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Chapter 46


Chapter 13

GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME, AND HANG HIM


Fascination Fledgeby, left alone in the counting-house, strolled
about with his hat on one side, whistling, and investigating the
drawers, and prying here and there for any small evidences of his
being cheated, but could find none. 'Not his merit that he don't
cheat me,' was Mr Fledgeby's commentary delivered with a wink,
'but my precaution.' He then with a lazy grandeur asserted his
rights as lord of Pubsey and Co. by poking his cane at the stools
and boxes, and spitting in the fireplace, and so loitered royally to
the window and looked out into the narrow street, with his small
eyes just peering over the top of Pubsey and Co.'s blind. As a
blind in more senses than one, it reminded him that he was alone
in the counting-house with the front door open. He was moving
away to shut it, lest he should be injudiciously identified with the
establishment, when he was stopped by some one coming to the
door.

This some one was the dolls' dressmaker, with a little basket on
her arm, and her crutch stick in her hand. Her keen eyes had
espied Mr Fledgeby before Mr Fledgeby had espied her, and he
was paralysed in his purpose of shutting her out, not so much by
her approaching the door, as by her favouring him with a shower of
nods, the instant he saw her. This advantage she improved by
hobbling up the steps with such despatch that before Mr Fledgeby
could take measures for her finding nobody at home, she was face
to face with him in the counting-house.

'Hope I see you well, sir,' said Miss Wren. 'Mr Riah in?'

Fledgeby had dropped into a chair, in the attitude of one waiting
wearily. 'I suppose he will be back soon,' he replied; 'he has cut
out and left me expecting him back, in an odd way. Haven't I seen
you before?'

'Once before--if you had your eyesight,' replied Miss Wren; the
conditional clause in an under-tone.

'When you were carrying on some games up at the top of the
house. I remember. How's your friend?'

'I have more friends than one, sir, I hope,' replied Miss Wren.
'Which friend?'

'Never mind,' said Mr Fledgeby, shutting up one eye, 'any of your
friends, all your friends. Are they pretty tolerable?'

Somewhat confounded, Miss Wren parried the pleasantry, and sat
down in a corner behind the door, with her basket in her lap. By-
and-by, she said, breaking a long and patient silence:

'I beg your pardon, sir, but I am used to find Mr Riah at this time,
and so I generally come at this time. I only want to buy my poor
little two shillings' worth of waste. Perhaps you'll kindly let me
have it, and I'll trot off to my work.'

'I let you have it?' said Fledgeby, turning his head towards her; for
he had been sitting blinking at the light, and feeling his cheek.
'Why, you don't really suppose that I have anything to do with the
place, or the business; do you?'

'Suppose?' exclaimed Miss Wren. 'He said, that day, you were the
master!'

'The old cock in black said? Riah said? Why, he'd say anything.'

'Well; but you said so too,' returned Miss Wren. 'Or at least you
took on like the master, and didn't contradict him.'

'One of his dodges,' said Mr Fledgeby, with a cool and
contemptuous shrug. 'He's made of dodges. He said to me,
"Come up to the top of the house, sir, and I'll show you a
handsome girl. But I shall call you the master." So I went up to
the top of the house and he showed me the handsome girl (very
well worth looking at she was), and I was called the master. I
don't know why. I dare say he don't. He loves a dodge for its own
sake; being,' added Mr Fledgeby, after casting about for an
expressive phrase, 'the dodgerest of all the dodgers.'

'Oh my head!' cried the dolls' dressmaker, holding it with both her
hands, as if it were cracking. 'You can't mean what you say.'

'I can, my little woman, retorted Fledgeby, 'and I do, I assure you.

This repudiation was not only an act of deliberate policy on
Fledgeby's part, in case of his being surprised by any other caller,
but was also a retort upon Miss Wren for her over-sharpness, and a
pleasant instance of his humour as regarded the old Jew. 'He has
got a bad name as an old Jew, and he is paid for the use of it, and
I'll have my money's worth out of him.' This was Fledgeby's
habitual reflection in the way of business, and it was sharpened
just now by the old man's presuming to have a secret from him:
though of the secret itself, as annoying somebody else whom he
disliked, he by no means disapproved.

Miss Wren with a fallen countenance sat behind the door looking
thoughtfully at the ground, and the long and patient silence had
again set in for some time, when the expression of Mr Fledgeby's
face betokened that through the upper portion of the door, which
was of glass, he saw some one faltering on the brink of the
counting-house. Presently there was a rustle and a tap, and then
some more rustling and another tap. Fledgeby taking no notice,
the door was at length softly opened, and the dried face of a mild
little elderly gentleman looked in.

'Mr Riah?' said this visitor, very politely.

'I am waiting for him, sir,' returned Mr Fledgeby. 'He went out and
left me here. I expect him back every minute. Perhaps you had
better take a chair.'

The gentleman took a chair, and put his hand to his forehead, as if
he were in a melancholy frame of mind. Mr Fledgeby eyed him
aside, and seemed to relish his attitude.

'A fine day, sir,' remarked Fledgeby.

The little dried gentleman was so occupied with his own depressed
reflections that he did not notice the remark until the sound of Mr
Fledgeby's voice had died out of the counting-house. Then he
started, and said: 'I beg your pardon, sir. I fear you spoke to me?'

'I said,' remarked Fledgeby, a little louder than before, 'it was a
fine day.'

'I beg your pardon. I beg your pardon. Yes.'

Again the little dried gentleman put his hand to his forehead, and
again Mr Fledgeby seemed to enjoy his doing it. When the
gentleman changed his attitude with a sigh, Fledgeby spake with a
grin.

'Mr Twemlow, I think?'

The dried gentleman seemed much surprised.

'Had the pleasure of dining with you at Lammle's,' said Fledgeby.
'Even have the honour of being a connexion of yours. An
unexpected sort of place this to meet in; but one never knows,
when one gets into the City, what people one may knock up
against. I hope you have your health, and are enjoying yourself.'

There might have been a touch of impertinence in the last words;
on the other hand, it might have been but the native grace of Mr
Fledgeby's manner. Mr Fledgeby sat on a stool with a foot on the
rail of another stool, and his hat on. Mr Twemlow had uncovered
on looking in at the door, and remained so. Now the conscientious
Twemlow, knowing what he had done to thwart the gracious
Fledgeby, was particularly disconcerted by this encounter. He was
as ill at ease as a gentleman well could be. He felt himself bound
to conduct himself stiffly towards Fledgeby, and he made him a
distant bow. Fledgeby made his small eyes smaller in taking
special note of his manner. The dolls' dressmaker sat in her corner
behind the door, with her eyes on the ground and her hands folded
on her basket, holding her crutch-stick between them, and
appearing to take no heed of anything.

'He's a long time,' muttered Mr Fledgeby, looking at his watch.
'What time may you make it, Mr Twemlow?'

Mr Twemlow made it ten minutes past twelve, sir.

'As near as a toucher,' assented Fledgeby. 'I hope, Mr Twemlow,
your business here may be of a more agreeable character than
mine.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Mr Twemlow.

Fledgeby again made his small eyes smaller, as he glanced with
great complacency at Twemlow, who was timorously tapping the
table with a folded letter.

'What I know of Mr Riah,' said Fledgeby, with a very disparaging
utterance of his name, 'leads me to believe that this is about the
shop for disagreeable business. I have always found him the
bitingest and tightest screw in London.'

Mr Twemlow acknowledged the remark with a little distant bow.
It evidently made him nervous.

'So much so,' pursued Fledgeby, 'that if it wasn't to be true to a
friend, nobody should catch me waiting here a single minute. But
if you have friends in adversity, stand by them. That's what I say
and act up to.'

The equitable Twemlow felt that this sentiment, irrespective of the
utterer, demanded his cordial assent. 'You are very right, sir,' he
rejoined with spirit. 'You indicate the generous and manly course.

'Glad to have your approbation,' returned Fledgeby. 'It's a
coincidence, Mr Twemlow;' here he descended from his perch, and
sauntered towards him; 'that the friends I am standing by to-day
are the friends at whose house I met you! The Lammles. She's a
very taking and agreeable woman?'

Conscience smote the gentle Twemlow pale. 'Yes,' he said. 'She is.'

'And when she appealed to me this morning, to come and try what
I could do to pacify their creditor, this Mr Riah--that I certainly
have gained some little influence with in transacting business for
another friend, but nothing like so much as she supposes--and
when a woman like that spoke to me as her dearest Mr Fledgeby,
and shed tears--why what could I do, you know?'

Twemlow gasped 'Nothing but come.'

'Nothing but come. And so I came. But why,' said Fledgeby,
putting his hands in his pockets and counterfeiting deep
meditation, 'why Riah should have started up, when I told him that
the Lammles entreated him to hold over a Bill of Sale he has on all
their effects; and why he should have cut out, saying he would be
back directly; and why he should have left me here alone so long; I
cannot understand.'

The chivalrous Twemlow, Knight of the Simple Heart, was not in a
condition to offer any suggestion. He was too penitent, too
remorseful. For the first time in his life he had done an
underhanded action, and he had done wrong. He had secretly
interposed against this confiding young man, for no better real
reason than because the young man's ways were not his ways.

But, the confiding young man proceeded to heap coals of fire on
his sensitive head.

'I beg your pardon, Mr Twemlow; you see I am acquainted with
the nature of the affairs that are transacted here. Is there anything I
can do for you here? You have always been brought up as a
gentleman, and never as a man of business;' another touch of
possible impertinence in this place; 'and perhaps you are but a
poor man of business. What else is to be expected!'

'I am even a poorer man of business than I am a man, sir,' returned
Twemlow, 'and I could hardly express my deficiency in a stronger
way. I really do not so much as clearly understand my position in
the matter on which I am brought here. But there are reasons
which make me very delicate of accepting your assistance. I am
greatly, greatly, disinclined to profit by it. I don't deserve it.'

Good childish creature! Condemned to a passage through the
world by such narrow little dimly-lighted ways, and picking up so
few specks or spots on the road!

'Perhaps,' said Fledgeby, 'you may be a little proud of entering on
the topic,--having been brought up as a gentleman.'

'It's not that, sir,' returned Twemlow, 'it's not that. I hope I
distinguish between true pride and false pride.'

'I have no pride at all, myself,' said Fledgeby, 'and perhaps I don't
cut things so fine as to know one from t'other. But I know this is a
place where even a man of business needs his wits about him; and
if mine can be of any use to you here, you're welcome to them.'

'You are very good,' said Twemlow, faltering. 'But I am most
unwilling--'

'I don't, you know,' proceeded Fledgeby with an ill-favoured
glance, 'entertain the vanity of supposing that my wits could be of
any use to you in society, but they might be here. You cultivate
society and society cultivates you, but Mr Riah's not society. In
society, Mr Riah is kept dark; eh, Mr Twemlow?'

Twemlow, much disturbed, and with his hand fluttering about his
forehead, replied: 'Quite true.'

The confiding young man besought him to state his case. The
innocent Twemlow, expecting Fledgeby to be astounded by what
he should unfold, and not for an instant conceiving the possibility
of its happening every day, but treating of it as a terrible
phenomenon occurring in the course of ages, related how that he
had had a deceased friend, a married civil officer with a family,
who had wanted money for change of place on change of post, and
how he, Twemlow, had 'given him his name,' with the usual, but in
the eyes of Twemlow almost incredible result that he had been left
to repay what he had never had. How, in the course of years, he
had reduced the principal by trifling sums, 'having,' said
Twemlow, 'always to observe great economy, being in the
enjoyment of a fixed income limited in extent, and that depending
on the munificence of a certain nobleman,' and had always pinched
the full interest out of himself with punctual pinches. How he had
come, in course of time, to look upon this one only debt of his life
as a regular quarterly drawback, and no worse, when 'his name'
had some way fallen into the possession of Mr Riah, who had sent
him notice to redeem it by paying up in full, in one plump sum, or
take tremendous consequences. This, with hazy remembrances of
how he had been carried to some office to 'confess judgment' (as
he recollected the phrase), and how he had been carried to another
office where his life was assured for somebody not wholly
unconnected with the sherry trade whom he remembered by the
remarkable circumstance that he had a Straduarius violin to
dispose of, and also a Madonna, formed the sum and substance of
Mr Twemlow's narrative. Through which stalked the shadow of
the awful Snigsworth, eyed afar off by money-lenders as Security
in the Mist, and menacing Twemlow with his baronial truncheon.

To all, Mr Fledgeby listened with the modest gravity becoming a
confiding young man who knew it all beforehand, and, when it
was finished, seriously shook his head. 'I don't like, Mr
Twemlow,' said Fledgeby, 'I don't like Riah's calling in the
principal. If he's determined to call it in, it must come.'

'But supposing, sir,' said Twemlow, downcast, 'that it can't come?'

'Then,' retorted Fledgeby, 'you must go, you know.'

'Where?' asked Twemlow, faintly.

'To prison,' returned Fledgeby. Whereat Mr Twemlow leaned his
innocent head upon his hand, and moaned a little moan of distress
and disgrace.

'However,' said Fledgeby, appearing to pluck up his spirits, 'we'll
hope it's not so bad as that comes to. If you'll allow me, I'll
mention to Mr Riah when he comes in, who you are, and I'll tell
him you're my friend, and I'll say my say for you, instead of your
saying it for yourself; I may be able to do it in a more business-like
way. You won't consider it a liberty?'

'I thank you again and again, sir,' said Twemlow. 'I am strong,
strongly, disinclined to avail myself of your generosity, though my
helplessness yields. For I cannot but feel that I--to put it in the
mildest form of speech--that I have done nothing to deserve it.'

'Where CAN he be?' muttered Fledgeby, referring to his watch
again. 'What CAN he have gone out for? Did you ever see him,
Mr Twemlow?'

'Never.'

'He is a thorough Jew to look at, but he is a more thorough Jew to
deal with. He's worst when he's quiet. If he's quiet, I shall take it
as a very bad sign. Keep your eye upon him when he comes in,
and, if he's quiet, don't be hopeful. Here he is!--He looks quiet.'

With these words, which had the effect of causing the harmless
Twemlow painful agitation, Mr Fledgeby withdrew to his former
post, and the old man entered the counting-house.

'Why, Mr Riah,' said Fledgeby, 'I thought you were lost!'

The old man, glancing at the stranger, stood stock-still. He
perceived that his master was leading up to the orders he was to
take, and he waited to understand them.

'I really thought,' repeated Fledgeby slowly, 'that you were lost, Mr
Riah. Why, now I look at you--but no, you can't have done it; no,
you can't have done it!'

Hat in hand, the old man lifted his head, and looked distressfully at
Fledgeby as seeking to know what new moral burden he was to
bear.

'You can't have rushed out to get the start of everybody else, and
put in that bill of sale at Lammle's?' said Fledgeby. 'Say you
haven't, Mr Riah.'

'Sir, I have,' replied the old man in a low voice.

'Oh my eye!' cried Fledgeby. 'Tut, tut, tut! Dear, dear, dear! Well!
I knew you were a hard customer, Mr Riah, but I never thought
you were as hard as that.'

'Sir,' said the old man, with great uneasiness, 'I do as I am
directed. I am not the principal here. I am but the agent of a
superior, and I have no choice, no power.'

'Don't say so,' retorted Fledgeby, secretly exultant as the old man
stretched out his hands, with a shrinking action of defending
himself against the sharp construction of the two observers. 'Don't
play the tune of the trade, Mr Riah. You've a right to get in your
debts, if you're determined to do it, but don't pretend what every
one in your line regularly pretends. At least, don't do it to me.
Why should you, Mr Riah? You know I know all about you.'

The old man clasped the skirt of his long coat with his disengaged
hand, and directed a wistful look at Fledgeby.

'And don't,' said Fledgeby, 'don't, I entreat you as a favour, Mr
Riah, be so devilish meek, for I know what'll follow if you are.
Look here, Mr Riah. This gentleman is Mr Twemlow.'

The Jew turned to him and bowed. That poor lamb bowed in
return; polite, and terrified.

'I have made such a failure,' proceeded Fledgeby, 'in trying to do
anything with you for my friend Lammle, that I've hardly a hope of
doing anything with you for my friend (and connexion indeed) Mr
Twemlow. But I do think that if you would do a favour for
anybody, you would for me, and I won't fail for want of trying, and
I've passed my promise to Mr Twemlow besides. Now, Mr Riah,
here is Mr Twemlow. Always good for his interest, always
coming up to time, always paying his little way. Now, why should
you press Mr Twemlow? You can't have any spite against Mr
Twemlow! Why not be easy with Mr Twemlow?'

The old man looked into Fledgeby's little eyes for any sign of leave
to be easy with Mr Twemlow; but there was no sign in them.

'Mr Twemlow is no connexion of yours, Mr Riah,' said Fledgeby;
'you can't want to be even with him for having through life gone in
for a gentleman and hung on to his Family. If Mr Twemlow has a
contempt for business, what can it matter to you?'

'But pardon me,' interposed the gentle victim, 'I have not. I
should consider it presumption.'

'There, Mr Riah!' said Fledgeby, 'isn't that handsomely said?
Come! Make terms with me for Mr Twemlow.'

The old man looked again for any sign of permission to spare the
poor little gentleman. No. Mr Fledgeby meant him to be racked.

'I am very sorry, Mr Twemlow,' said Riah. 'I have my
instructions. I am invested with no authority for diverging from
them. The money must be paid.'

'In full and slap down, do you mean, Mr Riah?' asked Fledgeby, to
make things quite explicit.

'In full, sir, and at once,' was Riah's answer.

Mr Fledgeby shook his head deploringly at Twemlow, and mutely
expressed in reference to the venerable figure standing before him
with eyes upon the ground: 'What a Monster of an Israelite this is!'

'Mr Riah,' said Fledgeby.

The old man lifted up his eyes once more to the little eyes in Mr
Fledgeby's head, with some reviving hope that the sign might be
coming yet.

'Mr Riah, it's of no use my holding back the fact. There's a certain
great party in the background in Mr Twemlow's case, and you
know it.

'I know it,' the old man admitted.

'Now, I'll put it as a plain point of business, Mr Riah. Are you
fully determined (as a plain point of business) either to have that
said great party's security, or that said great party's money?'

'Fully determined,' answered Riah, as he read his master's face,
and learnt the book.

'Not at all caring for, and indeed as it seems to me rather enjoying,'
said Fledgeby, with peculiar unction, 'the precious kick-up and row
that will come off between Mr Twemlow and the said great party?'

This required no answer, and received none. Poor Mr Twemlow,
who had betrayed the keenest mental terrors since his noble
kinsman loomed in the perspective, rose with a sigh to take his
departure. 'I thank you very much, sir,' he said, offering Fledgeby
his feverish hand. 'You have done me an unmerited service.
Thank you, thank you!'

'Don't mention it,' answered Fledgeby. 'It's a failure so far, but I'll
stay behind, and take another touch at Mr Riah.'

'Do not deceive yourself Mr Twemlow,' said the Jew, then
addressing him directly for the first time. 'There is no hope for
you. You must expect no leniency here. You must pay in full, and
you cannot pay too promptly, or you will be put to heavy charges.
Trust nothing to me, sir. Money, money, money.' When he had
said these words in an emphatic manner, he acknowledged Mr
Twemlow's still polite motion of his head, and that amiable little
worthy took his departure in the lowest spirits.

Fascination Fledgeby was in such a merry vein when the counting-
house was cleared of him, that he had nothing for it but to go to the
window, and lean his arms on the frame of the blind, and have his
silent laugh out, with his back to his subordinate. When he turned
round again with a composed countenance, his subordinate still
stood in the same place, and the dolls' dressmaker sat behind the
door with a look of horror.

'Halloa!' cried Mr Fledgeby, 'you're forgetting this young lady, Mr
Riah, and she has been waiting long enough too. Sell her her
waste, please, and give her good measure if you can make up your
mind to do the liberal thing for once.'

He looked on for a time, as the Jew filled her little basket with
such scraps as she was used to buy; but, his merry vein coming on
again, he was obliged to turn round to the window once more, and
lean his arms on the blind.

'There, my Cinderella dear,' said the old man in a whisper, and
with a worn-out look, 'the basket's full now. Bless you! And get
you gone!'

'Don't call me your Cinderella dear,' returned Miss Wren. 'O you
cruel godmother!'

She shook that emphatic little forefinger of hers in his face at
parting, as earnestly and reproachfully as she had ever shaken it at
her grim old child at home.

'You are not the godmother at all!' said she. 'You are the Wolf in
the Forest, the wicked Wolf! And if ever my dear Lizzie is sold
and betrayed, I shall know who sold and betrayed her!'


Charles Dickens