Charles Dickens - Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

“And this is the last, Mr Nadgett!” said that gentleman, drawing a long breath.

“That, sir, is the last.”

“You are a wonderful man, Mr Nadgett!”

“I think it is a pretty good case,” he returned as he gathered up his papers. “It cost some trouble, sir.”

“The trouble shall be well rewarded, Mr Nadgett.”Nadgett bowed. “There is a deeper impression of Somebody's Hoof here, than I had expected, Mr Nadgett. I may congratulate myself upon your being such a good hand at a secret.”

“Oh! nothing has an interest to me that's not a secret,” replied Nadgett, as he tied the string about his pocket-book, and put it up. “It always takes away any pleasure I may have had in this inquiry even to make it known to you.”

“A most invaluable constitution,” Tigg retorted. “A great gift for a gentleman employed as you are, Mr Nadgett. Much better than discretion; though you possess that quality also in an eminent degree. I think I heard a double knock. Will you put your head out of window, and tell me whether there is anybody at the door?”

Mr Nadgett softly raised the sash, and peered out from the very corner, as a man might who was looking down into a street from whence a brisk discharge of musketry might be expected at any moment. Drawing in his head with equal caution, he observed, not altering his voice or manner:

“Mr Jonas Chuzzlewit!”

“I thought so,” Tigg retorted.

“Shall I go?”

“I think you had better. Stay though! No! remain here, Mr Nadgett, if you please.”

It was remarkable how pale and flurried he had become in an instant. There was nothing to account for it. His eye had fallen on his razors; but what of them!

Mr Chuzzlewit was announced.

“Show him up directly. Nadgett! don't you leave us alone together. Mind you don't, now! By the Lord!” he added in a whisper to himself: “We don't know what may happen.”

Saying this, he hurriedly took up a couple of hair-brushes, and began to exercise them on his own head, as if his toilet had not been interrupted. Mr Nadgett withdrew to the stove, in which there was a small fire for the convenience of heating curling-irons; and taking advantage of so favourable an opportunity for drying his pocket-handkerchief, produced it without loss of time. There he stood, during the whole interview, holding it before the bars, and sometimes, but not often, glancing over his shoulder.

“My dear Chuzzlewit!” cried Montague, as Jonas entered. “You rise with the lark. Though you go to bed with the nightingale, you rise with the lark. You have superhuman energy, my dear Chuzzlewit!”

“Ecod!” said Jonas, with an air of langour and ill-humour, as he took a chair, “I should be very glad not to get up with the lark, if I could help it. But I am a light sleeper; and it's better to be up than lying awake, counting the dismal old church-clocks, in bed.”

“A light sleeper!” cried his friend. “Now, what is a light sleeper? I often hear the expression, but upon my life I have not the least conception what a light sleeper is.”

“Hallo!” said Jonas, “Who's that? Oh, old what's-his-name: looking (as usual) as if he wanted to skulk up the chimney.”

“Ha, ha! I have no doubt he does.”

“Well! He's not wanted here, I suppose,” said Jonas. “He may go, mayn't he?”

“Oh, let him stay, let him stay!” said Tigg. “He's a mere piece of furniture. He has been making his report, and is waiting for further orders. He has been told,” said Tigg, raising his voice, “not to lose sight of certain friends of ours, or to think that he has done with them by any means. He understands his business.”

“He need,” replied Jonas; “for of all the precious old dummies in appearance that I ever saw, he's about the worst. He's afraid of me, I think.”

“It's my belief,” said Tigg, “that you are Poison to him. Nadgett! give me that towel!”

He had as little occasion for a towel as Jonas had for a start. But Nadgett brought it quickly; and, having lingered for a moment, fell back upon his old post by the fire.

“You see, my dear fellow,” resumed Tigg, “you are too—what's the matter with your lips? How white they are!”

“I took some vinegar just now,” said Jonas. “I had oysters for my breakfast. Where are they white?” he added, muttering an oath, and rubbing them upon his handkerchief. “I don't believe they ARE white.”

“Now I look again, they are not,” replied his friend. “They are coming right again.”

“Say what you were going to say,” cried Jonas angrily, “and let my face be! As long as I can show my teeth when I want to (and I can do that pretty well), the colour of my lips is not material.”

“Quite true,” said Tigg. “I was only going to say that you are too quick and active for our friend. He is too shy to cope with such a man as you, but does his duty well. Oh, very well! But what is a light sleeper?”

“Hang a light sleeper!” exclaimed Jonas pettishly.

“No, no,” interrupted Tigg. “No. We'll not do that.”

“A light sleeper ain't a heavy one,” said Jonas in his sulky way; “don't sleep much, and don't sleep well, and don't sleep sound.”

“And dreams,” said Tigg, “and cries out in an ugly manner; and when the candle burns down in the night, is in an agony; and all that sort of thing. I see!”

They were silent for a little time. Then Jonas spoke:

“Now we've done with child's talk, I want to have a word with you. I want to have a word with you before we meet up yonder to-day. I am not satisfied with the state of affairs.”

“Not satisfied!” cried Tigg. “The money comes in well.”

“The money comes in well enough,” retorted Jonas, “but it don't come out well enough. It can't be got at easily enough. I haven't sufficient power; it is all in your hands. Ecod! what with one of your by-laws, and another of your by-laws, and your votes in this capacity, and your votes in that capacity, and your official rights, and your individual rights, and other people's rights who are only you again, there are no rights left for me. Everybody else's rights are my wrongs. What's the use of my having a voice if it's always drowned? I might as well be dumb, and it would be much less aggravating. I'm not a-going to stand that, you know.”

“No!” said Tigg in an insinuating tone.

“No!” returned Jonas, “I'm not indeed. I'll play old Gooseberry with the office, and make you glad to buy me out at a good high figure, if you try any of your tricks with me.”

“I give you my honour—” Montague began.

“Oh! confound your honour,” interrupted Jonas, who became more coarse and quarrelsome as the other remonstrated, which may have been a part of Mr Montague's intention; “I want a little more control over the money. You may have all the honour, if you like; I'll never bring you to book for that. But I'm not a-going to stand it, as it is now. If you should take it into your honourable head to go abroad with the bank, I don't see much to prevent you. Well! That won't do. I've had some very good dinners here, but they'd come too dear on such terms; and therefore, that won't do.”

“I am unfortunate to find you in this humour,” said Tigg, with a remarkable kind of smile; “for I was going to propose to you—for your own advantage; solely for your own advantage—that you should venture a little more with us.”

“Was you, by G—?” said Jonas, with a short laugh.

“Yes. And to suggest,” pursued Montague, “that surely you have friends; indeed, I know you have; who would answer our purpose admirably, and whom we should be delighted to receive.”

“How kind of you! You'd be delighted to receive “em, would you?” said Jonas, bantering.