more about her?’
‘No.’
‘And you never followed her when she went away?’
‘Why should I distress her by doing that?’ said Tom Pinch. ‘Is it likely that she wanted my company? She came to hear the organ, not to see me; and would you have had me scare her from a place she seemed to grow quite fond of? Now, Heaven bless her!’ cried Tom, ‘to have given her but a minute’s pleasure every day, I would have gone on playing the organ at those times until I was an old man; quite contented if she sometimes thought of a poor fellow like me, as a part of the music; and more than recompensed if she ever mixed me up with anything she liked as well as she liked that!’
The new pupil was clearly very much amazed by Mr Pinch’s weakness, and would probably have told him so, and given him some good advice, but for their opportune arrival at Mr Pecksniff’s door; the front door this time, on account of the occasion being one of ceremony and rejoicing. The same man was in waiting for the horse who had been adjured by Mr Pinch in the morning not to yield to his rabid desire to start; and after delivering the animal into his charge, and beseeching Mr Chuzzlewit in a whisper never to reveal a syllable of what he had just told him in the fullness of his heart, Tom led the pupil in, for instant presentation.
Mr Pecksniff had clearly not expected them for hours to come; for he was surrounded by open books, and was glancing from volume to volume, with a black lead-pencil in his mouth, and a pair of compasses in his hand, at a vast number of mathematical diagrams, of such extraordinary shapes that they looked like designs for fireworks. Neither had Miss Charity expected them, for she was busied, with a capacious wicker basket before her, in making impracticable nightcaps for the poor. Neither had Miss Mercy expected them, for she was sitting upon her stool, tying on the – oh good gracious! – the petticoat of a large doll that she was dressing for a neighbour’s child – really, quite a grown-up doll, which made it more confusing – and had its little bonnet dangling by the ribbon from one of her fair curls, to which she had fastened it lest it should be lost or sat upon. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to conceive a family so thoroughly taken by surprise as the Pecksniffs were, on this occasion.
Bless my life!’ said Mr Pecksniff, looking up, and gradually exchanging his abstracted face for one of joyful recognition. ‘Here already! Martin, my dear boy, I am delighted to welcome you to my poor house!’
With this kind greeting, Mr Pecksniff fairly took him to his arms, and patted him several times upon the back with his right hand the while, as if to express that his feelings during the embrace were too much for utterance.
‘But here,’ he said, recovering, ‘are my daughters, Martin; my two only children, whom (if you ever saw them) you have not beheld – ah, these sad family divisions! – since you were infants together. Nay, my dears, why blush at being detected in your everyday pursuits? We had prepared to give you the reception of a visitor, Martin, in our little room of state,’ said Mr Pecksniff, smiling, ‘but I like this better, I like this better!’
Oh blessed star of Innocence, wherever you may be, how did you glitter in your home of ether, when the two Miss Pecksniffs put forth each her lily hand, and gave the same, with mantling cheeks, to Martin! How did you twinkle, as if fluttering with sympathy, when Mercy, reminded of the bonnet in her hair, hid her fair face and turned her head aside; the while her gentle sister plucked it out, and smote her with a sister’s soft reproof, upon her buxom shoulder!
‘And how,’ said Mr Pecksniff, turning round after the contemplation of these passages, and taking Mr Pinch in a friendly manner by the elbow, ‘how has our friend used you, Martin?’
‘Very well indeed, sir. We are on the best terms, I assure you.’
‘Old Tom Pinch!’ said Mr Pecksniff, looking on him with affectionate sadness. ‘Ah! It seems but yesterday that Thomas was a boy fresh from a scholastic course. Yet years have passed, I think, since Thomas Pinch and I first walked the world together!’
Mr Pinch could say nothing. He was too much moved. But he pressed his master’s hand, and tried to thank him.
‘And Thomas Pinch and I,’ said Mr Pecksniff, in a deeper voice, ‘will walk it yet, in mutual faithfulness and friendship! And if it comes to pass that either of us be run over in any of those busy crossings which divide the streets of life, the other will convey him to the hospital in Hope, and sit beside his bed in Bounty!’
‘Well, well, well!’ he added in a happier tone, as he shook Mr Pinch’s elbow hard. ‘No more of this! Martin, my dear friend, that you may be at home within these walls, let me show you how we live, and where. Come!’
With that he took up a lighted candle, and, attended by his young relative, prepared to leave the room. At the door, he stopped.
‘You’ll bear us company, Tom Pinch?’
Aye, cheerfully, though it had been to death, would Tom have followed him; glad to lay down his life for such a man!
‘This,’ said Mr Pecksniff, opening the door of an opposite parlour, ‘is the little room of state, I mentioned to you. My girls have pride in it, Martin! This,’ opening another door, ‘is the little chamber in which my works (slight things at best) have been concocted. Portrait of myself by Spiller. Bust by Spoker. The latter is considered a good likeness. I seem to recognize something about the left-hand corner of the nose, myself.’
Martin thought it was very like, but scarcely intellectual enough. Mr Pecksniff observed that the same fault had been found with it before. It was remarkable it should have struck his young relation too. He was glad to see he had an eye for art.
‘Various books you observe,’ said Mr Pecksniff, waving his hand towards the wall, ‘connected with our pursuit. I have scribbled myself, but have not yet published. Be careful how you come upstairs. This,’ opening another door, ‘is my chamber. I read here when the family suppose I have retired to rest. Sometimes I injure my health rather more than I can quite justify to myself, by doing so; but art is long and time is short. Every facility you see for jotting down crude notions, even here.’
These latter words were explained by his pointing to a small round table on which were a lamp, divers sheets of paper, a piece of India rubber, and a case of instruments; all put ready, in case an architectural idea should come into Mr Pecksniff’s head in the night; in which event he would instantly leap out of bed, and fix it for ever.
Mr Pecksniff opened another door on the same floor, and shut it again, all at once, as if it were a Blue Chamber. But before he had well done so, he looked smilingly round, and said, ‘Why not?’
Martin couldn’t say why not, because he didn’t know anything at all about it. So Mr Pecksniff answered himself, by throwing open the door, and saying:
‘My daughters’ room. A poor first-floor to us, but a bower to them. Very neat. Very airy. Plants you observe; hyacinths; books again; birds.’ These birds, by the bye, comprised, in all, one staggering old sparrow without a tail, which had been borrowed expressly from the kitchen. ‘Such trifles as girls love are here. Nothing more. Those who seek heartless splendour, would seek here in vain.’
With that he led them to the floor above.
‘This,’ said Mr Pecksniff, throwing wide the door of the memorable two-pair front; ‘is a room where some talent has been developed I believe. This is a room in which an idea for a steeple occurred to me that I may one day give to the world. We work here, my dear Martin. Some architects have been bred in this room; a few, I think, Mr Pinch?’
Tom fully assented; and, what is more, fully believed it.
‘You
