Charles Dickens - Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

“Mr Nadgett,” said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, “any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.”

Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before.

He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly.

There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. “To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,” thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record.

But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly.

It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him.

“Mr Montague at home?”

“I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,” said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. “Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?”

Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there.

“The hold name, I suppose?” said Bailey, with a grin.

Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation.

“What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?” said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. “Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!”

Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink.

The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form.

“My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?”

“I think so,” said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. “I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!”

“Mr Wolf,” said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, “Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.”

Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand:

“Men of the world, my dear sir—men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf —literary character—you needn't mention it—remarkably clever weekly paper—oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip—theatrical man— capital man to know—oh, capital man!”

“Well!” said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. “And what did Lord Nobley say to that?”

“Why,” returned Pip, with an oath. “He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!”

“The best fellow in the world!” cried Wolf. “It as only last week that Nobley said to me, “By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!”

“Just like him,” said Pip with another oath. “And he'd have done it!”

“Not a doubt of it,” said Wolf. “But you were going to tell us—”

“Oh, yes!” cried Pip. “To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb—sewn up, dead, sir—but after a minute he said to the Duke, “Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows.” “Damme!” said the Duke, “I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!” “Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!” said I. “Ha, ha!” laughed the Duke. “To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip.” And so I do, to this day.”

The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties.

It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him.

“A glass of wine?”

“Oh!” said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. “As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.”

“Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!” cried Wolf.

“Tom Gag, upon my soul!” said Pip.

“Positively, you know, that's—ha, ha, ha!” observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell—'that's epigrammatic; quite!”