted from his patron's face,
but, constantly turning and turning again to look after him, involved himself in
a tempest of buffetings and jostlings from the other passengers in the street:
of which, in the pursuit of the one paramount idea, he was perfectly heedless.
Mr. Carker the Manager rode on at a foot-pace, with the easy air of one who
had performed all the business of the day in a satisfactory manner, and got it
comfortably off his mind. Complacent and affable as man could be, Mr. Carker
picked his way along the streets and hummed a soft tune as he went. He seemed to
purr, he was so glad.
And in some sort, Mr. Carker, in his fancy, basked upon a hearth too. Coiled
up snugly at certain feet, he was ready for a spring, or for a tear, or for a
scratch, or for a velvet touch, as the humour took him and occasion served. Was
there any bird in a cage, that came in for a share of his regards?
`A very young lady!' thought Mr. Carker the Manager, through his song. `Ay!
when I saw her last, she was a little child. With dark eyes and hair, I
recollect, and a good face; a very good face! I dare say she's pretty.'
More affable and pleasant yet, and humming his song until his many teeth
vibrated to it, Mr. Carker picked his way along, and turned at last into the
shady street where Mr. Dombey's house stood. He had been so busy, winding webs
round good faces, and obscuring them with meshes, that he hardly thought of
being at this point of his ride, until, glancing down the cold perspective of
tall houses, he reined in his horse quickly within a few yards of the door. But
to explain why Mr. Carker reined in his horse quickly, and what he looked at in
no small surprise, a few digressive words are necessary.
Mr. Toots, emancipated from the Blimber thraldom and coming into the
possession of a certain portion of his worldly wealth, `which,' as he had been
wont, during his last half-year's probation, to communicate to Mr. Feeder every
evening as a new discovery, `the executors couldn't keep him out of,' had
applied himself, with great diligence, to the science of Life. Fired with a
noble emulation to pursue a brilliant and distinguished career, Mr. Toots had
furnished a choice set of apartments; had established among them a sporting
bower, embellished with the portraits of winning horses, in which he took no
particle of interest; and a divan, which made him poorly. In this delicious
abode, Mr. Toots devoted himself to the cultivation of those gentle arts which
refine and humanise existence, his chief instructor in which was an interesting
character called the Game Chicken, who was always to be heard of at the bar of
the Black Badger, wore a shaggy white great-coat in the warmest weather, and
knocked Mr. Toots about the head three times a week, for the small consideration
of ten and six per visit.
The Game Chicken, who was quite the Apollo of Mr. Toots's Pantheon, had
introduced to him a marker who taught billiards, a Life Guard who taught
fencing, a job-master who taught riding, a Cornish gentleman who was up to
anything in the athletic line, and two or three other friends connected no less
intimately with the fine arts. Under whose auspices Mr. Toots could hardly fail
to improve apace, and under whose tuition he went to work.
But however it came about, it came to pass, even while these gentlemen had
the gloss of novelty upon them, that Mr. Toots felt, he didn't know how,
unsettled and uneasy. There were husks in his corn, that even Game Chickens
couldn't peck up; gloomy giants in his leisure, that even Game Chickens couldn't
knock down. Nothing seemed to do Mr. Toots so much good as incessantly leaving
cards at Mr. Dombey's door. No tax-gatherer in the British dominions--that
wide-spread territory on which the sun never sets, and where the tax-gatherer
never goes to bed--was more regular and persevering in his calls than Mr. Toots.
Mr. Toots never went up stairs; and always performed the same ceremonies,
richly dressed for the purpose, at the hall door.
`Oh! Good morning!' would be Mr. Toots's first remark to the servant. `For
Mr. Dombey,' would be Mr. Toots's next remark, as he handed in a card. `For Miss
Dombey,' would be his next, as he handed in another.
Mr. Toots would then turn round as if to go away; but the man knew him by
this time, and knew he wouldn't.
`Oh, I beg your pardon,' Mr. Toots would say, as if a thought had suddenly
descended on him. `Is the young woman at home?'
The man would rather think she was, but wouldn't quite know. Then he would
ring a bell that rang upstairs, and would look up the staircase, and would say,
yes, she was at home, and was coming down. Then Miss Nipper would appear, and
the man would retire.
`Oh! How de do?' Mr. Toots would say, with a chuckle and a blush.
Susan would thank him, and say she was very well.
`How's Diogenes going on?' would be Mr. Toot's second interrogation.
Very well indeed. Miss Florence was fonder and fonder of him every day. Mr.
Toots was sure to hail this with a burst of chuckles, like the opening of a
bottle of some effervescent beverage.
`Miss Florence is quite well, Sir,' Susan would add.
`Oh, it's of no consequence, thank'ee,' was the invariable reply of Mr.
Toots; and when he had said so, he always went away very fast.
Now it is certain that Mr. Toots had a filmy something in his mind, which led
him to conclude that if he could aspire successfully in the fulness of time, to
the hand of Florence, he would be fortunate and blest. It is certain that Mr.
Toots, by some remote and roundabout road, had got to that point, and that there
he made a stand. His heart was wounded; he was touched; he was in love. He had
made a desperate attempt, one night, and had sat up all night for the purpose,
to write an acrostic on Florence, which affected him to tears in the conception.
But he never proceeded in the execution further than the words `For when I
gaze,'--the flow of imagination in which he had previously written down the
initial letters of the other seven lines, deserting him at that point.
Beyond devising that very artful and politic measure of leaving a card for
Mr. Dombey daily, the brain of Mr. Toots had not worked much in reference to the
subject that held his feelings prisoner. But deep consideration at length
assured Mr. Toots that an important step to gain, was, the conciliation of Miss
Susan Nipper, preparatory to giving her some inkling of his state of mind.
A little light and playful gallantry towards this lady seemed the means to
employ in that early chapter of the history, for winning her to his interests.
Not being able quite to make up his mind about it, he consulted the
Chicken--without taking that gentleman into his confidence; merely informing him
that a friend in Yorkshire had written to him (Mr. Toots) for his opinion on
such a question. The Chicken replying that his opinion always was, `Go in and
win,' and further, `When your man's before you and your work cut out, go in and
do it,' Mr. Toots considered this a figurative way of supporting his own view of
the case, and heroically resolved to kiss Miss Nipper next day.
Upon the next day, therefore, Mr. Toots, putting into requisition some of the
greatest marvels that Burgess and Co. had ever turned out, went off to Mr.
Dombey's upon this design. But his heart failed him so much as he approached the
scene of action, that, although he arrived on the ground at three o'clock in the
afternoon, it was six before he knocked at the door.
Everything happened as usual, down to the point where Susan said her young
mistress was well, and Mr. Toots said it was of no consequence. To her
amazement, Mr. Toots, instead of going off like a rocket, after that
observation, lingered and chuckled.
`Perhaps you'd like to walk up stairs, Sir!' said Susan.
`Well, I think I will come in!' said Mr. Toots.
But instead of walking up stairs, the bold Toots made an awkward plunge at
Susan when the door was shut, and embracing that fair creature, kissed her on
the cheek.
`Go along with you!' cried Susan, `or I'll tear your eyes out.'
`Just another!' said Mr. Toots.
`Go along with you!' exclaimed Susan, giving him a push. `Innocents like you,
too! Who'll begin next? Go along, Sir!'
Susan was not in any serious strait, for she could hardly speak for laughing;
but Diogenes, on the staircase, hearing a rustling against the wall, and a
shuffling of feet, and seeing through the banisters that there was some
contention going on, and foreign invasion in the house, formed a different
opinion, dashed down to the rescue, and in the twinkling of an eye had Mr. Toots
by the leg.
Susan screamed, laughed, opened the street-door, and ran down stairs; the
bold Toots tumbled staggering out into the street, with Diogenes holding on to
one leg of his pantaloons, as if Burgess and Co. were his cooks, and had
provided that dainty morsel for his holiday entertainment; Diogenes shaken off,
rolled over and over in the dust, got up again, whirled round the giddy Toots
and snapped at him: and all this turmoil, Mr. Carker, reining up his horse and
sitting a little at a distance, saw to his amazement, issue from the stately
house of Mr. Dombey.
Mr. Carker remained watching the discomfited Toots, when Diogenes was called
in, and the door shut: and while that gentleman, taking refuge in a doorway near
at hand, bound up the torn leg of his pantaloons with a costly silk handkerchief
that had formed part of his expensive outfit for the adventure.
`I beg your pardon, Sir,' said Mr. Carker, riding up, with his most
propitiatory smile. `I hope you are not hurt?'
`Oh no, thank you,' replied Mr. Toots, raising his flushed face, `it's of no
consequence.' Mr. Toots would have signified, if he could, that he liked it very
much.
`If the dog's teeth have entered the leg, Sir--' began Carker, with a display
of his own.
`No, thank you,' said Mr. Toots, `it's all quite right. It's very
comfortable, thank you.'
`I have the pleasure of knowing Mr. Dombey,' observed Carker.
`Have you though?' rejoined the blushing Toots.
`And you will allow me, perhaps, to apologise, in his absence,' said Mr.
Carker, taking off his hat, `for such a misadventure, and to wonder how it can
possibly have happened.'
Mr. Toots is so much gratified by this politeness, and the lucky chance of
making friends with a friend of Mr. Dombey, that he pulls out his card-case,
which he never loses an opportunity of using, and hands his name and address to
Mr. Carker: who responds to that courtesy by giving him his own, and with that
they part.
As Mr. Carker picks his way so softly past the house, glancing up at the
windows, and trying to make out the pensive face behind the curtain looking at
the children opposite, the rough head of Diogenes came clambering up close by
it, and the dog, regardless of all soothing, barks and growls, and makes at him
from that height, as if he would spring down and tear him limb from limb.
Well spoken, Di, so near your Mistress! Another, and another with your head
up, your eyes flashing, and your vexed mouth worrying itself, for want of him!
Another, as he picks his way along! You have a good scent, Di,--cats, boy, cats!
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