1. CHAPTER THE FIFTH.
WHETHER Mr. Quilp took any sleep by snatches of a few winks at a
time, or whether he sat with his eyes wide open all night long,
certain it is that he kept his cigar alight, and kindled every fresh one
from the ashes of that which was nearly consumed, without requiring
the assistance of a candle. Nor did the striking of the clocks, hour
after hour, appear to inspire him with any sense of drowsiness or any
natural desire to go to rest, but rather to increase his wakefulness,
which he showed, at every such indication of the progress of the
night, by a suppressed cackling in his throat, and a motion of his
shoulders, like one who laughs heartily but the same time slyly and
by stealth.
At length the day broke, and poor Mrs. Quilp, shivering with cold of
early morning and harassed by fatigue and want of sleep, was
discovered sitting patiently on her chair, raising her eyes at intervals
in mute appeal to the compassion and clemency of her lord, and
gently reminding him by an occasion cough that she was still
unpardoned and that her penance had been of long duration. But her
dwarfish spouse still smoked his cigar and drank his rum without
heeding her; and it was not until the sun had some time risen, and
the activity and noise of city day were rife in the street, that he
deigned to recognize her presence by any word or sign. He might not
have done so even then, but for certain impatient tapping at the door
he seemed to denote that some pretty hard knuckles were actively
engaged upon the other side.
“Why dear me!” he said looking round with a malicious
grin, “it's
day. Open the door, sweet Mrs. Quilp!”
His obedient wife withdrew the bolt, and her lady mother entered.
Now, Mrs. Jiniwin bounced into the room with great impetuosity;
for, supposing her son-in-law to be still a-bed, she had come to
relieve her feelings by pronouncing a
strong opinion upon his general
conduct and character. Seeing that he was up and dressed, and that
the room appeared to have been occupied ever since she quitted it on
the previous evening, she stopped short, in some embarrassment.
Nothing escaped the hawk's eye of the ugly little man, who,
perfectly understanding what passed in the old lady's mind, turned
uglier still in the fulness of his satisfaction, and bade her good
morning, with a leer or triumph.
“Why, Betsy,” said the old woman, “you haven't been—you don't
mean to say you've been a—”
“Sitting up all night?” said Quilp, supplying the conclusion of the
sentence. “Yes she has!”
“All night?” cried Mrs. Jiniwin.
“Ay, all night. Is the dear old lady deaf?” said Quilp, with a smile
of
which a frown was part. “Who says man and wife are bad company?
Ha ha! The time has flown.”
“You're a brute!” exclaimed Mrs. Jiniwin.
“Come come,” said Quilp, wilfully misunderstanding her, of course,
“you mustn't call her names. She's married now, you know. And
though she did beguile the time and keep me from my bed, you must
not be so tenderly careful of me as to be out of humour with her.
Bless you for a dear old lady. Here's to your health!”
“I am much obliged to you,” returned the old woman, testifying by a
certain restlessness in her hands a vehement desire to shake her
matronly fist at her son-in-law. “Oh! I'm very much obliged to
you!”
“Grateful soul!” cried the dwarf. “Mrs.
Quilp.”
“Yes, Quilp,” said the timid sufferer.
“Help your mother to get breakfast, Mrs. Quilp. I am going to the
wharf this morning—the earlier the better, so be quick.”
Mrs. Jiniwin made a faint demonstration of rebellion by sitting down
in a chair near the door and folding her arms as if in a resolute
determination to do nothing. But a few whispered words from her
daughter, and a kind inquiry from her son-in-law whether she felt
faint, with a hint that there was abundance of cold water in the next
apartment, routed these symptoms effectually, and she applied
herself to the prescribed preparations with sullen diligence.
While they were in progress, Mr. Quilp withdrew to the adjoining
room, and, turning back his coat-collar, proceeded to smear his
countenance with a damp towel of very unwholesome appearance,
which made his complexion rather more cloudy than it was before.
But, while he was thus engaged, his caution and inquisitiveness did
not forsake him, for with a face as sharp and cunning as ever, he
often stopped, even in this short process, and stood listening for any
conversation in the next room, of which he might be the theme.
“Ah!” he said after a short effort of attention, “it was not the
towel
over my ears, I thought it wasn't. I'm a little hunchy villain and a
monster, am I, Mrs. Jiniwin? Oh!”
The pleasure of this discovery called up the old doglike smile in
full
force. When he had quite done with it, he shook himself in a very
doglike manner, and rejoined the ladies.
Mr. Quilp now walked up to front of a looking-glass, and was
standing there putting on his neckerchief, when Mrs. Jiniwin
happening to be behind him, could not resist the inclination she felt
to shake her fist at her tyrant son-in-law. It was the gesture of an
instant, but as she did so and accompanied the action with a
menacing look, she met his eye in the glass, catching her in the very
act. The same glance at the mirror conveyed to her the reflection of a
horribly grotesque and distorted face with the tongue lolling out; and
the next instant the dwarf, turning about with a perfectly bland and
placid look, inquired in a tone of great affection.
“How are you now, my dear old darling?”
Slight and ridiculous as the incident was, it made him appear such a
little fiend, and withal such a keen and knowing one, that the old
woman felt too much afraid of him to utter a single word, and
suffered herself to be led with extraordinary politeness to the
breakfast-table. Here he by no means diminished the impression he
had just produced, for he ate hard eggs, shell and all, devoured
gigantic prawns with the heads and tails on, chewed tobacco and
water-cresses at the same time and with extraordinary greediness,
drank boiling tea without winking, bit his fork and spoon till they
bent again, and in short performed so many horrifying and
uncommon acts that the women were nearly frightened out of their
wits, and began to doubt if he were really a human creature. At last,
having gone through these proceedings and many others which were
equally a part of his system, Mr. Quilp left them, reduced to a very
obedient and humbled state, and betook himself to the river-side,
where he took boat for the wharf on which he had bestowed his
name.
It was flood tide when Daniel Quilp sat
himself down in the ferry to cross to the opposite shore. A fleet of
barges were coming lazily on, some sideways, some head first, some stern
first; all in a wrong-headed, dogged, obstinate way, bumping up against
the larger craft, running under the bows of steamboats, getting into
every kind of nook and corner where they had no business, and being
crunched on all sides like so many walnut-shells; while each with its
pair of long sweeps struggling and splashing in the water looked like
some lumbering fish in pain. In some of the vessels at anchor all hands
were busily engaged in coiling ropes, spreading out sails to dry, taking
in or discharging their cargoes; in others no life was visible but two
or three tarry boys, and perhaps a barking dog running to and fro upon
the deck or scrambling up to look over the side and bark the louder for
the view. Coming slowly on through the forests of masts was a great
steamship, beating the water in short impatient strokes with her heavy
paddles as though she wanted room to breathe, and advancing in her huge
bulk like a sea monster among the minnows of the Thames. On either hand
were long black tiers of colliers; between them vessels slowly working
out of harbour with sails glistening in the sun, and creaking noise on
board, re-echoed from a hundred quarters. The water and all upon it was
in active motion, dancing and buoyant and bubbling up; while the old
grey Tower and piles of building on the shore, with many a church-spire
shooting up between, looked coldly on, and seemed to disdain their
chafing, restless neighbour.
Daniel Quilp, who was not much affected by a bright morning save
in so far as it spared him the trouble of carrying an umbrella, caused
himself to be put ashore hard by the wharf, and proceeded thither
through a narrow lane which, partaking of the amphibious character
of its frequenters, had as much water as mud in its composition, and
a very liberal supply of both. Arrived at his destination, the first
object that presented itself to his view was a pair of very imperfectly
shod feet elevated in the air with the soles upwards, which
remarkable appearance was referable to the boy, who being of an
eccentric spirit and having a natural taste for tumbling, was now
standing on his head and contemplating the aspect of the river under
these uncommon circumstances. He was speedily brought on his
heels by the sound of his master's voice, and as soon as his head was
in its right position, Mr. Quilp, to speak expresively in the absence of
a better verb, “punched it” for him.
“Come, you let me alone,” said the boy, parrying Quilp's
hand with both his elbows alternatively. “You'll get something you
won't like if you don't and so I tell you.”
“You dog,” snarled Quilp, “I'll beat you with an
iron rod, I'll scratch you with a rusty nail, I'll pinch your eyes, if
you talk to me—I will.”
With these threats he clenched his hand again, and dexterously
diving in betwen the elbows and catching the boy's head as it dodged
from side to side, gave it three or four good hard knocks. Having
now carried his point and insisted on it, he left off.
“You won't do it agin,” said the boy, nodding his head
and drawing back, with the elbows ready in case of the worst;
“now—”
“Stand still, you dog,” said Quilp. “I won't do it
again, because I've done it as often as I want. Here. Take the
key.”
“Why don't you hit one of your size?” said the boy
approaching very slowly.
“Where is there one of my size, you dog?” returned Quilp.
“Take the key, or I'll brain you with it”—indeed he gave
him a smart tap with the handle as he spoke. “Now, open the
counting-house.”
The boy sulkily complied, muttering at first, but desisting when he
looked round and saw that Quilp was following him with a steady
look. And here it may be remarked, that between this boy and the
dwarf that existed a strange kind of mutual liking. How born or
bred, and or nourished upon blows and threats on one side, and
retorts and defiances on the other, is not to the purpose. Quilp would
certainly suffer nobody to contract him but the boy, and the boy
would assuredly not have submitted to be so knocked about by
anybody but Quilp, when he had the power to run away at any time
he chose.
“Now,” said Quilp, passing into the wooden
counting-house, “you mind the wharf. Stand upon your head agin,
and I'll cut one of your feet off.”
The boy made no answer, but directly Quilp had shut himself in,
stood on his head before the door, then walked on his hands to the
back and stood on his head there, and then to the opposite side and
repeated the performance. There were indeed four sides to the
counting-house, but he avoided that one where the window was,
deeming it probable that Quilp would be looking out of it. This was
prudent, for in point of fact, the dwarf, knowing his disposition, was
lying in wait at a little distance from the sash armed with a large
piece of wood, which, being rough and jagged and studded in many
parts with broken nails, might possibly have hurt him.
It was a dirty little box, this counting-house, with nothing in it
but an old ricketty desk and two stools, a hat-peg, an ancient almanack,
an inkstand with no ink, and the stump of one pen, and an eight-day
clock which hadn't gone for eighteen years at least, and of which the
minute-hand had been twisted off for a tooth-pick. Daniel Quilp pulled
his hat over his brows, climbed on to the desk (which had a flat top)
and stretching his short length upon it went to sleep with ease of an
old pactitioner; intending, no doubt, to compensate himself for the
deprivation of last night's rest, by a long and sound nap.
Sound it might have been, but long it was not, for he had not been
asleep a quarter of an hour when the boy opened the door and thrust
in his head, which was like a bundle of badly-picked oakum. Quilp
was a light sleeper and started up directly.
“Here's somebody for you,” said the boy.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Ask!” said Quilp, seizing the trifle of wood before
mentioned and throwing it at him with such dexterity that it was well
the boy disappeared before it reached the spot on which he had stood.
“Ask, you dog.”
Not caring to venture within range of such missles again, the boy
discreetly sent in his stead the first cause of the interruption, who
now presented herself at the door.
“What, Nelly!” cried Quilp.
“Yes,” said the child, hesitating whether to enter or
retreat, for the dwarf just roused, with his dishevelled hair hanging
all about him and a yellow handkerchief over his head, was something
fearful to behold; it's only me, sir.”
“Come in,” said Quilp, without getting off the desk.
“Come in. Stay. Just look out into the yard, and see whether
there's a boy standing on his head.”
“No, sir,” replied Nell. “He's on his feet.”
“You're sure he is?” said Quilp. “Well. Now, come
in and shut the door. What's your message, Nelly?”
The child handed him a letter. Mr. Quilp, without changing his
position further than to turn over a little more on his side and rest
his
chin on his hand, proceeded to make himself acquainted with its
contents.