Charles Dickens - Barnaby Rudge — A Tale Of The Riots Of Eighty

“ARE you going to speak to me, master, or am I to go away?”

“Speak you,” said Mr Chester, “speak you, good fellow. I have spoken, have I not? I am waiting for you.”

“Why, look'ee, sir,” returned Hugh with increased embarrassment, “am I the man that you privately left your whip with before you rode away from the Maypole, and told to bring it back whenever he might want to see you on a certain subject?”

“No doubt the same, or you have a twin brother,” said Mr Chester, glancing at the reflection of his anxious face; “which is not probable, I should say.”

“Then I have come, sir,” said Hugh, “and I have brought it back, and something else along with it. A letter, sir, it is, that I took from the person who had charge of it. “ As he spoke, he laid upon the dressing-table, Dolly's lost epistle. The very letter that had cost her so much trouble.

“Did you obtain this by force, my good fellow?” said Mr Chester, casting his eye upon it without the least perceptible surprise or pleasure.

“Not quite,” said Hugh. “Partly.”

“Who was the messenger from whom you took it?”

“A woman. One Varden's daughter.”

“Oh indeed!” said Mr Chester gaily. “What else did you take from her?”

“What else?”

“Yes,” said the other, in a drawling manner, for he was fixing a very small patch of sticking plaster on a very small pimple near the corner of his mouth. “What else?”

“Well a kiss,” replied Hugh, after some hesitation.

“And what else?”

“Nothing.”

“I think,” said Mr Chester, in the same easy tone, and smiling twice or thrice to try if the patch adhered—'I think there was something else. I have heard a trifle of jewellery spoken of—a mere trifle—a thing of such little value, indeed, that you may have forgotten it. Do you remember anything of the kind—such as a bracelet now, for instance?”

Hugh with a muttered oath thrust his hand into his breast, and drawing the bracelet forth, wrapped in a scrap of hay, was about to lay it on the table likewise, when his patron stopped his hand and bade him put it up again.

“You took that for yourself my excellent friend,” he said, “and may keep it. I am neither a thief nor a receiver. Don't show it to me. You had better hide it again, and lose no time. Don't let me see where you put it either,” he added, turning away his head.

“You're not a receiver!” said Hugh bluntly, despite the increasing awe in which he held him. “What do you call THAT, master?” striking the letter with his heavy hand.

“I call that quite another thing,” said Mr Chester coolly. “I shall prove it presently, as you will see. You are thirsty, I suppose?”

Hugh drew his sleeve across his lips, and gruffly answered yes.

“Step to that closet and bring me a bottle you will see there, and a glass.”

He obeyed. His patron followed him with his eyes, and when his back was turned, smiled as he had never done when he stood beside the mirror. On his return he filled the glass, and bade him drink. That dram despatched, he poured him out another, and another.

“How many can you bear?” he said, filling the glass again.

“As many as you like to give me. Pour on. Fill high. A bumper with a bead in the middle! Give me enough of this,” he added, as he tossed it down his hairy throat, “and I'll do murder if you ask me!”

“As I don't mean to ask you, and you might possibly do it without being invited if you went on much further,” said Mr Chester with great composure, we will stop, if agreeable to you, my good friend, at the next glass. You were drinking before you came here.”

“I always am when I can get it,” cried Hugh boisterously, waving the empty glass above his head, and throwing himself into a rude dancing attitude. “I always am. Why not? Ha ha ha! What's so good to me as this? What ever has been? What else has kept away the cold on bitter nights, and driven hunger off in starving times? What else has given me the strength and courage of a man, when men would have left me to die, a puny child? I should never have had a man's heart but for this. I should have died in a ditch. Where's he who when I was a weak and sickly wretch, with trembling legs and fading sight, bade me cheer up, as this did? I never knew him; not I. I drink to the drink, master. Ha ha ha!”

“You are an exceedingly cheerful young man,” said Mr Chester, putting on his cravat with great deliberation, and slightly moving his head from side to side to settle his chin in its proper place. “Quite a boon companion.”

“Do you see this hand, master,” said Hugh, “and this arm?” baring the brawny limb to the elbow. “It was once mere skin and bone, and would have been dust in some poor churchyard by this time, but for the drink.”

“You may cover it,” said Mr Chester, “it's sufficiently real in your sleeve.”

“I should never have been spirited up to take a kiss from the proud little beauty, master, but for the drink,” cried Hugh. “Ha ha ha! It was a good one. As sweet as honeysuckle, I warrant you. I thank the drink for it. I'll drink to the drink again, master. Fill me one more. Come. One more!”

“You are such a promising fellow,” said his patron, putting on his waistcoat with great nicety, and taking no heed of this request, “that I must caution you against having too many impulses from the drink, and getting hung before your time. What's your age?”

“I don't know.”

“At any rate,” said Mr Chester, “you are young enough to escape what I may call a natural death for some years to come. How can you trust yourself in my hands on so short an acquaintance, with a halter round your neck? What a confiding nature yours must be!”

Hugh fell back a pace or two and surveyed him with a look of mingled terror, indignation, and surprise. Regarding himself in the glass with the same complacency as before, and speaking as smoothly as if he were discussing some pleasant chit-chat of the town, his patron went on:

“Robbery on the king's highway, my young friend, is a very dangerous and ticklish occupation. It is pleasant, I have no doubt, while it lasts; but like many other pleasures in this transitory world, it seldom lasts long. And really if in the ingenuousness of youth, you open your heart so readily on the subject, I am afraid your career will be an extremely short one.”

“How's this?” said Hugh. “What do you talk of master? Who was it set me on?”

“Who?” said Mr Chester, wheeling sharply round, and looking full at him for the first time. “I didn't hear you. Who was it?”

Hugh faltered, and muttered something which was not audible.

“Who was it? I am curious to know,” said Mr Chester, with surpassing affability. “Some rustic beauty perhaps? But be cautious, my good friend. They are not always to be trusted. Do take my advice now, and be careful of yourself. “ With these words he turned to the glass again, and went on with his toilet.

Hugh would have answered him that he, the questioner himself had set him on, but the words stuck in his throat. The consummate art with which his patron had led him to this point, and managed the whole conversation, perfectly baffled him. He did not doubt that if he had made the retort which was on his lips when Mr Chester turned round and questioned him so keenly, he would straightway have given him into custody and had him dragged before a justice with the stolen property upon him; in which case it was as certain he would have been hung as it was that he had been born. The ascendency which it was the purpose of the man of the world to establish over this savage instrument, was gained from that time. Hugh's submission was complete. He dreaded him beyond description; and felt that accident and artifice had spun a web about him, which at a touch from such a master-hand as his, would bind him to the gallows.