Dombey and Son, Charles Dickens [top ten ebook reader .TXT] 📗

just arrived at Leamington, and just introduced to the Major, showed the Major his whole double range of teeth, and trusted he might take the liberty of thanking him with all his heart for having effected so great an Improvement in Mr Dombey’s looks and spirits.

‘By Gad, Sir,’ said the Major, in reply, ‘there are no thanks due to me, for it’s a give and take affair. A great creature like our friend Dombey, Sir,’ said the Major, lowering his voice, but not lowering it so much as to render it inaudible to that gentleman, ‘cannot help improving and exalting his friends. He strengthens and invigorates a man, Sir, does Dombey, in his moral nature.’

Mr Carker snapped at the expression. In his moral nature. Exactly. The very words he had been on the point of suggesting.

‘But when my friend Dombey, Sir,’ added the Major, ‘talks to you of Major Bagstock, I must crave leave to set him and you right. He means plain Joe, Sir—Joey B.—Josh. Bagstock—Joseph—rough and tough Old J., Sir. At your service.’

Mr Carker’s excessively friendly inclinations towards the Major, and Mr Carker’s admiration of his roughness, toughness, and plainness, gleamed out of every tooth in Mr Carker’s head.

‘And now, Sir,’ said the Major, ‘you and Dombey have the devil’s own amount of business to talk over.’

‘By no means, Major,’ observed Mr Dombey.

‘Dombey,’ said the Major, defiantly, ‘I know better; a man of your mark—the Colossus of commerce—is not to be interrupted. Your moments are precious. We shall meet at dinner-time. In the interval, old Joseph will be scarce. The dinner-hour is a sharp seven, Mr Carker.’

With that, the Major, greatly swollen as to his face, withdrew; but immediately putting in his head at the door again, said:

‘I beg your pardon. Dombey, have you any message to ‘em?’

Mr Dombey in some embarrassment, and not without a glance at the courteous keeper of his business confidence, entrusted the Major with his compliments.

‘By the Lord, Sir,’ said the Major, ‘you must make it something warmer than that, or old Joe will be far from welcome.’

‘Regards then, if you will, Major,’ returned Mr Dombey.

‘Damme, Sir,’ said the Major, shaking his shoulders and his great cheeks jocularly: ‘make it something warmer than that.’

‘What you please, then, Major,’ observed Mr Dombey.

‘Our friend is sly, Sir, sly, Sir, de-vilish sly,’ said the Major, staring round the door at Carker. ‘So is Bagstock.’ But stopping in the midst of a chuckle, and drawing himself up to his full height, the Major solemnly exclaimed, as he struck himself on the chest, ‘Dombey! I envy your feelings. God bless you!’ and withdrew.

‘You must have found the gentleman a great resource,’ said Carker, following him with his teeth.

‘Very great indeed,’ said Mr Dombey.

‘He has friends here, no doubt,’ pursued Carker. ‘I perceive, from what he has said, that you go into society here. Do you know,’ smiling horribly, ‘I am so very glad that you go into society!’

Mr Dombey acknowledged this display of interest on the part of his second in command, by twirling his watch-chain, and slightly moving his head.

‘You were formed for society,’ said Carker. ‘Of all the men I know, you are the best adapted, by nature and by position, for society. Do you know I have been frequently amazed that you should have held it at arm’s length so long!’

‘I have had my reasons, Carker. I have been alone, and indifferent to it. But you have great social qualifications yourself, and are the more likely to have been surprised.’

‘Oh! I!’ returned the other, with ready self-disparagement. ‘It’s quite another matter in the case of a man like me. I don’t come into comparison with you.’

Mr Dombey put his hand to his neckcloth, settled his chin in it, coughed, and stood looking at his faithful friend and servant for a few moments in silence.

‘I shall have the pleasure, Carker,’ said Mr Dombey at length: making as if he swallowed something a little too large for his throat: ‘to present you to my—to the Major’s friends. Highly agreeable people.’

‘Ladies among them, I presume?’ insinuated the smooth Manager.

‘They are all—that is to say, they are both—ladies,’ replied Mr Dombey.

‘Only two?’ smiled Carker.

‘They are only two. I have confined my visits to their residence, and have made no other acquaintance here.’

‘Sisters, perhaps?’ quoth Carker.

‘Mother and daughter,’ replied Mr Dombey.

As Mr Dombey dropped his eyes, and adjusted his neckcloth again, the smiling face of Mr Carker the Manager became in a moment, and without any stage of transition, transformed into a most intent and frowning face, scanning his closely, and with an ugly sneer. As Mr Dombey raised his eyes, it changed back, no less quickly, to its old expression, and showed him every gum of which it stood possessed.

‘You are very kind,’ said Carker, ‘I shall be delighted to know them. Speaking of daughters, I have seen Miss Dombey.’

There was a sudden rush of blood to Mr Dombey’s face.

‘I took the liberty of waiting on her,’ said Carker, ‘to inquire if she could charge me with any little commission. I am not so fortunate as to be the bearer of any but her—but her dear love.’

Wolf’s face that it was then, with even the hot tongue revealing itself through the stretched mouth, as the eyes encountered Mr Dombey’s!

‘What business intelligence is there?’ inquired the latter gentleman, after a silence, during which Mr Carker had produced some memoranda and other papers.

‘There is very little,’ returned Carker. ‘Upon the whole we have not had our usual good fortune of late, but that is of little moment to you. At Lloyd’s, they give up the Son and Heir for lost. Well, she was insured, from her keel to her masthead.’

‘Carker,’ said Mr Dombey, taking a chair near him, ‘I cannot say that young man, Gay, ever impressed me favourably—’

‘Nor me,’ interposed the Manager.

‘—But I wish,’ said Mr Dombey, without heeding the interruption, ‘he had never gone on board that ship. I wish he had never been sent out.

‘It is a pity you didn’t say so, in good time, is it not?’ retorted Carker, coolly. ‘However, I think it’s all for the best. I really, think it’s all for the best. Did I mention that there was something like a little confidence between Miss Dombey and myself?’

‘No,’ said Mr Dombey, sternly.

‘I have no doubt,’ returned Mr Carker, after an impressive pause, ‘that wherever Gay is, he is much better where he is, than at home here. If I were, or could be, in your place, I should be satisfied of that. I am quite satisfied of it myself. Miss Dombey is confiding and young—perhaps hardly proud enough, for your daughter—if she have a fault. Not that that is much though, I am sure. Will you check these balances with me?’

Mr Dombey leaned back in his chair, instead of bending over the papers that were laid before him, and looked the Manager steadily in the face. The Manager, with his eyelids slightly raised, affected to be glancing at his figures, and to await the leisure of his principal. He showed that he affected this, as if from great delicacy, and with a design to spare Mr Dombey’s feelings; and the latter, as he looked at him, was cognizant of his intended consideration, and felt that but for it, this confidential Carker would have said a great deal more, which he, Mr Dombey, was too proud to ask for. It was his way in business, often. Little by little, Mr Dombey’s gaze relaxed, and his attention became diverted to the papers before him; but while busy with the occupation they afforded him, he frequently stopped, and looked at Mr Carker again. Whenever he did so, Mr Carker was demonstrative, as before, in his delicacy, and impressed it on his great chief more and more.

While they were thus engaged; and under the skilful culture of the Manager, angry thoughts in reference to poor Florence brooded and bred in Mr Dombey’s breast, usurping the place of the cold dislike that generally reigned there; Major Bagstock, much admired by the old ladies of Leamington, and followed by the Native, carrying the usual amount of light baggage, straddled along the shady side of the way, to make a morning call on Mrs Skewton. It being midday when the Major reached the bower of Cleopatra, he had the good fortune to find his Princess on her usual sofa, languishing over a cup of coffee, with the room so darkened and shaded for her more luxurious repose, that Withers, who was in attendance on her, loomed like a phantom page.

‘What insupportable creature is this, coming in?’ said Mrs Skewton, ‘I cannot hear it. Go away, whoever you are!’

‘You have not the heart to banish J. B., Ma’am!’ said the Major halting midway, to remonstrate, with his cane over his shoulder.

‘Oh it’s you, is it? On second thoughts, you may enter,’ observed Cleopatra.

The Major entered accordingly, and advancing to the sofa pressed her charming hand to his lips.

‘Sit down,’ said Cleopatra, listlessly waving her fan, ‘a long way off. Don’t come too near me, for I am frightfully faint and sensitive this morning, and you smell of the Sun. You are absolutely tropical.’

‘By George, Ma’am,’ said the Major, ‘the time has been when Joseph Bagstock has been grilled and blistered by the Sun; then time was, when he was forced, Ma’am, into such full blow, by high hothouse heat in the West Indies, that he was known as the Flower. A man never heard of Bagstock, Ma’am, in those days; he heard of the Flower—the Flower of Ours. The Flower may have faded, more or less, Ma’am,’ observed the Major, dropping into a much nearer chair than had been indicated by his cruel Divinity, ‘but it is a tough plant yet, and constant as the evergreen.’

Here the Major, under cover of the dark room, shut up one eye, rolled his head like a Harlequin, and, in his great self-satisfaction, perhaps went nearer to the confines of apoplexy than he had ever gone before.

‘Where is Mrs Granger?’ inquired Cleopatra of her page.

Withers believed she was in her own room.

‘Very well,’ said Mrs Skewton. ‘Go away, and shut the door. I am engaged.’

As Withers disappeared, Mrs Skewton turned her head languidly towards the Major, without otherwise moving, and asked him how his friend was.

‘Dombey, Ma’am,’ returned the Major, with a facetious gurgling in his throat, ‘is as well as a man in his condition can be. His condition is a desperate one, Ma’am. He is touched, is Dombey! Touched!’ cried the Major. ‘He is bayonetted through the body.’

Cleopatra cast a sharp look at the Major, that contrasted forcibly with the affected drawl in which she presently said:

‘Major Bagstock, although I know but little of the world,—nor can I really regret my experience, for I fear it is a false place, full of withering conventionalities: where Nature is but little regarded, and where the music of the heart, and the gushing of the soul, and all that sort of thing, which is so truly poetical, is seldom heard,—I cannot misunderstand your meaning. There is an allusion to Edith—to my extremely dear child,’ said Mrs Skewton, tracing the outline of her eyebrows with her forefinger, ‘in your words, to which the tenderest of chords vibrates excessively.’

‘Bluntness, Ma’am,’ returned the Major, ‘has ever been the characteristic of the Bagstock breed. You are right. Joe admits it.’

‘And that allusion,’ pursued Cleopatra, ‘would involve one of the most—if not positively the most—touching, and thrilling, and sacred emotions of which our sadly-fallen nature is susceptible, I conceive.’

The Major laid his hand upon his lips, and wafted a kiss to Cleopatra, as if to identify the emotion in question.

‘I feel that I am weak. I feel that I am wanting in that energy, which should sustain a Mama: not to say a parent: on such a subject,’ said Mrs Skewton, trimming her lips with the laced edge of her pocket-handkerchief; ‘but I can hardly approach a topic so excessively momentous