"They're swells," repeated Mr. Goldshed.
"He saysh they're swelsh," repeated Mr. Levi, whose grave look had something of the air of a bully in it, fixing his dark prominent eyes on Mr. Larkin, and turning his cheek that way a little, also. "There's a danger in handling a swell—in them matters specially."
"Suppose theresh a contempt?" said Mr. Goldshed, whose chair grew restive, and required management as he spoke.
"He saysh acontempt," repeated Mr. Levi, "or shomething worse," and he heightened the emphasis with an oath.
"I'll guarantee you for twopence, Mr. Levi; and pray consider me, and donotswear," urged Mr. Larkin.
"If you guarantee us, with a penalty," began Mr. Levi, who chose to take him literally.
"I saidthat, ofcourse, Mr. Levi, by way of illustration, only; no one, ofcourse, dreams of guaranteeing another without a proper consideration. I should have hoped youcouldnot have misunderstood me. I don't understand guarantees, it is a business I have never touched. I'm content, I hope, with the emoluments of my profession, and what my landed property gives me. I only mean this—that thereisno risk. What doweknow of Mr. Dingwell, that is not perfectly above board—perfectly? I challenge the world uponthat. If anything should happen to fall through,we, surely, are not to blame. At the same time if you—looking at it with your experience—apprehend any risk, of course, I couldn't think of allowing you to go on. I can arrange, this evening, and not very far from this house, either."
As Mr. Larkin concluded, he made a feint of rising.
"Ba-ah!" exclaimed Levi. "You don't think we want to back out of thish transhaction, Mr. Larkin?no-o-oh! That's not the trick of thish offishe—is it, gov'nor? He sayshno."
"No," echoed Goldshed.
"No, never—noways! you hear him?" reiterated Mr. Levi. "In for a penny, in for a pound—in for a shilling, in for a thousand. Ba-ah!—No, never."
"No, noways—never!" reverberated Goldshed, in deep, metallic tones. "But, Levi, there, must look an inch or two before his noshe—and sho must I—and sho, my very good friend, Mr. Larkin, mustyou—a bit before your noshe. I don't see no great danger. We all know, the Honourable Arthur Verney isdead. We aresureofthat—and all the rest is not worth the odd ha'pensh in that book," and he touched the mighty ledger lying by him, in which millions were entered. "Therestis Dingwell's affair."
"Just so, Mr. Goldshed," acquiesced Mr. Larkin. "We go together in that view."
"Dingwell be blowed!—what needwecare for Dingwell?" tolled out Mr. Goldshed, with his ringing bass.
"Ba-ah!—drat him!" echoed the junior.
"Yes—a—quite as you say—but where's the good of imprecation? Withthatexception, I quite go with you. It's Dingwell's affair—notours.We, of course, go straight—andIcertainly have no reason to suspect Dingwell of anything crooked or unworthy."
"Oh, no—ba-ah!—nothing!" said Levi.
"Nor I," added Goldshed.
"It'sh delicate—itizhdelicate—but very promishing," said Mr. Goldshed, who was moistening a cigar in his great lips. "Very—andno-thing crooked about it."
"No-thing crooked—no!" repeated Mr. Levi, shaking his glossy curls slowly. "But very delicate."
"Then, gentlemen, it's understood—I'm at liberty to assume—that Mr. Dingwell finds one or other of you here whenever he calls after dark, and you'll arrange at once about the little payments."
To which the firm having promptly assented, Mr. Larkin took his leave, and, being a client ofconsideration, was accompanied to the shabby doorstep by Mr. Levi, who, standing at the hall-door, with his hands in his pockets, nodded slily to him across the flagged court-yard, into the cab window, in a way which Mr. Jos. Larkin of the Lodge thought by many degrees too familiar.
"Well—there'sa cove!" said Mr. Levi, laughing lazily, and showing his long rows of ivory fangs, as he pointed over his shoulder, with the point of his thumb, towards the street.
"Rum un!" said Mr. Goldshed, laughing likewise, as he held his lighted cigar between his fingers.
And they laughed together tranquilly for a little, till, with a sudden access of gravity, Mr. Goldshed observed, with a little wag of his head—
"He's da-a-am clever!"
"Ay—yes—da-a-am clever!" echoed Levi.
"Not as much green as you'd put your finger on—I tell you—no muff—devilish good lay, asyoushall see," continued Goldshed.
"Devilish good—no, no muff—nothing green," repeated Mr. Levi, lighting his cigar. "Good head for speculation—might be a bit too clever, I'm thinking," and he winked gently at his governor.
"Believe you, my son, if we'd let him—butwe won't—will we?" drawled Mr. Goldshed, jocosely.
"Not if I knows it," said Mr. Levi, sitting on the table, with his feet on the stool, and smoking towards the wall.
Messrs. GoldshedandLeviowned four houses in Rosemary Court, and Miss Sarah Rumble was their tenant. The court is dark, ancient, and grimy. Miss Rumble let lodgings, worked hard, led an anxious life, and subsisted on a remarkably light diet, and at the end of the year never had a shilling over. Her Jewish landlords used to pay her a visit now and then, to receive the rent, and see that everything was right. These visits she dreaded; they were grumbling and minatory, and enlivened by occasional oaths and curses. But though it was part of their system to keep their tenants on the alert by perpetual fault-findings and menaces, they knew very well that they got every shilling the house brought in, that Miss Rumble lived on next to nothing, and never saved a shilling, and was, in fact,theirunderfed, overworked, and indefatigable slave.
With the uncomplaining and modest charity of the poor, Sarah Rumble maintained her little orphan niece and nephew by extra labour at needle-work, and wonderful feats of domestic economy.
This waste of resources Mr. Levi grudged. He had never done complaining of it, and demonstrating that it could only be accomplished by her holding the house at too low a rent; how else could it be? Why was she to keep other people's brats at the expense of Messrs. Goldshed and Levi? What was the workhouse for? This perpetual pressure was a sore trouble to the poor woman, who had come to love the children as if they were her own; and after one of Mr. Levi's minatory visits she often lay awake sobbing, in the terror and yearnings of her unspeakable affection, whilst its unconscious objects lay fast asleep by her side.
From Mr. Levi, in his accustomed vein, Miss Rumble had received full instructions for the reception and entertainment of her new lodger, Mr. Dingwell. He could not say when he would arrive, neither the day nor the hour; and several days had already elapsed, and no arrival had taken place. This evening she had gone down to "the shop," so designated, as if there had been but one in London, to lay out a shilling and sevenpence very carefully, leaving her little niece and nephew in charge of the candle and the house, and spelling out their catechism for next day.
A tapping came to the door; not timid, nor yet menacing; a sort of double knock, delivered with a walking-cane; on the whole a sharp but gentlemanlike summons, to which the little company assembled there were unused. The children lifted their eyes from the book before them, and stared at the door without answering. It opened with a latch, which, without more ado, was raised, and a tall, white-haired gentleman, with a stoop, and a very brown skin, looked in inquisitively, and said, with a smile that was not pleasant, and a voice not loud but somewhat harsh and cold—
"Mrs. orMissRumble hereabouts, my dears?"
"Miss Rumble; that's aunt, please, sir;" answered the little girl, slipping down from her chair, and making a courtesy.
"Well,she'sthe lady I want to speak with, my love. Whereisshe?" said the gentleman, glancing round the homely chamber from under his white eyebrows with a pair of cold, gray, restless eyes.
"She's—she's"——hesitated the child.
"Not in bed, I see; nor in the cupboard" (the cupboard door was open). "Is she up the chimney, my charming child?"
"No, sir, please; she's gone to Mrs. Chalk's for the bacon."
"Mrs. Chalk's for the bacon?" echoed the gentleman. "Very good! Excellent woman! excellent bacon, I dare say. But how far away is it?—how soon shall we have your aunt back again?"
"Just round the corner, please, sir; aunt's never no time," answered the child. "Would you please call in again?"
"Charming young lady! So accomplished! Who taught you your grammar? So polite—sosuspicious. Do you know the meaning of that word, my dear?"
"No, sir, please."
"And I'm vastly obliged for your invitation to call again; but I find your company much too agreeable to think of going away; so, if you allow me—and do shut that door, my sweet child; many thanks—I'll do myself the honour to sit down, if I may venture, and continue to enjoy your agreeable conversation, till your aunt returns to favour us with her charming presence—and bacon."
The old gentleman was glancing from under his brows, from corner to corner of this homely chamber; an uneasy habit, not curiosity; and, during his ceremonious speech, he kept bowingand smiling, and set down a black leather bag that he had in his hand, on the deal table, together with his walking-cane, and pulled off his gloves, and warmed his hands at the tiny bit of fire. When his back was toward them the children exchanged a glance, and the little boy looked frightened, and on the point of bursting into tears.
"Hish!" whispered the girl, alarmed, for she could not tell what effect the demonstration might have upon the stranger—"quiet!"—and she shook her finger in urgent warning at Jemmie. "Averynice gent, as has money for aunty—there!"
So the tears that stood in Jemmie's big eyes were not followed by an outcry, and the gentleman, with his hat and outside wrapper on, stood, now, with his back to the little fire, looking, in his restless way, over the children's heads, with his white, cold eyes, and the same smile. There was a dreamy idea haunting Lucy Maria's head that this gentleman was very like a white animal she had seen at the Surrey Zoological Gardens when her uncle had treated her to that instructive show; the same sort of cruel grin, and the same restless oscillation before the bars of its cage.
"Hey! so she'll be back again?" said he, recollecting the presence of the two children; "the excellent lady, your aunt, I mean. Superbapartment this is, but it strikes me, hardly sufficientlylighted, hey?Onehalfpenny candle, however brilliant, can hardly do justice to such a room; pretty taper—very pretty—isn't it? Such nice mutton fat, my dear young lady, and such a fine long snuff—like a chimney, with a Quaker's hat on the top of it—you don't see such fine things everywhere! And who's this young gentleman, who enjoys the distinction of being admitted to your salon; a page, or what?"
"It's Jemmie, sir; stand up, and bow to the gentleman, Jemmie."
Jemmie slipped down on the floor, and made a very alarmed bow, with his great eyes staring deprecatingly in the visitor's face.
"I'm charmed to make your acquaintance. What grace and ease! It's perfectly charming! I'm too much honoured, Mr. Jemmie. And so exquisitely got up, too! There's only one little toilet refinement I would venture to recommend. The worthy lady, Mrs. Chalks, who contributes bacon to this house, and, I presume, candles—could, I dare say, also supply another luxury, with which you are not so well acquainted, calledsoap—one of the few perfectly safe cosmetics. Pray try it; you'll find it soluble in water. And, ho? reading too! What have you been reading out of that exquisite little volume?"
"Catechism, please sir," answered the little girl.
"Ho, Catechism? Delightful! What a wonderful people we English are!" The latter reflection was made for his own entertainment, and he laughed over it in an undertone. "Then your aunt teaches you the art of godliness? You've read about Babel, didn't you?—the accomplishment of getting up to heaven is so nice!"
"Sunday school, sir, please," said the girl.
"Oh, it'sthereyou learn it? Well, I shall ask you only one question in your Catechism, and that's the first—what's your name?"
"Lucy Maria."
"Well, Lucy Maria and Mr. Jemmie, I trust your theological studies may render you at last as pious as I am. You know how death and sin came into the world, and you know what they are. Sin is doing anything on earth that's pleasant, and death's the penalty of it. Did you ever see any one dead, my sweet child—not able to raise a finger or an eyelid? rather a fix, isn't it?—and screwed up in a stenching box to be eaten by worms—all alone, under ground?You'll be so, egad, and your friend, Jemmie, there, perhaps before me—though I'm an old boy. Younkers go off sometimes by the score. I've seen 'em trundled out in fever and plague, egad,lying in rows, like plucked chickens in a poulterer's shop. And they say you have scarlatina all about youhere, now; bad complaint, you know, that kills the little children. You need not frighten yourselves though, because itmusthappen, sooner or later—die youmust. It's the penalty, you know, because Eve once eat an apple."
"Yes, sir."
"Rather hard lines on us, isn't it? She eat an apple, and sin, and death, and colic—I never eat an apple in consequence—coliccame into the world, and cider, as a consequence—the worst drink ever invented by the devil. And now go on and learn your Church Catechism thoroughly, and you'll both turn into angels. Upon my life, I think I see the feathers beginning to sprout from your shoulders already. You'll have wings, you know, if all goes right, and tails for anything I know."
The little boy looked in his face perplexed and frightened—the little girl, answering his haggard grin with an attempted smile, showed also bewilderment and dismay in her eyes. They were both longing for the return of their aunt.
Childish nature, which is only human nature without its scarf skin, is always afraid of irony. It is not its power, but its treachery that isdreadful—the guise of friendship hiding a baleful purpose underneath. One might fancy the seasoned denizens of Gehenna welcoming, complimenting, and instructing new comers with these profound derisions. How children delight in humour! how they wince and quail under irony! Be it ever so rudely fashioned and clumsily handled, still it is to them a terrible weapon. If children are to be either ridiculed or rebuked, let it be honestly, in direct terms. We should not scare them with this jocularity of devils.
Having thus amused himself with the children for a time, he unlocked his leather bag, took out two or three papers, ordered the little girl to snuff the candle, and pulled it across the table to the corner next himself, and, sitting close by, tried to read, holding the letter almost in the flame, screwing his white eyebrows together, and shifting his position, and that of the candle also, with very little regard to the studious convenience of the children.
He gave it up. The red and smoky light tried his eyes too severely. So, not well pleased, he locked his letters up again.
"Cat's eyes—owls! How the devil they read by it passes my comprehension. Any more candles here—hey?" he demanded with a sudden sharpness that made the children start.
"Three, please sir."
"Get 'em."
"On the nail in the closet, please sir."
"Get 'em, d—n it!"
"Closet's locked, please sir. Aunt has the key."
"Ha!" he snarled, and looked at the children as if he would like to pick a quarrel with them.
"Does your aunt allow you to let the fire out on nights like this—hey? You're a charming young lady,you—and this young gentleman, in manners and appearance, everything the proudest aunt could desire; but I'm curious to know whether either one or the other is of the slightest earthly use; and secondly, whether she keeps a birch-rod in that closet—hey?—and now and thenflogsyou—ha, ha, ha! The expense of the rod is trifling, the pain not worth mentioning, and soon over, but the moral effects are admirable, better and more durable—take my word for it—than all the catechisms in Paternoster Row."
The old gentleman seemed much tickled by his own pleasantries, and laughed viciously as he eyed the children.
"You did not tell me a fib, I hope, my dear, about your aunt? She's a long time about coming; and, I say, do put a little coal on the fire, will you?"
"Coal's locked up, please sir," said the child, who was growing more afraid of him every minute.
"'Gad, it seems to me that worthy woman's afraid you'll carry off the bricks and plaster. Where's the poker? Chained to the wall, I suppose. Well, there's a complaint called kleptomania—it comes with a sort of irritation at the tips of the fingers, and I should not be surprised if you and your friend Jemmie, there, had got it."
Jemmie looked at his fingers' ends, and up in the gentleman's face, in anxious amazement.
"But there's a cure for it—essence of cane—and if that won't do, a capital charm—nine tails of a gray cat, applied under competent direction. Your aunt seems to understand that disorder—it begins with an itching in the fingers, and ends with a pain in the back—ha, ha, ha! You're a pair of theologians, and, if you've read John Bunyan, no doubt understand and enjoy an allegory."
"Yes, sir, please, we will," answered poor Lucy Maria, in her perplexity.
"And we'll be very good friends, Miss Maria Louise, or whatever your name is, I've no doubt, provided you play me no tricks and do precisely whatever I bid you; and, upon my soul, if youdon't, Til take the devil out of my pocket and frighten you out of your wits, I will—ha, ha, ha!—so sure as you live, intofits!"
And the old gentleman, with an ugly smile on his thin lips, and a frown between his white eyebrows, fixed his glittering gaze on the child and wagged his head.
You may be sure she was relieved when, at that moment, she heard her aunt's well-known step on the lobby, and the latch clicked, the door opened, and Miss Rumble entered.
"Ah!—ho!you are Miss Rumble—hey?" said the old gentleman, fixing a scrutinising glance from under his white eyebrows upon Sally Rumble, who stood in the doorway, in wonder, not unmixed with alarm; for people who stand every hour in presence of Giant Want, with his sword at their throats, have lost their faith in fortune, and long ceased to expect a benevolent fairy in any stranger who may present himself dubiously, and anticipate rather an enemy. So, looking hard at the gentleman who stood before the little fire, with his hat on, and the light of the solitary dipt candle shining on his by no means pleasant countenance, she made him a little frightened courtesy, and acknowledged that she was Sally Rumble, though she could not tell what was to follow.
"I've been waiting; I came here to see you—pray, shut the door—from two gentlemen, Jews whom you know—friends—don't be uneasy—friends ofmine, friends ofyours—Mr. Goldshed and Mr. Levi, the kindest, sweetest, sharpest fellows alive, and here's a note from them—you canread?"
"Read! Law bless you—yes, sir," answered Sally.
"Thanks for the blessing: read the note; it's only to tell you I'm the person they mentioned this morning, Mr. Dingwell. Are the rooms ready? You can make me comfortable—eh?"
"In a humble way, sir," she answered, with a courtesy.
"Yes, of course; I'm a humble fellow, and—I hear you're a sensible young lady. These little pitchers here, of course, have ears: I'll say all that's necessary as we go up: there's a fellow with a cab at the door, isn't there? Well, there's some little luggage of mine on it—we must get it up stairs; give the Hamal something to lend a hand; but first let me see my rooms."
"Yes, sir," said Sally, with another courtesy, not knowing what a Hamal meant. And Mr. Dingwell, taking up his bag and stick, followed her in silence, as with the dusky candle she led the way up the stairs.
She lighted a pair of candles in the drawing-room. There was some fire in the grate. The rooms looked better than he had expected; therewere curtains, and an old Turkish carpet, and some shabby, and some handsome, pieces of furniture.
"It will do, it will do—ha, ha, ha! How like a pawnbroker's store it looks—no two things match in it; but it is not bad: those Jew fellows, of course, did it? All this stuff isn't yours?" said Mr. Dingwell.
"Law bless you, no, sir," answered Sally, with a dismal smile and a shake of her head.
"Thanks again for your blessing. And the bed-room?" inquired he.
She pushed open the door.
"Capital looking-glass," said he, standing before his dressing-table—"cap-i-tal! if it weren't for that great seam across the middle—ha, ha, ha! funny effect, by Jove! Is it colder than usual, here?"
"No, sir, please; a nice evening."
"Devilish nice, by Allah! I'm cold through and through my great coat. Will you please poke up that fire a little? Hey! what a grand bed we've got! what tassels and ropes! and, by Jove, carved angels orCupids—I hope Cupids—on the foot-board!" he said, running the tip of his cane along the profile of one of them. "They must have got this a wonderful bargain. Hey! I hope no one died in it last week?"
"Oh, la! sir; Mr. Levi is a very pitickler gentleman; he wouldn't for all he's worth."
"Oh! not he, I know; very particular."
Mr. Dingwell was holding the piece of damask curtain between his finger and thumb, and she fancied was sniffing at it gently.
"Very particular, but I'm more so. We, English, are the dirtiest dogs in the world. They ought to get the Turks to teach 'em to wash and be clean. I travelled in the East once, for a commercial house, and know something of them. Can you make coffee?"
"Yes, sir, please."
"Very strong?"
"Yes, sir, sure."
"Very, mind. As strong as the devil it must be, and as clear as—as your conscience." He was getting out a tin case, as he spoke. "Here it is. I got it in—I forget the name—a great place, near one of your bridges. I suppose it's as good as any to be had in this place. Of course it isn'tallcoffee. We must go to theheathenfor that; but if they haven't ground up toasted skeletons, or anything dirty in it, I'm content. I'm told you can't eat or drink a mouthful here without swallowing something you never bargained for. Everything is drugged. Look at our Caiquejees! You have no such men in your padded Horse-guards. And what do they live on? Why, a crust of brown bread and a melon, and now and then a dish of pilauf! But it's good—it's pure—it's what it calls itself. You d——d Christian cheats, you're an opprobrium to commerce and civilisation; you're the greatest oafs on earth, with all your police and spies. Why it's only towillit, and youdon't; you let it go on. We are assuredly a beastly people!"
"Sugar, please, sir?"
"No, thank you."
"Take milk, sir?"
"Heaven forbid! Milk, indeed! I tell you what, Mrs.—What's your name?—I tell you, if the Sultan had some of your great fellows—your grocers, and bakers, and dairymen, and brewers, egad!—out there, he'd have 'em on their ugly faces and bastinado their great feet into custard pudding! I've seen fellows—and devilish glad Iwasto see it, I can tell you—screaming like stuck pigs, and their eyes starting out of their heads, and their feet like bags of black currant jelly, ha, ha, ha!—for a good deal less. Now, you see, ma'am, I have high notions of honesty; and this tin case I'm going to give you will give me three small cups of coffee, as strong as I've described, six times over; do you understand?—six times three, eighteen;eighteensmall cups of coffee;and don't let those pretty little foxes' cubs down stairs meddle with it. Tell 'em I know what I'm about, and they'd better not, ha, ha, ha! nor with anything that belongs to me, to the value of a single piastre."
Miss Sarah Rumble was a good deal dismayed by the jubilant severity of Mr. Dingwell's morals. She would have been glad had he been of a less sharp and cruel turn of pleasantry. Her heart was heavy, and she wished herself a happy deliverance, and had a vague alarm about the poor little children's falling under suspicion, and of all that might follow. But what could she do? Poverty is so powerless, and has so little time to weigh matters maturely, or to prepare for any change; its hands are always so full, and its stomach so empty, and its spirits so dull.
"I wish those d——d curtains were off the bed," and again they underwent the same disgusting process; "and the bed-clothes, egad! They purify nothing here. You knownothingaboutthemeither, of course? No—but they would not like to kill me.No;—that would not do. Knock their little game on the head, eh? I suppose itisall right. What's prevalent here now? What sort of—I mean what sort ofdeath—fever, small-pox, or scarlatina—eh? Much sickness going?"
"Nothink a'most, sir; a little measles among the children."
"No objection to that; it heads them down a bit, and does not trouble us. But what among thegrownpeople?"
"Nothink to signify in the court here, for three months a'most."
"Andthen, ma'am, whatwasit, pray? Give those to your boy" (they were his boots); "let him rub 'em up, ma'am, he's not a bit too young to begin; and, egad! he had better do 'emwell, too;" and thrusting his feet into a great pair of slippers, he reverted to his question—"What sickness wasthen, ma'am, three months ago, here in this pleasant little prison-yard of a place—hey?"
"Fever, please, sir, at No. 4. Three took it, please: two of 'em went to hospital."
"And never walked out?"
"Don't know, indeed, sir—and one died, please, sir, in the court here, and he left three little children."
"I hope they're gone away?"
"Yes, sir, please."
"Well, that's a release. Rest his soul, he's dead! as our immortal bard, that says everything so much better than anyone else, says; and rest our souls,they'regone with their vile noise. So yourbill of mortality is not much to signify; and make that coffee—d'ye see?—this moment, and let me have it as hot as—as the final abode of Dissenters and Catholics—I see you believe in the Church Catechism—immediately, if you please, to the next room."
So, with a courtesy, Sally Rumble tripped from the room, with the coffee-case in her hand.
Sallywas beginning to conceive a great fear of her guest, and terror being the chief spring of activity, in a marvellously short time the coffee was made, and she, with Lucy Maria holding the candle behind her, knocking at what they called the drawing-room door. When, in obedience to his command, she entered, he was standing by the chimney-piece, gazing at her through an atmosphere almost hazy with tobacco smoke. He had got on his dressing-gown, which was pea-green, and a scarlet fez, and stood with his inquisitive smile and scowl, and his long pipe a little removed from his lips.
"Oh, it'syou? yes; no one—do you mind—except Mr. Larkin, or Mr. Levi, or Mr. Goldshed, ever comes in to me—always charmed to seeyou, andthem—but there ends my public; so, my dear lady, if any person should ask to see Mr. Dingwell, from New York in America, you'llsimply say there's no such person here—yes—there's—no—such—person—here—upon my honour. And you're no true woman if you don't say so with pleasure—because it's a fib."
Sarah Rumble courtesied affirmatively.
"I forgot to give you this note—my letter of introduction. Here, ma'am, take it, and read it, if you can. It comes from those eminent harpies, the Messrs. Goldshed and Levi—your landlords, aren't they?"
Another courtesy from grave, dark-browed Miss Rumble acknowledged the fact.
"It is pleasant to be accredited by such gentlemen—good landlords, I dare say?"
"I've nothing to say against Mr. Levi; and I'm 'appy to say, sir, my rent's bin always paid up punctual," she said.
"Yes, just so—capital landlord! charming tenant; and I suspect if you didn't, they'd find a way to make you—eh? Your coffee's not so bad—you may make it next time just a degree stronger, bitter as wormwood and verjuice, please—black and bitter, ma'am, as English prejudice. It isn't badly made, however—no, itisreallygood. It isn't a common Christian virtue, making good coffee—the Mahometans have a knack of it, and you must be a bit of a genius, ma'am, for I think you'll make it very respectably by to-morrow evening, or at latest, by next year. You shall do everything well for me, madam. The Dingwells are always d—d flighty, wicked, unreasonable people, ma'am, and you'll find me a regular Dingwell, andworse, madam. Look at me—don't I look like a vampire. I tell you, ma'am, I've been buried, and they would not let me rest in my grave, and they've called me up by their infernal incantations, and here I am, ma'am, an evoked spirit. I have not read that bit of paper. How do they introduce me—as Mr. Dingwell, or Mr. Dingwell's ghost? I'm wound up in a sort of way; but I'm deficient in blood, ma'am, and in heat. You'll have to keep the fire up always likethis, Mrs. Rumble. You'd better mind, or you'll have me a bit too like a corpse to be pleasant. Egad! I frighten myself in the glass, ma'am. There is what they call transfusion of bloodnow, ma'am, and a very sensible thing it is. Pray, don't you think so?"
"I do suppose what you say's correct, sir."
"When a fellow comes out of the grave, ma'am—that's sherry in that bottle; be kind enough to fill this glass—he's chilly, and he wants blood, Mrs. Rumble. A gallon, or so, transfused into my veins wouldn't hurt me. You can'tmakeblood fast enough for the wear and tear of life, especially in a place like merry England, as thepoets call it—and merry England is as damp all over as one of your charnel vaults under your dirty churches. Egad! it's enough to make a poor ghost like me turn vampire, and drain those rosy little brats of yours—ha, ha, ha!—yourchildren, are they, Mrs. Rumble—eh?"
"No, sir, please—my brother's children."
"Yourbrother's—ho! He doesn't livehere, I hope?"
"He's dead, sir."
"Dead—is he?"
"Five years last May, sir."
"Oh! that's good. And their mother?—some more sherry, please."
"Dead about four years, poor thing! They're orphans, sir, please."
"'Gad! Idoplease; it's a capital arrangement, ma'am, as theyarehere, and you mustn't let 'em go among the children that swarm about places like this. Egad! ma'am, I've no fancy for scarlatina or small-pox, or any sort or description of your nursery maladies."
"They're very 'ealthy, sir, I thank you," said grave Sarah Rumble, a little mistaking Mr. Dingwell's drift.
"Very glad to hear it, ma'am."
"Very kind o' you, sir," she said, with a courtesy.
"Kind, of course, yes, very kind," he echoed.
"Very 'ealthy, indeed, sir, I'm thankful to say."
"Well, yes, they do look well—for town brats, you know—plump and rosy—hang 'em, little skins of sweet red wine; egad! enough to make a fellow turn vampire, as I said. Give me a little more sherry—thank you, ma'am. Any place near here where they sell ice?"
"Yes, sir, there's Mr. Candy's hice-store, in Love Lane, sir."
"You must arrange to get me a pound, or so, every day at twelve o'clock, broken up in lumps, like sugar, and keep it in a cold cellar; do you mind, ma'am?"
"Yes, sir, please."
"How old areyou, ma'am? Well,no, you need not mind—hardly a fair question; a steady woman—a lady who has seen the world—something of it, hey?" said he; "so haveI—I'm a steady old fellow, egad!—you must give me a latch-key, ma'am."
"Yes, sir."
"Some ten or twelve years will see us out; curious thing life, ma'am, eh? ha, ha, ha!—Sparkling cup, ma'am, while it lasts—sometimes; pity the flask has so few glasses, and is flat so soon; isn't it so, ma'am?"
"I never drank wine, sir, but once."
"No! where was that?"
"At Mr. Snelly's wedding, twenty years since."
"'Gad! you'd make a good Turk, ma'am—don't mistake me—it's only they drink no wine. You've found life an up-hill business, then, hey?"
Mrs. Rumble sighed profoundly, shook her head, and said,—
"I've 'ad my trials, sir."
"Ha, ha, ha! to be sure, why not? then you're a bittired, I dare say; what do you think of death?"
"I wish I was ready, sir."
"An ugly fellow, hey? I don't like the smell of him, ma'am."
"We has our hopes, sir."
"Oh! sure and certain hope—yes, the resurrection, hey?"
"Yes, sir, there's only one thing troubles me—them poor little children. I wouldn't care how soon I went if they was able to do for themselves."
"They do that very early in London—girls especially; and you're giving them such an excellent training—Sunday school—eh—and Church Catechism, I see. The righteous are never forsaken, my excellent mother used to tell me; and if the Catechism does not make little Miss what's-her-name righteous, I'm afraid the rosy little rogue has a spice of the devil in her."
"God forbid, sir."
"Amen, of course. I'm sure they're all right—I hope they are—for I'll whip 'em both; I give you fair warning, on my honour, I will, if they give me the least trouble."
"I'll be very careful, sir, and keep them out of the way," said the alarmed Sarah Rumble.
"Oh! I don't care aboutthat;let'em run about, as long as they're good; I've no objection in life to children—quite the contrary—plump little rogues—I like 'em—only, egad! if they're naughty, I'll turn 'em up, mind."
Miss Rumble looked at him with as much alarm as if the threat had been to herself.
He was grinning at her in return, and nodded once or twice sharply.
"Yes, ma'am, lollypops and sugar-candy when they're good; but, egad! when they're naughty, ma'am, you'll hear 'em squalling."
Miss Rumble made an alarmed courtesy.
"'Gad, I forgot how cold this d——d town is. I say, you'll keep a fire in my bed-room, please; lay on enough to carry me through the night, do you mind?"
"Yes, sir."
"And poke this fire up, and put some morewood, or coal, on it; I don't expect to be ever warm again—inthisworld, eh?—ha, ha, ha! I remember our gardener, when we were boys, telling me a story of a preacher in a hard frost, telling his congregation that hell was a terribly cold place, lest if he described what good fires they kept there they'd all have been wishing to get into it. Did you ever know any one, ma'am, of my name,Dingwell, before, eh? Where were you born?"
"London, sir, please."
"Ho! Canterbury wasourplace; we were great people, the Dingwells, there once. My father failed, though—fortune of war—and I've seen all the world since; 'gad, I've met with queer people, ma'am, and one of those chances brings me here now. If I had not met the oddest fish I ever set my eyes on, in the most out-o'-the-way-place on earth, I should not have had the happiness of occupying this charming apartment at this moment, or of making your acquaintance, or that of your plump little Cupid and Psyche, down stairs. London, I suppose, is pretty much what it always was, where any fellow with plenty of money may have plenty of fun. Lots of sin in London, ma'am, eh? Not quite so good as Vienna. But the needs and pleasures of all men, according to their degree, are wonderfullyprovided for; wherever money is there is a market—for the cabman's copper and the guinea of the gentleman he drives—everything for money, ma'am—bouquets, and smiles, and coffins, wooden or leaden, according to your relative fastidiousness. But things change very fast, ma'am. Look at this map; I should not know the town—a wilderness, egad! and no one to tell you where fun is to be found."
She gazed, rather frightened, at this leering, giggling old man, who stood with his shoulders against the chimney-piece, and his hands tumbling over his shillings in his pockets, and his sinister and weary face ever so little flushed with his sherry and his talk.
"Well, if you can give a poor devil a wrinkle of any sort—hey?—it will be a charity; but, egad! I'm as sleepy as the Homilies," and he yawned direfully. "Do, like an angel, go and see to my room, I can scarcely keep my eyes open."
From the next room she heard himhi-yeawingin long-drawn yawns, and talking in snatches to himself over the fire, and when she came back he took the candle and said,—
"Beaten, ma'am, fairly beaten to-night. Not quite what I was, though I'm good for something still; but an old fellow can't get on without his sleep."
Mr. Dingwell's extraordinary communicativeness would have quite charmed her, had it not been in a faint way racy of corruption, and followed with a mocking echo of insult, which she caught, but could not accurately interpret. The old rascal was irrepressibly garrulous; but he was too sleepy to talk much more, and looked ruefully worn out.
He took the bed-room candle with a great yawn, and staggering, I am bound to say only with sleep, he leaned for a moment against the doorway of his room, and said, in his grimmer vein,—
"You'll bring me a cup of coffee, mind, at eight o'clock—black, no milk, no sugar—and a bit of dry toast, as thin as a knife and as hard as a tile;doyou understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"And why the devil don't you say so? And, lest I should forget, Mr. Levi will be here to-morrow, at eleven, with another gentleman. Show them both up; and, I say, there are several things I'm particular about, and I'll put them on paper—egad! that's the best way—to-morrow, and I'll post it up in my room, like a firmaun, and you had better attend to them, that's all;" and holding up his candle, as he stood in the doorway, he gazed round the bed-room, and seemedsatisfied, and shut the door sharply in her face, without turning about, or perhaps intending that rudeness, as she was executing her valedictory courtesy.
Ateleven o'clock next morning, Mr. Dingwell was refreshed, and ready to receive his expected visitors. He had just finished a pipe as he heard their approaching steps upon the stairs, and Miss Sarah Rumble pushed open the door and permitted Mr. Levi and his friend to enter and announce themselves. Mr. Dingwell received them with a slight bow and a rather sarcastic smile.
Mr. Levi entered first, with his lazy smile showing his glittering fangs, and his fierce, cunning, prominent eyes swept the room, and rested on Mr. Dingwell. Putting down his hat on the middle of the narrow table, he stooped across, extending his lank arm and long hand toward the white-headed old man with the broad forehead and lean brown face, who happened to turn to the chimney-piece just then, to look for a paper, and so did not shake hands.
"And Mr. Larkin?" said Mr. Dingwell, with the same smile, as he turned about and saw that slim, bald, pink-eyed impersonation of Christianity overtopping the dark and glossy representative of the Mosaic dispensation.
"Sit down, pray—though—eh?—has my friend, Miss Rumble, left us chairs enough?" said Mr. Dingwell, looking from corner to corner.
"Quite ample; thanks, many thanks," answered Mr. Larkin, who chose, benignantly, to take this attention to himself. "Three chairs, yes, and three of us; pray, Mr. Dingwell, don't take any trouble."
"Oh! thank you; but I was not thinking of taking any trouble, only I should not like to be left without a chair. Miss Sarah Rumble, I dare say she's very virtuous, but she's not brilliant," he continued as he approached. "There, for instance, her pot-house habits! She leaves my old hat on the centre of the table!" and with a sudden sweep of the ebony stem of his long pipe, he knocked Mr. Levi's hat upon the floor, and kicked it into the far corner of the room.
"Da-a-am it; that'sh my hat!" said Mr. Levi, looking after it.
"So much the better forme," said Mr. Dingwell, with an agreeable smile and a nod.
"An error—quite a mistake," interposed Mr.Larkin, with officious politeness. "ShallIpick it up, Mr. Levi?"
"Leave it lay," said Mr. Levi, sulkily; "no use now. It's got its allowance, I expect."
"Gentlemen, you'll not detain me longer than is necessary, if you please, because I hate business, onprinciple, as a Jew does ham—I beg pardon Mr. Levi, I forgot for a moment—the greatest respect for your religion, but I do hate business as I hate an attorney—'Gad! there is my foot in it again: Mr. Larkin, no reflection, I assure you, on your excellent profession, which everyone respects. But life's made up of hours: they're precious, and I don't want to spoil 'em."
"A great trust, sir, a great trust, Mr. Dingwell, istime. Ah, sir, how little we make of it, with eternity yawning at our feet, and retribution before us!"
"Ourandus; you don't narrow it to the legal profession, Mr. Larkin?"
"I speak of time, generally, Mr. Dingwell, and of eternity and retribution as applicable to all professions," said Mr. Larkin, sadly.
"I don't follow you, sir. Here's a paper, gentlemen, on which I have noted exactly what I can prove."
"Can I have it, Mr. Dingwell?" said theattorney, whose dove-like eyes for a moment contracted with a hungry, rat-like look.
"No, I think,no," said Mr. Dingwell, withdrawing it from the long, red fingers extended to catch the paper; Mr. Levi's fingers, at a more modest distance, were also extended, and also disappointed; "anything I write myself I have a kind of feeling about it; I'd rather keep it to myself, or put it in the fire, than trouble the most artless Jew or religious attorney I know with the custody of it: so, if you just allow me, I'll read it. It's only half a dozen lines, and I don't care if you make a note of it, Mr. Larkin."
"Well," he resumed, after he had glanced through the paper, Mr. Larkin sitting expectantarrectis auribus, and with a pen in his fingers, "you may say that I, Mr. Dingwell, knew the late Honourable Arthur Verney, otherwise Hakim Frank, otherwise Hakim Giaour, otherwise Mamhoud Ali Ben-Nezir, for five years and two months, and upwards—three days, I think—immediately preceding his death; for the latter four years very intimately. That I frequently procured him small loans of money, and saw him, one way or another, nearly every day of my life: that I was with him nearly twice a day during his last illness: that I was present when he expired, and was one of the three persons who saw him buried:and that I could point out his grave, if it were thought desirable to send out persons acquainted with his appearance, to disinter and identify the body."
"No need of that, I think," said Mr. Larkin, looking up and twiddling his eye-glass on his finger.
He glanced at Levi, who was listening intensely, and almost awfully, and, reading no sign in his face, he added,—
"However, I see no harm in making the note."
So on went Mr. Dingwell, holding a pair of gold glasses over his nose.
"I can perfectly identify him as the Hon. Arthur Verney, having transacted business for him respecting an annuity which was paid him by his family; written letters for him when his hand was affected; and read his letters for him when he was ill, which latter letters, together with a voluminous correspondence found in his box, and now in my possession, I can identify also as having been inhis."
"I don't see any need, my dear Mr. Dingwell, of your mentioning your having written any letters for him; it has, in fact, no bearing that I can recognise upon the case. I should, in fact, apprehend complicating the case. You might find it difficult to specify, and we to produce, the particular letters referred to; so I should simply say youreadthem to him, at his desire, before he despatched them for England; that is, of course, assuming that you did so."
"Very good, sir; knock it out, and put that in; and I can prove that these letters, which can easily, I suppose, be identified by the writers of them in England, were in his possession, and that several of them I can recollect his having read to me on the day he received them. That's pretty nearly what strikes me—eh?"
"Yes, sir—certainly, Mr. Dingwell—most important; but surely he had a servant; had he not, my dear sir?—an attendant of some sort? they're to be had there for next to nothing, I think," hesitated Mr. Larkin.
"Certainly—so there was—yes; but he started for Egypt in a boat full of tiles, or onions, or something, a day or two after the Hakim was buried, and I'm afraid they'll find it rather hard to find him. I think he said Egypt, but I won't swear."
And Mr. Dingwell laughed, very much tickled, with intense sarcastic enjoyment; so much so that Mr. Larkin, though I have seldom before or since heard of his laughing,didsuddenly laugh a short, explosive laugh, as he looked down on the table, and immediately looked very grave and sad, andpinked up to the very summit of his narrow bald head; and coughing a little, he said,—
"Thank you, Mr. Dingwell; this will suffice very nicely for an outline, and I can consult with our adviser as to its particular sufficiency—is not that your impression, Mr. Levi?"
"You lawyer chaps undusta-ans that line of business best; I know no more about it than watch-making—only don't shleep over it, for it's costing us a da-a-am lot of money," said Mr. Levi, rising with a long yawn and a stretch, and emphasising it with a dismal oath; and shutting his great glaring eyes and shaking his head, as if he were being victimised at a pace which no capital could long stand.
"Certainly, Mr. Levi," said the attorney, "you quite take me with you there. We are all contributing, except, perhaps, our valued friend, Mr. Dingwell, our quota towards a very exhausting expense."
"Da-a-md exhausting," interposed Mr. Levi.
"Well, pray allow me my own superlative," said the attorney, with religious grandeur. "I do say it is very exhausting; though we are all, I hope,cheerfullycontributing——"
"Curse you! to be sure you are," said Mr. Dingwell, with an abrupt profanity that startled Mr. Larkin. "Because you all expect to makemoney by it; and I'm contributing my time, and trouble, and danger, egad! for precisely the same reason. And now, before you go—just a moment, if you please, as we are on the subject—who's Chancellor of the Exchequer here?"
"Who advances the necessary funds?" interpreted Mr. Larkin, with his politest smile.
"Yes," said the old man, with a sharp menacing nod. "Which of you two comes down, as you say, with the dust? Who pays the piper for this dance of yours, gentlemen?—the Christian or the Jew? I've a word for the gentleman who holds the purse—or, as we Christians would say, who carries the bag;" and he glanced from one to the other with a sniff, and another rather vicious wag of his head.
"I believe, sir, you may address us both asvoluntarycontributors towards a fund for carrying on, for thepresent, this business of the Honourable Kiffyn Fulke Verney, who will, of course, recoup us," said Mr. Larkin, cautiously.
He used to say sometimes to his conducting man, with a smile, sly and holy, up at the yellow letters of one of the tin deed-boxes on his shelves at the Lodge, after an adroit conversation, "I think it will puzzle him, rather, to make anassumpsitout ofthat."
"Well, you talk ofallowingme—as you termit—four pounds a week. I'll not take it," said Mr. Dingwell.
"My hye! That'sh liberal, shir, uncommon 'anshome, be Ga-a-ad!" exclaimed Mr. Levi, in a blessed mistake as to the nature of Mr. Dingwell's objection.
"I know, gentlemen, this business can't advance without me—to me it may be worth something; but you'll make it worth a great deal more to yourselves, and whatever else you may find me, you'll find me no fool; and I'll not take one piastre less than five-and-twenty pounds a week."
"Five-and-twenty pounsh!" howled Mr. Levi; and Mr. Larkin's small pink eyes opened wide at the prodigious idea.
"You gentlemen fancy you're to keep me here in this black-hole makingyourfortunes, and living on the wages of a clerk, egad! You shall do no such thing, I promise you; you shall pay me what I say. I'll see the town, sir, and I'll have a few guineas in my pocket, or I'll know the reason why. I didn't come ALL the way here for nothing—d—n you both!"
"Pray, sir, a moment," pleaded Mr. Larkin.
"Pray, sir, as much as you like; butpay, also, if you please. Upon my life, youshall! Fortune owes me something, and egad! I'll enjoy myself while I can."
"Of course, sir; quite reasonable—so you should; but, my dear Mr. Dingwell, five-and-twenty pounds!—we can hardly be expected, my dear sir, to see our way."
"'Gad, sir!Iseemine, and I'll go it," laughed Mr. Dingwell, with a most unpleasant glare in his eyes.
"On reflection, you will see, my dear Mr. Dingwell, the extreme inexpediency of anything in the least resembling afraycas" (Mr. Larkin so pronounced his French) "in your particular case. I should certainly, my dear sir, recommend a most cautious line."
"Cautious as the devil," seconded Mr. Levi.
"You think I'm afraid of my liabilities," croaked Mr. Dingwell, with a sudden flush across his forehead, and a spasm of his brows over his wild eyes, and then he laughed, and wagged his head.
"That's right—quite right," almost sighed Mr. Larkin—"do—do—praydo—justreflectfor only amoment—and you'llseeit."
"To be sure, Iseeit, andyoushall see it, too. Egad! I know something, sir, at my years. I know how to deal with screws, and bullies, and schemers, sir—and that is bygoing straight atthem—and I'll tell you what, sir, if you don't pay me the money I name, I'll make you regret it."
For a moment, Mr. Larkin, for one, did almost regret his share in this uncomfortable and highly "speculative" business. If this Mr. Dingwell chose to turn restive and extortionate, it would have been better it had never entered into his ingenious head, and he could already see in the Jew's eyes the sulky and ferocious expression that seemed to forebode defeat.
"If you don't treat me, as I say, with common fairness, I'll go straight to young Mr. Verney myself, and put you out of the baby-house altogether."
"Whatbabby-houshe?" demanded Mr. Levi, glowering, and hanging the corners of his great half-open mouth with a sullen ferocity.
"Your castle—in the air—your d—d plot, sir."
"If you mean you're going to turn stag," began the Jew.
"There—do—pray, Mr. Levi—you—youmistake," interposed Mr. Larkin, imploringly, who had heard tales of this Mr. Dingwell's mad temper.
"I say," continued Levi, "if you're going to split——"
"Split, sir!" cried Mr. Dingwell, with a malignant frown, and drawing his mouth together into a puckered ring, as he looked askance at the Jew. "What the devil do you mean bysplit, sir?'Gad! sir, I'd split your black head for you, you little Jew miscreant!"
Mr. Larkin saw with a qualm that the sinews of that evil face were quivering with an insane fury, and that even under its sun-darkened skin it had turned pale, while the old man's hand was instinctively extended towards the poker, of which he was thinking, and which was uncomfortably near.
"No, no,no—pray, gentlemen—Ientreat—onlythink," urged Mr. Larkin, seriously alarmed for the Queen's peace and his own precious character, and for the personal safety of his capitalist and his witness.
Mr. Larkin confronted the Jew, with his great hands upon Mr. Levi's shoulders, so as to prevent his advance; but that slender Hebrew, who was an accomplished sparrer, gave the godly attorney a jerk by the elbows which quite twirled him about, to his amazement and chagrin.
"'Andsh off, old chap," said the Jew, grimly, to Mr. Larkin, who had not endured such a liberty since he was at his cheap day-school, nearly forty years ago.
But Mr. Larkin interposed again, much alarmed, for behind him he thought he heard the clink of the fire-irons.
"He thinks he may say what he pleases," criedthe old man's voice furiously, with a kind of choking laugh.
"No, sir—no, Mr. Dingwell—I assure you—do, Mr. Levi—howcanyou mind him?" he added in an undertone, as he stood between.
"Idon'tmind him, Mr. Larkin: only I won't let no one draw it that sort. I won't stand a lick of a poker for no one; he shan't come that over me"—and concurrently with this the shrill voice of Mr. Dingwell was yelling—
"Because I'm—because I'm—I'm—every d—d little whipper-snapper—because they think I'm down, thewretches, I'm to submit to their insults!"
"Idon'twant to hurt him, Mr. Larkin; if I did, I'd give'm his tea in a mug this minute; but I don't, I say—only he shan't lift a poker tome."
"No one, my dear sir, has touched a poker; no one, Mr. Levi, ever dreamed of such a thing. Pray, my dear sir, my dear Mr. Dingwell, don't misconceive; we use slang phrases, now and then, without theleastmeaning or disrespect: it has become quite the tong. I assure you—it was only last week, at Nyworth Castle, where I had the honour to be received, Lady Mary Wrangham used the phraseyarn, for a long story."
"D—n you, can't you answer my question?"said Mr. Dingwell, more in his accustomed vein.
"Certainly, sir, we'll reply to it. Do, Mr. Levi,doleave the room; your presence at this moment only leads to excitement."
Levi, for a moment, pondered fiercely, and then nodded a sulky acquiescence.
"I shall overtake you in the court, Mr. Levi, if you can wait two or three minutes there."
The Jew nodded over his shoulder, and was gone.
"Mr. Dingwell, sir, I can't, I assure you. It's not in my power; it is in the hands of quite other people, on whom, ultimately, of course, these expenses will fall, to sanction the outlay by way of weekly allowance, which you suggest. It is true I am a contributor, but not exactly in cash; only in money's worth—advice, experience, and technical knowledge. But I will apply in the proper quarter, without delay. I wish, Mr. Dingwell, Iwerethe party; you and I would not, I venture to think, be long in settling it between us."
"No, to be sure, you're all such liberal fellows—it's always some one else that puts us under the screw," laughed Mr. Dingwell, discordantly, with his face still flushed, and his hand trembling visibly, "you never have the stock yourselves—not you,—there's always, Mr. Sheridan tells us, you know, in that capital play of his, a d——d unconscionable fellow in the background, and in Shakspeare's play,Shylock, you remember, he hasn't the money himself, but Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of his tribe, will furnish him. Hey! I suppose they gave the immortal Shakspeare a squeeze in his day; he understood 'em. But Shylock and Tubal are both dead and rotten long ago. It's a comfort you can't escape death, with all your cunning, d—n you."
But Mr. Larkin spoke peaceably to Mr. Dingwell. The expense, up to a certain time, would, of course, fall upon Mr. Kiffyn Verney; after that, however, Mr. Larkin and the Jew firm would feel it. But be it how it might, they could not afford to quarrel with Mr. Dingwell; and Mr. Dingwell was a man of a flighty and furious temper.