colloquy—said, raising his voice a little:
“I tell you again, it was badly planned. Why not have kept him
here among the rest, and made a sneaking, snivelling pick-pocket
of him at once?”
“Only hear him!” exclaimed the Jew, shrugging his shoulders.
“Why, do you mean to say you couldn’t have done it, if you had
chosen?” demanded Monks sternly. “Haven’t you done it, with
other boys, scores of times? If you had had patience for a
twelvemonth, at most, couldn’t you have got him convicted, and
sent safely out of the kingdom perhaps for life?”
“Whose turn would that have served, my dear?” inquired the
Jew humbly.
“Mine,” replied Monks.
“But not mine,” said the Jew submissively. “He might have
become of use to me. When there are two parties to a bargain, it is
only reasonable that the interests of both should be consulted; is it
not, my good friend?”
“What then?” demanded Monks.
“I saw it was not easy to train him to the business,” replied the
Jew; “he was not like the other boys in the same circumstances.”
“Curse him, no!” muttered the man, “or he would have been a
thief, long ago.”
“I had no hold upon him to make him worse,” pursued the Jew,
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anxiously watching the countenance of his companion. “His hand
was not in. I had nothing to frighten him with; which we always
must have in the beginning or we labour in vain. What could I do?
Send him out with the Dodger and Charley? We had enough of
that, at first, my dear; I trembled for us all.”
“That was not my doing,” observed Monks.
“No, no, my dear!” renewed the Jew. “And I don’t quarrel with
it now; because, if it had never happened, you might never have
clapped eyes upon the boy to notice him, and so led to the
discovery that it was him you were looking for. Well! I got him
back for you by means of the girl; and then she begins to favour
him.”
“Throttle the girl!” said Monks impatiently.
“Why, we can’t afford to do that just now, my dear,” replied the
Jew, smiling; “and, besides, that sort of thing is not in our way; or,
one of these days, I might be glad to have it done. I know what
these girls are, Monks, well. As soon as the boy begins to harden,
she’ll care no more for him, than for a block of wood. You want
him made a thief. If he is alive, I can make him one from this time;
and if—if—” said the Jew, drawing nearer to the other—“it’s not
likely, mind—but if the worst comes to the worst, and he is dead—
”
“It’s no fault of mine if he is!” interposed the other man, with a
look of terror, and clasping the Jew’s arm with trembling hands.
“Mind that, Fagin! I had no hand in it. Anything but his death, I
told you from the first. I won’t shed blood; it’s always found out,
and haunts a man besides. If they shot him dead, I was not the
cause; do you hear me? Fire this infernal den! What’s that?”
“What?” cried the Jew, grasping the coward round the body,
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with both arms, as he sprang to his feet. “Where?”
“Yonder!” replied the man, glaring at the opposite wall. “The
shadow! I saw the shadow of a woman, in a cloak and bonnet, pass
along the wainscot like a breath!”
The Jew released his hold, and they rushed tumultuously from
the room. The candle, wasted by the draught, was standing where
it had been placed. It showed them only the empty staircase, and
their own white faces. They listened intently; but a profound
silence reigned throughout the house.
“It’s your fancy,” said the Jew, taking up the light and turning
to his companion.
“I’ll swear I saw it!” replied Monks, trembling. “It was bending
forward when I saw it first; and when I spoke, it darted away.”
The Jew glanced contemptuously at the pale face of his
associate, and, telling him he could follow, if he pleased, ascended
the stairs. They looked into all the rooms; they were cold, bare and
empty. They descended into the passage, and thence into the
cellars below. The green damp hung upon the low walls; the tracks
of the snail and slug glistened in the light of the candle; but all was
still as death.
“What do you think now?” said the Jew, there’s not a creature
in the house except Toby and the boys; and they’re safe enough.
See here!”
As a proof of the fact, the Jew drew forth two keys from his
pocket; and explained, that when he first went downstairs, he had
locked them in, to prevent any intrusion on the conference.
This accumulated testimony effectually staggered Mr. Monks.
His protestations had gradually become less and less vehement as
they proceeded in their search without making any discovery; and,
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now, he gave vent to several very grim laughs, and confessed it
could only have been his excited imagination. He declined any
renewal of the conversation, however, for that night; suddenly
remembering that it was past one o’clock. And so the amiable
couple parted.
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Chapter 27
Atones For The Unpoliteness Of A Former Chapter,
Which Deserted A Lady Most Unceremoniously.
As it would be by no means seemly in a humble author to
keep so mighty a personage as a beadle waiting, with his
back to the fire, and the skirts of his coat gathered up
under his arms, until such time as it might suit his pleasure to
relieve him; and as it would still less become his station, or his
gallantry, to involve in the same neglect a lady on whom that
beadle had looked with an eye of tenderness and affection, and in
whose ear he had whispered sweet words, which, coming from
such a quarter, might well thrill the bosom of maid or matron of
whatsoever degree; the historian whose pen traces these words—
trusting that he knows his place, and that he entertains a
becoming reverence for those upon earth to whom high and
important authority is delegated—hastens to pay them that
respect which their position demands, and to treat them with all
that duteous ceremony which their exalted rank, and (by
consequence) great virtues, imperatively claim at his hands.
Towards this end, indeed, he had purposed to introduce, in this
place, a dissertation touching the divine right of beadles, and
elusidative of the position, that a beadle can do no wrong; which
could not fail to have been both pleasurable and profitable to the
right-minded reader, but which he is unfortunately compelled, by
want of time and space, to postpone to some more convenient and
fitting opportunity; on the arrival of which, he will be prepared to
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show, that a beadle properly constituted—that is to say, a
parochial beadle, attached to a parochial workhouse, and
attending in his official capacity the parochial church—is, in right
and virtue of his office, possessed of all the excellences and best
qualities of humanity; and that to none of those excellences, can
mere companies’ beadles, or court-of-law beadles, or even chapel-
of-ease beadles (save the last, and they in a very lowly and inferior
degree), lay the remotest sustainable claim.
Mr. Bumble had recounted the teaspoons, reweighed the sugar-
tongs, made a closer inspection of the milk-pot, and ascertained to
a nicety the exact condition of the furniture, down to the very
horse-hair seats of the chairs; and had repeated each process full
half a dozen times, before he began to think that it was time for
Mrs. Corney to return. Thinking begets thinking; and, as there
were no sounds of Mrs. Corney’s approach, it occurred to Mr.
Bumble that it would be an innocent and virtuous way of spending
the time, if he were further to allay his curiosity by a cursory
glance at the interior of Mrs. Corney’s chest of drawers.
Having listened at the keyhole, to assure himself that nobody
was approaching the chamber, Mr. Bumble beginning at the
bottom, proceeded to make himself acquainted with the contents
of the three long drawers; which, being filled with various
garments of good fashion and texture, carefully preserved
between two layers of old newspapers, speckled with dried
lavender, seemed to yield him exceeding satisfaction. Arriving, in
course of time, at the right-hand corner drawer (in which was a
key), and beholding therein a small padlocked box, which, being
shaken, gave forth a pleasant sound, as of the chinking of coin, Mr.
Bumble returned with a stately walk to the fireplace, and,
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resuming his old attitude, said, with a grave and determined air,
“I’ll do it!” He followed up this remarkable declaration, by shaking
his head in a waggish manner for ten minutes, as though he were
remonstrating with himself for being such a pleasant dog; and
then he took a view of his legs in profile, with much seeming
pleasure and interest.
He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey, when Mrs.
Corney, hurrying into the room, threw herself, in a breathless
state, on a chair by the fireside, and covering her eyes with one
hand, placed the other over her heart, and gasped for breath.
“Mrs. Corney,” said Mr. Bumble, stooping over the matron,
“what is this, ma’am? Has anything happened, ma’am? Pray
answer me; I’m on—on—” Mr. Bumble, in his alarm, could not
immediately think of the word “tenterhooks,” so he said “broken
bottles.”
“Oh, Mr. Bumble!” cried the lady, “I have been so dreadfully
put out!”
“Put out, ma’am!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble; “who has dared to—
I know!” said Mr. Bumble, checking himself, with native majesty,
“this is them wicious paupers!”
“It’s dreadful to think of!” said the lady, shuddering.
“Then don’t think of it, ma’am,” rejoined Mr. Bumble.
“I can’t help it,” whimpered the lady.
“Then take something, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble soothingly. “A
little of the wine?”
“Not for the world!” replied Mrs. Corney. “I couldn’t—oh! The
top shelf in the right-hand corner—oh!” Uttering these words, the
good lady pointed, distractedly, to the cupboard, and underwent a
convulsion from internal spasms. Mr. Bumble rushed to the closet;
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and, snatching a pint green glass bottle from the shelf thus
incoherently indicated, filled a tea-cup with its contents, and held
it to the lady’s lips.
“I’m better now,” said Mrs. Corney, falling back, after drinking
half of it.
Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling in
thankfulness; and, bringing them down again to the brim of the
cup, lifted it to his nose.
“Peppermint,” exclaimed Mrs. Corney, in a faint voice, smiling
gently on the beadle as she spoke. “Try it! There’s a little—a little
something else in it.”
Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look; smacked
his lips; took another taste; and put the cup down empty.
“It’s very comforting,” said Mrs. Corney.
“Very much so indeed, ma’am,” said the beadle. As he spoke, he
drew a chair beside the matron, and tenderly inquired what had
happened to distress her.
“Nothing,” replied Mrs. Corney. “I am a foolish, excitable, weak
creetur.”
“Not weak, ma’am,” retorted Mr. Bumble, drawing his chair a
little closer. “Are you a weak creetur, Mrs. Corney?”
“We are all weak creeturs,” said Mrs. Corney, laying down a
general principle.
“So we are,” said the beadle.
Nothing was said, on either side, for a minute or two
afterwards. By the expiration of that time, Mr. Bumble had
illustrated the position by removing his left arm from the back of
Mrs. Corney’s chair, where it had previously rested, to Mrs.
Corney’s apron string, round which it gradually became entwined.
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“We are all weak creeturs,” said Mr. Bumble.
Mrs. Corney sighed.
“Don’t sigh, Mrs. Corney,” said Mr. Bumble.
“I can’t help it,” said Mrs. Corney. And she sighed again.
“This is a very comfortable room, ma’am,” said Mr. Bumble,
looking round. “Another room, and this, ma’am, would be a
complete thing.”
“It would be too much for one,” murmured the lady.
“But not for two, ma’am,” replied Mr. Bumble, in soft accents.
“Eh, Mrs. Corney?”
Mrs. Corney drooped her head when the beadle said this; the
beadle drooped his, to get a view of Mrs. Corney’s face. Mrs.
Corney, with great propriety, turned her head away, and released
her hand to get at her pocket-handkerchief; but insensibly
replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble.
“The Board allow you coals, don’t they, Mrs. Corney?” inquired
the beadle, affectionately pressing her hand.
“And candles,” replied Mrs. Corney, slightly returning the
pressure.
“Coals, candle, and house-rent free,” said Mr. Bumble. “Oh,
Mrs. Corney, what an angel you are!”
The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sank
into Mr. Bumble’s arms; and that gentleman in his agitation,
imprinted a passionate kiss upon her chaste nose.
“Such porochial perfection!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble
rapturously. “You know that Mr. Slout is worse tonight, my
fascinator?”
“Yes,” replied Mrs. Corney bashfully.
“He can’t live a week, the doctor says,” pursued Mr. Bumble.
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“He is the master of this establishment; his death will cause a
wacancy; that wacancy must be filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a
prospect this opens! What a opportunity for a jining of hearts and
housekeepings!”
Mrs. Corney sobbed.
“The little word?” said Mr. Bumble, bending over the bashful
beauty. “The one little, little, little word, my blessed Corney?”
“Ye—ye—yes!” sighed out the matron.
“One more,” pursued the beadle; “compose your darling
feelings for only one more. When is it to come off?” Mrs. Corney
twice essayed to speak: and twice failed. At length summoning up
courage, she threw her arms round Mr. Bumble’s neck, and said, it
might be as soon as ever he pleased, and that he was “a irresistible
duck.”
Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the
contract was solemnly ratified in another tea-cupful of the
peppermint mixture; which was rendered the more necessary, by
the flutter and agitation of the lady’s spirits. While it was being
disposed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble with the old woman’s
decease.
“Very good,” said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint; “I’ll
call at Sowerberry’s as I go home, and tell him to send tomorrow
morning. Was it that as frightened you, love?”
“It wasn’t anything particular, dear,” said the lady evasively.
“It must have been something, love,” urged Mr. Bumble.
“Won’t you tell your own B.?”
“Not now,” rejoined the lady; “one of these days. After we’re
married, dear.”
“After we’re married!” exclaimed Mr. Bumble. “It wasn’t any
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impudence from any of them male paupers as—”
“No, no, love!” interposed the lady hastily.
“If I thought it was,” continued Mr. Bumble; “if I thought as
any of ’em dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely
countenance—”
“They wouldn’t have dared to do it, love,” responded the lady.
