Charles Dickens - Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

“Your sister, meeting—as I think; not as she says, for she has said nothing about it—with little consideration from you, is going away with me,” said Mr Chuzzlewit.

“I am very happy to find that she has some good fortune at last,” returned Miss Pecksniff, tossing her head. “I congratulate her, I am sure. I am not surprised that this event should be painful to her—painful to her—but I can't help that, Mr Chuzzlewit. It's not my fault.”

“Come, Miss Pecksniff!” said the old man, quietly. “I should like to see a better parting between you. I should like to see a better parting on your side, in such circumstances. It would make me your friend. You may want a friend one day or other.”

“Every relation of life, Mr Chuzzlewit, begging your pardon; and every friend in life,” returned Miss Pecksniff, with dignity, “is now bound up and cemented in Augustus. So long as Augustus is my own, I cannot want a friend. When you speak of friends, sir, I must beg, once for all, to refer you to Augustus. That is my impression of the religious ceremony in which I am so soon to take a part at that altar to which Augustus will conduct me. I bear no malice at any time, much less in a moment of triumph, towards any one; much less towards my sister. On the contrary, I congratulate her. If you didn't hear me say so, I am not to blame. And as I owe it to Augustus, to be punctual on an occasion when he may naturally be supposed to be—to be impatient—really, Mrs Todgers!—I must beg your leave, sir, to retire.”

After these words the bridal bonnet disappeared; with as much state as the dimity bedgown left in it.

Old Martin gave his arm to the younger sister without speaking; and led her out. Mrs Todgers, with her holiday garments fluttering in the wind, accompanied them to the carriage, clung round Merry's neck at parting, and ran back to her own dingy house, crying the whole way. She had a lean, lank body, Mrs Todgers, but a well-conditioned soul within. Perhaps the good Samaritan was lean and lank, and found it hard to live. Who knows!

Mr Chuzzlewit followed her so closely with his eyes, that, until she had shut her own door, they did not encounter Mr Tapley's face.

“Why, Mark!” he said, as soon as he observed it, “what's the matter?”

“The wonderfulest ewent, sir!” returned Mark, pumping at his voice in a most laborious manner, and hardly able to articulate with all his efforts. “A coincidence as never was equalled! I'm blessed if here ain't two old neighbours of ourn, sir!”

“What neighbours?” cried old Martin, looking out of window. “Where?”

“I was a-walkin” up and down not five yards from this spot,” said Mr Tapley, breathless, “and they come upon me like their own ghosts, as I thought they was! It's the wonderfulest ewent that ever happened. Bring a feather, somebody, and knock me down with it!”

“What do you mean!” exclaimed old Martin, quite as much excited by the spectacle of Mark's excitement as that strange person was himself. “Neighbours, where?”

“Here, sir!” replied Mr Tapley. “Here in the city of London! Here upon these very stones! Here they are, sir! Don't I know “em? Lord love their welcome faces, don't I know “em!”

With which ejaculations Mr Tapley not only pointed to a decentlooking man and woman standing by, but commenced embracing them alternately, over and over again, in Monument Yard.

“Neighbours, WHERE? old Martin shouted; almost maddened by his ineffectual efforts to get out at the coach-door.

“Neighbours in America! Neighbours in Eden!” cried Mark. “Neighbours in the swamp, neighbours in the bush, neighbours in the fever. Didn't she nurse us! Didn't he help us! Shouldn't we both have died without “em! Haven't they come a-strugglin” back, without a single child for their consolation! And talk to me of neighbours!”

Away he went again, in a perfectly wild state, hugging them, and skipping round them, and cutting in between them, as if he were performing some frantic and outlandish dance.

Mr Chuzzlewit no sooner gathered who these people were, than he burst open the coach-door somehow or other, and came tumbling out among them; and as if the lunacy of Mr Tapley were contagious, he immediately began to shake hands too, and exhibit every demonstration of the liveliest joy.

“Get up, behind!” he said. “Get up in the rumble. Come along with me! Go you on the box, Mark. Home! Home!”

“Home!” cried Mr Tapley, seizing the old man's hand in a burst of enthusiasm. “Exactly my opinion, sir. Home for ever! Excuse the liberty, sir, I can't help it. Success to the Jolly Tapley! There's nothin” in the house they shan't have for the askin” for, except a bill. Home to be sure! Hurrah!”

Home they rolled accordingly, when he had got the old man in again, as fast as they could go; Mark abating nothing of his fervour by the way, by allowing it to vent itself as unrestrainedly as if he had been on Salisbury Plain.

And now the wedding party began to assemble at Todgers's. Mr Jinkins, the only boarder invited, was on the ground first. He wore a white favour in his button-hole, and a bran new extra super double-milled blue saxony dress coat (that was its description in the bill), with a variety of tortuous embellishments about the pockets, invented by the artist to do honour to the day. The miserable Augustus no longer felt strongly even on the subject of Jinkins. He hadn't strength of mind enough to do it. “Let him come!” he had said, in answer to Miss Pecksniff, when she urged the point. “Let him come! He has ever been my rock ahead through life. “Tis meet he should be there. Ha, ha! Oh, yes! let Jinkins come!”

Jinkins had come with all the pleasure in life, and there he was. For some few minutes he had no companion but the breakfast, which was set forth in the drawing-room, with unusual taste and ceremony. But Mrs Todgers soon joined him; and the bachelor cousin, the hairy young gentleman, and Mr and Mrs Spottletoe, arrived in quick succession.

Mr Spottletoe honoured Jinkins with an encouraging bow. “Glad to know you, sir,” he said. “Give you joy!” Under the impression that Jinkins was the happy man.

Mr Jinkins explained. He was merely doing the honours for his friend Moddle, who had ceased to reside in the house, and had not yet arrived.

“Not arrived, sir!” exclaimed Spottletoe, in a great heat.

“Not yet,” said Mr Jinkins.

“Upon my soul!” cried Spottletoe. “He begins well! Upon my life and honour this young man begins well! But I should very much like to know how it is that every one who comes into contact with this family is guilty of some gross insult to it. Death! Not arrived yet. Not here to receive us!”

The nephew with the outline of a countenance, suggested that perhaps he had ordered a new pair of boots, and they hadn't come home.

“Don't talk to me of Boots, sir!” retorted Spottletoe, with immense indignation. “He is bound to come here in his slippers then; he is bound to come here barefoot. Don't offer such a wretched and evasive plea to me on behalf of your friend, as Boots, sir.”

“He is not MY friend,” said the nephew. “I never saw him.”

“Very well, sir,” returned the fiery Spottletoe. “Then don't talk to me!”

The door was thrown open at this juncture, and Miss Pecksniff entered, tottering, and supported by her three bridesmaids. The strong-minded woman brought up the rear; having waited outside until now, for the purpose of spoiling the effect.

“How do you do, ma'am!” said Spottletoe to the strong-minded woman in a tone of defiance. “I believe you see Mrs Spottletoe, ma'am?”

The strong-minded woman with an air of great interest in Mrs Spottletoe's health, regretted that she was not more easily seen. Nature erring, in that lady's case, upon the slim side.