Charles Dickens - Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

“We are very much DISsatisfied with her,” observed the lady.

“I'd never say another lesson to Miss Pinch if I was to be beat to death for it!” sobbed the pupil.

“Sophia!” cried her father. “Hold your tongue!”

“Will you allow me to inquire what your ground of dissatisfaction is?” asked Tom.

“Yes,” said the gentleman, “I will. I don't recognize it as a right; but I will. Your sister has not the slightest innate power of commanding respect. It has been a constant source of difference between us. Although she has been in this family for some time, and although the young lady who is now present has almost, as it were, grown up under her tuition, that young lady has no respect for her. Miss Pinch has been perfectly unable to command my daughter's respect, or to win my daughter's confidence. Now,” said the gentleman, allowing the palm of his hand to fall gravely down upon the table: “I maintain that there is something radically wrong in that! You, as her brother, may be disposed to deny it—”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Tom. “I am not at all disposed to deny it. I am sure that there is something radically wrong; radically monstrous, in that.”

“Good Heavens!” cried the gentleman, looking round the room with dignity, “what do I find to be the case! what results obtrude themselves upon me as flowing from this weakness of character on the part of Miss Pinch! What are my feelings as a father, when, after my desire (repeatedly expressed to Miss Pinch, as I think she will not venture to deny) that my daughter should be choice in her expressions, genteel in her deportment, as becomes her station in life, and politely distant to her inferiors in society, I find her, only this very morning, addressing Miss Pinch herself as a beggar!”

“A beggarly thing,” observed the lady, in correction.

“Which is worse,” said the gentleman, triumphantly; “which is worse. A beggarly thing. A low, coarse, despicable expression!”

“Most despicable,” cried Tom. “I am glad to find that there is a just appreciation of it here.”

“So just, sir,” said the gentleman, lowering his voice to be the more impressive. “So just, that, but for my knowing Miss Pinch to be an unprotected young person, an orphan, and without friends, I would, as I assured Miss Pinch, upon my veracity and personal character, a few minutes ago, I would have severed the connection between us at that moment and from that time.”

“Bless my soul, sir!” cried Tom, rising from his seat; for he was now unable to contain himself any longer; “don't allow such considerations as those to influence you, pray. They don't exist, sir. She is not unprotected. She is ready to depart this instant. Ruth, my dear, get your bonnet on!”

“Oh, a pretty family!” cried the lady. “Oh, he's her brother! There's no doubt about that!”

“As little doubt, madam,” said Tom, “as that the young lady yonder is the child of your teaching, and not my sister's. Ruth, my dear, get your bonnet on!”

“When you say, young man,” interposed the brass-and-copper founder, haughtily, “with that impertinence which is natural to you, and which I therefore do not condescend to notice further, that the young lady, my eldest daughter, has been educated by any one but Miss Pinch, you—I needn't proceed. You comprehend me fully. I have no doubt you are used to it.”

“Sir!” cried Tom, after regarding him in silence for some little time. “If you do not understand what I mean, I will tell you. If you do understand what I mean, I beg you not to repeat that mode of expressing yourself in answer to it. My meaning is, that no man can expect his children to respect what he degrades.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the gentleman. “Cant! cant! The common cant!”

“The common story, sir!” said Tom; “the story of a common mind. Your governess cannot win the confidence and respect of your children, forsooth! Let her begin by winning yours, and see what happens then.”

“Miss Pinch is getting her bonnet on, I trust, my dear?” said the gentleman.

“I trust she is,” said Tom, forestalling the reply. “I have no doubt she is. In the meantime I address myself to you, sir. You made your statement to me, sir; you required to see me for that purpose; and I have a right to answer it. I am not loud or turbulent,” said Tom, which was quite true, “though I can scarcely say as much for you, in your manner of addressing yourself to me. And I wish, on my sister's behalf, to state the simple truth.”

“You may state anything you like, young man,” returned the gentleman, affecting to yawn. “My dear, Miss Pinch's money.”

“When you tell me,” resumed Tom, who was not the less indignant for keeping himself quiet, “that my sister has no innate power of commanding the respect of your children, I must tell you it is not so; and that she has. She is as well bred, as well taught, as well qualified by nature to command respect, as any hirer of a governess you know. But when you place her at a disadvantage in reference to every servant in your house, how can you suppose, if you have the gift of common sense, that she is not in a tenfold worse position in reference to your daughters?”

“Pretty well! Upon my word,” exclaimed the gentleman, “this is pretty well!”

“It is very ill, sir,” said Tom. “It is very bad and mean, and wrong and cruel. Respect! I believe young people are quick enough to observe and imitate; and why or how should they respect whom no one else respects, and everybody slights? And very partial they must grow—oh, very partial!—to their studies, when they see to what a pass proficiency in those same tasks has brought their governess! Respect! Put anything the most deserving of respect before your daughters in the light in which you place her, and you will bring it down as low, no matter what it is!”

“You speak with extreme impertinence, young man,” observed the gentleman.

“I speak without passion, but with extreme indignation and contempt for such a course of treatment, and for all who practice it,” said Tom. “Why, how can you, as an honest gentleman, profess displeasure or surprise at your daughter telling my sister she is something beggarly and humble, when you are for ever telling her the same thing yourself in fifty plain, outspeaking ways, though not in words; and when your very porter and footman make the same delicate announcement to all comers? As to your suspicion and distrust of her; even of her word; if she is not above their reach, you have no right to employ her.”

“No right!” cried the brass-and-copper founder.

“Distinctly not,” Tom answered. “If you imagine that the payment of an annual sum of money gives it to you, you immensely exaggerate its power and value. Your money is the least part of your bargain in such a case. You may be punctual in that to half a second on the clock, and yet be Bankrupt. I have nothing more to say,” said Tom, much flushed and flustered, now that it was over, “except to crave permission to stand in your garden until my sister is ready.”

Not waiting to obtain it, Tom walked out.

Before he had well begun to cool, his sister joined him. She was crying; and Tom could not bear that any one about the house should see her doing that.

“They will think you are sorry to go,” said Tom. “You are not sorry to go?”

“No, Tom, no. I have been anxious to go for a very long time.”

“Very well, then! Don't cry!” said Tom.

“I am so sorry for YOU, dear,” sobbed Tom's sister.

“But you ought to be glad on my account,” said Tom. “I shall be twice as happy with you for a companion. Hold up your head. There! Now we go out as we ought. Not blustering, you know, but firm and confident in ourselves.”