CHAPTER 28 - Mr. MICAWBER'S GAUNTLET

Until the day arrived on which I was to entertain my newly-found

old friends, I lived principally on Dora and coffee. In my

love-lorn condition, my appetite languished; and I was glad of it,

for I felt as though it would have been an act of perfidy towards

Dora to have a natural relish for my dinner. The quantity of

walking exercise I took, was not in this respect attended with its

usual consequence, as the disappointment counteracted the fresh

air. I have my doubts, too, founded on the acute experience

acquired at this period of my life, whether a sound enjoyment of

animal food can develop itself freely in any human subject who is

always in torment from tight boots. I think the extremities

require to be at peace before the stomach will conduct itself with

vigour.

On the occasion of this domestic little party, I did not repeat my

former extensive preparations. I merely provided a pair of soles,

a small leg of mutton, and a pigeon-pie. Mrs. Crupp broke out into

rebellion on my first bashful hint in reference to the cooking of

the fish and joint, and said, with a dignified sense of injury,

'No! No, sir! You will not ask me sich a thing, for you are

better acquainted with me than to suppose me capable of doing what

I cannot do with ampial satisfaction to my own feelings!' But, in

the end, a compromise was effected; and Mrs. Crupp consented to

achieve this feat, on condition that I dined from home for a

fortnight afterwards.

And here I may remark, that what I underwent from Mrs. Crupp, in

consequence of the tyranny she established over me, was dreadful.

I never was so much afraid of anyone. We made a compromise of

everything. If I hesitated, she was taken with that wonderful

disorder which was always lying in ambush in her system, ready, at

the shortest notice, to prey upon her vitals. If I rang the bell

impatiently, after half-a-dozen unavailing modest pulls, and she

appeared at last - which was not by any means to be relied upon -

she would appear with a reproachful aspect, sink breathless on a

chair near the door, lay her hand upon her nankeen bosom, and

become so ill, that I was glad, at any sacrifice of brandy or

anything else, to get rid of her. If I objected to having my bed

made at five o'clock in the afternoon - which I do still think an

uncomfortable arrangement - one motion of her hand towards the same

nankeen region of wounded sensibility was enough to make me falter

an apology. In short, I would have done anything in an honourable

way rather than give Mrs. Crupp offence; and she was the terror of

my life.

I bought a second-hand dumb-waiter for this dinner-party, in

preference to re-engaging the handy young man; against whom I had

conceived a prejudice, in consequence of meeting him in the Strand,

one Sunday morning, in a waistcoat remarkably like one of mine,

which had been missing since the former occasion. The 'young gal'

was re-engaged; but on the stipulation that she should only bring

in the dishes, and then withdraw to the landing-place, beyond the

outer door; where a habit of sniffing she had contracted would be

lost upon the guests, and where her retiring on the plates would be

a physical impossibility.

Having laid in the materials for a bowl of punch, to be compounded

by Mr. Micawber; having provided a bottle of lavender-water, two

wax-candles, a paper of mixed pins, and a pincushion, to assist

Mrs. Micawber in her toilette at my dressing-table; having also

caused the fire in my bedroom to be lighted for Mrs. Micawber's

convenience; and having laid the cloth with my own hands, I awaited

the result with composure.

At the appointed time, my three visitors arrived together. Mr.

Micawber with more shirt-collar than usual, and a new ribbon to his

eye-glass; Mrs. Micawber with her cap in a whitey-brown paper

parcel; Traddles carrying the parcel, and supporting Mrs. Micawber

on his arm. They were all delighted with my residence. When I

conducted Mrs. Micawber to my dressing-table, and she saw the scale

on which it was prepared for her, she was in such raptures, that

she called Mr. Micawber to come in and look.

'My dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'this is luxurious. This

is a way of life which reminds me of the period when I was myself

in a state of celibacy, and Mrs. Micawber had not yet been

solicited to plight her faith at the Hymeneal altar.'

'He means, solicited by him, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs. Micawber,

archly. 'He cannot answer for others.'

'My dear,' returned Mr. Micawber with sudden seriousness, 'I have

no desire to answer for others. I am too well aware that when, in

the inscrutable decrees of Fate, you were reserved for me, it is

possible you may have been reserved for one, destined, after a

protracted struggle, at length to fall a victim to pecuniary

involvements of a complicated nature. I understand your allusion,

my love. I regret it, but I can bear it.'

'Micawber!' exclaimed Mrs. Micawber, in tears. 'Have I deserved

this! I, who never have deserted you; who never WILL desert you,

Micawber!'

'My love,' said Mr. Micawber, much affected, 'you will forgive, and

our old and tried friend Copperfield will, I am sure, forgive, the

momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, made sensitive by a

recent collision with the Minion of Power - in other words, with a

ribald Turncock attached to the water-works - and will pity, not

condemn, its excesses.'

Mr. Micawber then embraced Mrs. Micawber, and pressed my hand;

leaving me to infer from this broken allusion that his domestic

supply of water had been cut off that afternoon, in consequence of

default in the payment of the company's rates.

To divert his thoughts from this melancholy subject, I informed Mr.

Micawber that I relied upon him for a bowl of punch, and led him to

the lemons. His recent despondency, not to say despair, was gone

in a moment. I never saw a man so thoroughly enjoy himself amid

the fragrance of lemon-peel and sugar, the odour of burning rum,

and the steam of boiling water, as Mr. Micawber did that afternoon.

It was wonderful to see his face shining at us out of a thin cloud

of these delicate fumes, as he stirred, and mixed, and tasted, and

looked as if he were making, instead of punch, a fortune for his

family down to the latest posterity. As to Mrs. Micawber, I don't

know whether it was the effect of the cap, or the lavender-water,

or the pins, or the fire, or the wax-candles, but she came out of

my room, comparatively speaking, lovely. And the lark was never

gayer than that excellent woman.

I suppose - I never ventured to inquire, but I suppose - that Mrs.

Crupp, after frying the soles, was taken ill. Because we broke

down at that point. The leg of mutton came up very red within, and

very pale without: besides having a foreign substance of a gritty

nature sprinkled over it, as if if had had a fall into the ashes of

that remarkable kitchen fireplace. But we were not in condition to

judge of this fact from the appearance of the gravy, forasmuch as

the 'young gal' had dropped it all upon the stairs - where it

remained, by the by, in a long train, until it was worn out. The

pigeon-pie was not bad, but it was a delusive pie: the crust being

like a disappointing head, phrenologically speaking: full of lumps

and bumps, with nothing particular underneath. In short, the

banquet was such a failure that I should have been quite unhappy -

about the failure, I mean, for I was always unhappy about Dora - if

I had not been relieved by the great good humour of my company, and

by a bright suggestion from Mr. Micawber.

'My dear friend Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'accidents will

occur in the best-regulated families; and in families not regulated

by that pervading influence which sanctifies while it enhances the

- a - I would say, in short, by the influence of Woman, in the

lofty character of Wife, they may be expected with confidence, and

must be borne with philosophy. If you will allow me to take the

liberty of remarking that there are few comestibles better, in

their way, than a Devil, and that I believe, with a little division

of labour, we could accomplish a good one if the young person in

attendance could produce a gridiron, I would put it to you, that

this little misfortune may be easily repaired.'

There was a gridiron in the pantry, on which my morning rasher of

bacon was cooked. We had it in, in a twinkling, and immediately

applied ourselves to carrying Mr. Micawber's idea into effect. The

division of labour to which he had referred was this: - Traddles

cut the mutton into slices; Mr. Micawber (who could do anything of

this sort to perfection) covered them with pepper, mustard, salt,

and cayenne; I put them on the gridiron, turned them with a fork,

and took them off, under Mr. Micawber's direction; and Mrs.

Micawber heated, and continually stirred, some mushroom ketchup in

a little saucepan. When we had slices enough done to begin upon,

we fell-to, with our sleeves still tucked up at the wrist, more

slices sputtering and blazing on the fire, and our attention

divided between the mutton on our plates, and the mutton then

preparing.

What with the novelty of this cookery, the excellence of it, the

bustle of it, the frequent starting up to look after it, the

frequent sitting down to dispose of it as the crisp slices came off

the gridiron hot and hot, the being so busy, so flushed with the

fire, so amused, and in the midst of such a tempting noise and

savour, we reduced the leg of mutton to the bone. My own appetite

came back miraculously. I am ashamed to record it, but I really

believe I forgot Dora for a little while. I am satisfied that Mr.

and Mrs. Micawber could not have enjoyed the feast more, if they

had sold a bed to provide it. Traddles laughed as heartily, almost

the whole time, as he ate and worked. Indeed we all did, all at

once; and I dare say there was never a greater success.

We were at the height of our enjoyment, and were all busily

engaged, in our several departments, endeavouring to bring the last

batch of slices to a state of perfection that should crown the

feast, when I was aware of a strange presence in the room, and my

eyes encountered those of the staid Littimer, standing hat in hand

before me.

'What's the matter?' I involuntarily asked.

'I beg your pardon, sir, I was directed to come in. Is my master

not here, sir?'

'No.'

'Have you not seen him, sir?'

'No; don't you come from him?'

'Not immediately so, sir.'

'Did he tell you you would find him here?'

'Not exactly so, sir. But I should think he might be here

tomorrow, as he has not been here today.'

'Is he coming up from Oxford?'

'I beg, sir,' he returned respectfully, 'that you will be seated,

and allow me to do this.' With which he took the fork from my

unresisting hand, and bent over the gridiron, as if his whole

attention were concentrated on it.

We should not have been much discomposed, I dare say, by the

appearance of Steerforth himself, but we became in a moment the

meekest of the meek before his respectable serving-man. Mr.

Micawber, humming a tune, to show that he was quite at ease,

subsided into his chair, with the handle of a hastily concealed

fork sticking out of the bosom of his coat, as if he had stabbed

himself. Mrs. Micawber put on her brown gloves, and assumed a

genteel languor. Traddles ran his greasy hands through his hair,

and stood it bolt upright, and stared in confusion on the

table-cloth. As for me, I was a mere infant at the head of my own

table; and hardly ventured to glance at the respectable phenomenon,

who had come from Heaven knows where, to put my establishment to

rights.

Meanwhile he took the mutton off the gridiron, and gravely handed

it round. We all took some, but our appreciation of it was gone,

and we merely made a show of eating it. As we severally pushed

away our plates, he noiselessly removed them, and set on the

cheese. He took that off, too, when it was done with; cleared the

table; piled everything on the dumb-waiter; gave us our

wine-glasses; and, of his own accord, wheeled the dumb-waiter into

the pantry. All this was done in a perfect manner, and he never

raised his eyes from what he was about. Yet his very elbows, when

he had his back towards me, seemed to teem with the expression of

his fixed opinion that I was extremely young.

'Can I do anything more, sir?'

I thanked him and said, No; but would he take no dinner himself?

'None, I am obliged to you, sir.'

'Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford?'

'I beg your pardon, sir?'

'Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford?'

'I should imagine that he might be here tomorrow, sir. I rather

thought he might have been here today, sir. The mistake is mine,

no doubt, sir.'

'If you should see him first -' said I.

'If you'll excuse me, sir, I don't think I shall see him first.'

'In case you do,' said I, 'pray say that I am sorry he was not here

today, as an old schoolfellow of his was here.'

'Indeed, sir!' and he divided a bow between me and Traddles, with

a glance at the latter.

He was moving softly to the door, when, in a forlorn hope of saying

something naturally - which I never could, to this man - I said:

'Oh! Littimer!'

'Sir!'

'Did you remain long at Yarmouth, that time?'

'Not particularly so, sir.'

'You saw the boat completed?'

'Yes, sir. I remained behind on purpose to see the boat

completed.'

'I know!' He raised his eyes to mine respectfully.

'Mr. Steerforth has not seen it yet, I suppose?'

'I really can't say, sir. I think - but I really can't say, sir.

I wish you good night, sir.'

He comprehended everybody present, in the respectful bow with which

he followed these words, and disappeared. My visitors seemed to

breathe more freely when he was gone; but my own relief was very

great, for besides the constraint, arising from that extraordinary

sense of being at a disadvantage which I always had in this man's

presence, my conscience had embarrassed me with whispers that I had

mistrusted his master, and I could not repress a vague uneasy dread

that he might find it out. How was it, having so little in reality

to conceal, that I always DID feel as if this man were finding me

out?

Mr. Micawber roused me from this reflection, which was blended with

a certain remorseful apprehension of seeing Steerforth himself, by

bestowing many encomiums on the absent Littimer as a most

respectable fellow, and a thoroughly admirable servant. Mr.

Micawber, I may remark, had taken his full share of the general

bow, and had received it with infinite condescension.

'But punch, my dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, tasting it,

'like time and tide, waits for no man. Ah! it is at the present

moment in high flavour. My love, will you give me your opinion?'

Mrs. Micawber pronounced it excellent.

'Then I will drink,' said Mr. Micawber, 'if my friend Copperfield

will permit me to take that social liberty, to the days when my

friend Copperfield and myself were younger, and fought our way in

the world side by side. I may say, of myself and Copperfield, in

words we have sung together before now, that

We twa hae run about the braes

And pu'd the gowans' fine

- in a figurative point of view - on several occasions. I am not

exactly aware,' said Mr. Micawber, with the old roll in his voice,

and the old indescribable air of saying something genteel, 'what

gowans may be, but I have no doubt that Copperfield and myself

would frequently have taken a pull at them, if it had been

feasible.'

Mr. Micawber, at the then present moment, took a pull at his punch.

So we all did: Traddles evidently lost in wondering at what distant

time Mr. Micawber and I could have been comrades in the battle of

the world.

'Ahem!' said Mr. Micawber, clearing his throat, and warming with

the punch and with the fire. 'My dear, another glass?'

Mrs. Micawber said it must be very little; but we couldn't allow

that, so it was a glassful.

'As we are quite confidential here, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs.

Micawber, sipping her punch, 'Mr. Traddles being a part of our

domesticity, I should much like to have your opinion on Mr.

Micawber's prospects. For corn,' said Mrs. Micawber

argumentatively, 'as I have repeatedly said to Mr. Micawber, may be

gentlemanly, but it is not remunerative. Commission to the extent

of two and ninepence in a fortnight cannot, however limited our

ideas, be considered remunerative.'

We were all agreed upon that.

'Then,' said Mrs. Micawber, who prided herself on taking a clear

view of things, and keeping Mr. Micawber straight by her woman's

wisdom, when he might otherwise go a little crooked, 'then I ask

myself this question. If corn is not to be relied upon, what is?

Are coals to be relied upon? Not at all. We have turned our

attention to that experiment, on the suggestion of my family, and

we find it fallacious.'

Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his

pockets, eyed us aside, and nodded his head, as much as to say that

the case was very clearly put.

'The articles of corn and coals,' said Mrs. Micawber, still more

argumentatively, 'being equally out of the question, Mr.

Copperfield, I naturally look round the world, and say, "What is

there in which a person of Mr. Micawber's talent is likely to

succeed?" And I exclude the doing anything on commission, because

commission is not a certainty. What is best suited to a person of

Mr. Micawber's peculiar temperament is, I am convinced, a

certainty.'

Traddles and I both expressed, by a feeling murmur, that this great

discovery was no doubt true of Mr. Micawber, and that it did him

much credit.

'I will not conceal from you, my dear Mr. Copperfield,' said Mrs.

Micawber, 'that I have long felt the Brewing business to be

particularly adapted to Mr. Micawber. Look at Barclay and Perkins!

Look at Truman, Hanbury, and Buxton! It is on that extensive

footing that Mr. Micawber, I know from my own knowledge of him, is

calculated to shine; and the profits, I am told, are e-NOR-MOUS!

But if Mr. Micawber cannot get into those firms - which decline to

answer his letters, when he offers his services even in an inferior

capacity - what is the use of dwelling upon that idea? None. I

may have a conviction that Mr. Micawber's manners -'

'Hem! Really, my dear,' interposed Mr. Micawber.

'My love, be silent,' said Mrs. Micawber, laying her brown glove on

his hand. 'I may have a conviction, Mr. Copperfield, that Mr.

Micawber's manners peculiarly qualify him for the Banking business.

I may argue within myself, that if I had a deposit at a

banking-house, the manners of Mr. Micawber, as representing that

banking-house, would inspire confidence, and must extend the

connexion. But if the various banking-houses refuse to avail

themselves of Mr. Micawber's abilities, or receive the offer of

them with contumely, what is the use of dwelling upon THAT idea?

None. As to originating a banking-business, I may know that there

are members of my family who, if they chose to place their money in

Mr. Micawber's hands, might found an establishment of that

description. But if they do NOT choose to place their money in Mr.

Micawber's hands - which they don't - what is the use of that?

Again I contend that we are no farther advanced than we were

before.'

I shook my head, and said, 'Not a bit.' Traddles also shook his

head, and said, 'Not a bit.'

'What do I deduce from this?' Mrs. Micawber went on to say, still

with the same air of putting a case lucidly. 'What is the

conclusion, my dear Mr. Copperfield, to which I am irresistibly

brought? Am I wrong in saying, it is clear that we must live?'

I answered 'Not at all!' and Traddles answered 'Not at all!' and I

found myself afterwards sagely adding, alone, that a person must

either live or die.

'Just so,' returned Mrs. Micawber, 'It is precisely that. And the

fact is, my dear Mr. Copperfield, that we can not live without

something widely different from existing circumstances shortly

turning up. Now I am convinced, myself, and this I have pointed

out to Mr. Micawber several times of late, that things cannot be

expected to turn up of themselves. We must, in a measure, assist

to turn them up. I may be wrong, but I have formed that opinion.'

Both Traddles and I applauded it highly.

'Very well,' said Mrs. Micawber. 'Then what do I recommend? Here

is Mr. Micawber with a variety of qualifications - with great

talent -'

'Really, my love,' said Mr. Micawber.

'Pray, my dear, allow me to conclude. Here is Mr. Micawber, with

a variety of qualifications, with great talent - I should say, with

genius, but that may be the partiality of a wife -'

Traddles and I both murmured 'No.'

'And here is Mr. Micawber without any suitable position or

employment. Where does that responsibility rest? Clearly on

society. Then I would make a fact so disgraceful known, and boldly

challenge society to set it right. It appears to me, my dear Mr.

Copperfield,' said Mrs. Micawber, forcibly, 'that what Mr. Micawber

has to do, is to throw down the gauntlet to society, and say, in

effect, "Show me who will take that up. Let the party immediately

step forward."'

I ventured to ask Mrs. Micawber how this was to be done.

'By advertising,' said Mrs. Micawber - 'in all the papers. It

appears to me, that what Mr. Micawber has to do, in justice to

himself, in justice to his family, and I will even go so far as to

say in justice to society, by which he has been hitherto

overlooked, is to advertise in all the papers; to describe himself

plainly as so-and-so, with such and such qualifications and to put

it thus: "Now employ me, on remunerative terms, and address,

post-paid, to W. M., Post Office, Camden Town."'

'This idea of Mrs. Micawber's, my dear Copperfield,' said Mr.

Micawber, making his shirt-collar meet in front of his chin, and

glancing at me sideways, 'is, in fact, the Leap to which I alluded,

when I last had the pleasure of seeing you.'

'Advertising is rather expensive,' I remarked, dubiously.

'Exactly so!' said Mrs. Micawber, preserving the same logical air.

'Quite true, my dear Mr. Copperfield! I have made the identical

observation to Mr. Micawber. It is for that reason especially,

that I think Mr. Micawber ought (as I have already said, in justice

to himself, in justice to his family, and in justice to society) to

raise a certain sum of money - on a bill.'

Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair, trifled with his eye-glass

and cast his eyes up at the ceiling; but I thought him observant of

Traddles, too, who was looking at the fire.

'If no member of my family,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'is possessed of

sufficient natural feeling to negotiate that bill - I believe there

is a better business-term to express what I mean -'

Mr. Micawber, with his eyes still cast up at the ceiling, suggested

'Discount.'

'To discount that bill,' said Mrs. Micawber, 'then my opinion is,

that Mr. Micawber should go into the City, should take that bill

into the Money Market, and should dispose of it for what he can

get. If the individuals in the Money Market oblige Mr. Micawber to

sustain a great sacrifice, that is between themselves and their

consciences. I view it, steadily, as an investment. I recommend

Mr. Micawber, my dear Mr. Copperfield, to do the same; to regard it

as an investment which is sure of return, and to make up his mind

to any sacrifice.'

I felt, but I am sure I don't know why, that this was self-denying

and devoted in Mrs. Micawber, and I uttered a murmur to that

effect. Traddles, who took his tone from me, did likewise, still

looking at the fire.

'I will not,' said Mrs. Micawber, finishing her punch, and

gathering her scarf about her shoulders, preparatory to her

withdrawal to my bedroom: 'I will not protract these remarks on the

subject of Mr. Micawber's pecuniary affairs. At your fireside, my

dear Mr. Copperfield, and in the presence of Mr. Traddles, who,

though not so old a friend, is quite one of ourselves, I could not

refrain from making you acquainted with the course I advise Mr.

Micawber to take. I feel that the time is arrived when Mr.

Micawber should exert himself and - I will add - assert himself,

and it appears to me that these are the means. I am aware that I

am merely a female, and that a masculine judgement is usually

considered more competent to the discussion of such questions;

still I must not forget that, when I lived at home with my papa and

mama, my papa was in the habit of saying, "Emma's form is fragile,

but her grasp of a subject is inferior to none." That my papa was

too partial, I well know; but that he was an observer of character

in some degree, my duty and my reason equally forbid me to doubt.'

With these words, and resisting our entreaties that she would grace

the remaining circulation of the punch with her presence, Mrs.

Micawber retired to my bedroom. And really I felt that she was a

noble woman - the sort of woman who might have been a Roman matron,

and done all manner of heroic things, in times of public trouble.

In the fervour of this impression, I congratulated Mr. Micawber on

the treasure he possessed. So did Traddles. Mr. Micawber extended

his hand to each of us in succession, and then covered his face

with his pocket-handkerchief, which I think had more snuff upon it

than he was aware of. He then returned to the punch, in the

highest state of exhilaration.

He was full of eloquence. He gave us to understand that in our

children we lived again, and that, under the pressure of pecuniary

difficulties, any accession to their number was doubly welcome. He

said that Mrs. Micawber had latterly had her doubts on this point,

but that he had dispelled them, and reassured her. As to her

family, they were totally unworthy of her, and their sentiments

were utterly indifferent to him, and they might - I quote his own

expression - go to the Devil.

Mr. Micawber then delivered a warm eulogy on Traddles. He said

Traddles's was a character, to the steady virtues of which he (Mr.

Micawber) could lay no claim, but which, he thanked Heaven, he

could admire. He feelingly alluded to the young lady, unknown,

whom Traddles had honoured with his affection, and who had

reciprocated that affection by honouring and blessing Traddles with

her affection. Mr. Micawber pledged her. So did I. Traddles

thanked us both, by saying, with a simplicity and honesty I had

sense enough to be quite charmed with, 'I am very much obliged to

you indeed. And I do assure you, she's the dearest girl! -'

Mr. Micawber took an early opportunity, after that, of hinting,

with the utmost delicacy and ceremony, at the state of MY

affections. Nothing but the serious assurance of his friend

Copperfield to the contrary, he observed, could deprive him of the

impression that his friend Copperfield loved and was beloved.

After feeling very hot and uncomfortable for some time, and after

a good deal of blushing, stammering, and denying, I said, having my

glass in my hand, 'Well! I would give them D.!' which so excited

and gratified Mr. Micawber, that he ran with a glass of punch into

my bedroom, in order that Mrs. Micawber might drink D., who drank

it with enthusiasm, crying from within, in a shrill voice, 'Hear,

hear! My dear Mr. Copperfield, I am delighted. Hear!' and tapping

at the wall, by way of applause.

Our conversation, afterwards, took a more worldly turn; Mr.

Micawber telling us that he found Camden Town inconvenient, and

that the first thing he contemplated doing, when the advertisement

should have been the cause of something satisfactory turning up,

was to move. He mentioned a terrace at the western end of Oxford

Street, fronting Hyde Park, on which he had always had his eye, but

which he did not expect to attain immediately, as it would require

a large establishment. There would probably be an interval, he

explained, in which he should content himself with the upper part

of a house, over some respectable place of business - say in

Piccadilly, - which would be a cheerful situation for Mrs.

Micawber; and where, by throwing out a bow-window, or carrying up

the roof another story, or making some little alteration of that

sort, they might live, comfortably and reputably, for a few years.

Whatever was reserved for him, he expressly said, or wherever his

abode might be, we might rely on this - there would always be a

room for Traddles, and a knife and fork for me. We acknowledged

his kindness; and he begged us to forgive his having launched into

these practical and business-like details, and to excuse it as

natural in one who was making entirely new arrangements in life.

Mrs. Micawber, tapping at the wall again to know if tea were ready,

broke up this particular phase of our friendly conversation. She

made tea for us in a most agreeable manner; and, whenever I went

near her, in handing about the tea-cups and bread-and-butter, asked

me, in a whisper, whether D. was fair, or dark, or whether she was

short, or tall: or something of that kind; which I think I liked.

After tea, we discussed a variety of topics before the fire; and

Mrs. Micawber was good enough to sing us (in a small, thin, flat

voice, which I remembered to have considered, when I first knew

her, the very table-beer of acoustics) the favourite ballads of

'The Dashing White Sergeant', and 'Little Tafflin'. For both of

these songs Mrs. Micawber had been famous when she lived at home

with her papa and mama. Mr. Micawber told us, that when he heard

her sing the first one, on the first occasion of his seeing her

beneath the parental roof, she had attracted his attention in an

extraordinary degree; but that when it came to Little Tafflin, he

had resolved to win that woman or perish in the attempt.

It was between ten and eleven o'clock when Mrs. Micawber rose to

replace her cap in the whitey-brown paper parcel, and to put on her

bonnet. Mr. Micawber took the opportunity of Traddles putting on

his great-coat, to slip a letter into my hand, with a whispered

request that I would read it at my leisure. I also took the

opportunity of my holding a candle over the banisters to light them

down, when Mr. Micawber was going first, leading Mrs. Micawber, and

Traddles was following with the cap, to detain Traddles for a

moment on the top of the stairs.

'Traddles,' said I, 'Mr. Micawber don't mean any harm, poor fellow:

but, if I were you, I wouldn't lend him anything.'

'My dear Copperfield,' returned Traddles, smiling, 'I haven't got

anything to lend.'

'You have got a name, you know,' said I.

'Oh! You call THAT something to lend?' returned Traddles, with a

thoughtful look.

'Certainly.'

'Oh!' said Traddles. 'Yes, to be sure! I am very much obliged to

you, Copperfield; but - I am afraid I have lent him that already.'

'For the bill that is to be a certain investment?' I inquired.

'No,' said Traddles. 'Not for that one. This is the first I have

heard of that one. I have been thinking that he will most likely

propose that one, on the way home. Mine's another.'

'I hope there will be nothing wrong about it,' said I.

'I hope not,' said Traddles. 'I should think not, though, because

he told me, only the other day, that it was provided for. That was

Mr. Micawber's expression, "Provided for."'

Mr. Micawber looking up at this juncture to where we were standing,

I had only time to repeat my caution. Traddles thanked me, and

descended. But I was much afraid, when I observed the good-natured

manner in which he went down with the cap in his hand, and gave

Mrs. Micawber his arm, that he would be carried into the Money

Market neck and heels.

I returned to my fireside, and was musing, half gravely and half

laughing, on the character of Mr. Micawber and the old relations

between us, when I heard a quick step ascending the stairs. At

first, I thought it was Traddles coming back for something Mrs.

Micawber had left behind; but as the step approached, I knew it,

and felt my heart beat high, and the blood rush to my face, for it

was Steerforth's.

I was never unmindful of Agnes, and she never left that sanctuary

in my thoughts - if I may call it so - where I had placed her from

the first. But when he entered, and stood before me with his hand

out, the darkness that had fallen on him changed to light, and I

felt confounded and ashamed of having doubted one I loved so

heartily. I loved her none the less; I thought of her as the same

benignant, gentle angel in my life; I reproached myself, not her,

with having done him an injury; and I would have made him any

atonement if I had known what to make, and how to make it.

'Why, Daisy, old boy, dumb-foundered!' laughed Steerforth, shaking

my hand heartily, and throwing it gaily away. 'Have I detected you

in another feast, you Sybarite! These Doctors' Commons fellows are

the gayest men in town, I believe, and beat us sober Oxford people

all to nothing!' His bright glance went merrily round the room, as

he took the seat on the sofa opposite to me, which Mrs. Micawber

had recently vacated, and stirred the fire into a blaze.

'I was so surprised at first,' said I, giving him welcome with all

the cordiality I felt, 'that I had hardly breath to greet you with,

Steerforth.'

'Well, the sight of me is good for sore eyes, as the Scotch say,'

replied Steerforth, 'and so is the sight of you, Daisy, in full

bloom. How are you, my Bacchanal?'

'I am very well,' said I; 'and not at all Bacchanalian tonight,

though I confess to another party of three.'

'All of whom I met in the street, talking loud in your praise,'

returned Steerforth. 'Who's our friend in the tights?'

I gave him the best idea I could, in a few words, of Mr. Micawber.

He laughed heartily at my feeble portrait of that gentleman, and

said he was a man to know, and he must know him.

'But who do you suppose our other friend is?' said I, in my turn.

'Heaven knows,' said Steerforth. 'Not a bore, I hope? I thought

he looked a little like one.'

'Traddles!' I replied, triumphantly.

'Who's he?' asked Steerforth, in his careless way.

'Don't you remember Traddles? Traddles in our room at Salem

House?'

'Oh! That fellow!' said Steerforth, beating a lump of coal on the

top of the fire, with the poker. 'Is he as soft as ever? And

where the deuce did you pick him up?'

I extolled Traddles in reply, as highly as I could; for I felt that

Steerforth rather slighted him. Steerforth, dismissing the subject

with a light nod, and a smile, and the remark that he would be glad

to see the old fellow too, for he had always been an odd fish,

inquired if I could give him anything to eat? During most of this

short dialogue, when he had not been speaking in a wild vivacious

manner, he had sat idly beating on the lump of coal with the poker.

I observed that he did the same thing while I was getting out the

remains of the pigeon-pie, and so forth.

'Why, Daisy, here's a supper for a king!' he exclaimed, starting

out of his silence with a burst, and taking his seat at the table.

'I shall do it justice, for I have come from Yarmouth.'

'I thought you came from Oxford?' I returned.

'Not I,' said Steerforth. 'I have been seafaring - better

employed.'

'Littimer was here today, to inquire for you,' I remarked, 'and I

understood him that you were at Oxford; though, now I think of it,

he certainly did not say so.'

'Littimer is a greater fool than I thought him, to have been

inquiring for me at all,' said Steerforth, jovially pouring out a

glass of wine, and drinking to me. 'As to understanding him, you

are a cleverer fellow than most of us, Daisy, if you can do that.'

'That's true, indeed,' said I, moving my chair to the table. 'So

you have been at Yarmouth, Steerforth!' interested to know all

about it. 'Have you been there long?'

'No,' he returned. 'An escapade of a week or so.'

'And how are they all? Of course, little Emily is not married

yet?'

'Not yet. Going to be, I believe - in so many weeks, or months, or

something or other. I have not seen much of 'em. By the by'; he

laid down his knife and fork, which he had been using with great

diligence, and began feeling in his pockets; 'I have a letter for

you.'

'From whom?'

'Why, from your old nurse,' he returned, taking some papers out of

his breast pocket. "'J. Steerforth, Esquire, debtor, to The

Willing Mind"; that's not it. Patience, and we'll find it

presently. Old what's-his-name's in a bad way, and it's about

that, I believe.'

'Barkis, do you mean?'

'Yes!' still feeling in his pockets, and looking over their

contents: 'it's all over with poor Barkis, I am afraid. I saw a

little apothecary there - surgeon, or whatever he is - who brought

your worship into the world. He was mighty learned about the case,

to me; but the upshot of his opinion was, that the carrier was

making his last journey rather fast. - Put your hand into the

breast pocket of my great-coat on the chair yonder, and I think

you'll find the letter. Is it there?'

'Here it is!' said I.

'That's right!'

It was from Peggotty; something less legible than usual, and brief.

It informed me of her husband's hopeless state, and hinted at his

being 'a little nearer' than heretofore, and consequently more

difficult to manage for his own comfort. It said nothing of her

weariness and watching, and praised him highly. It was written

with a plain, unaffected, homely piety that I knew to be genuine,

and ended with 'my duty to my ever darling' - meaning myself.

While I deciphered it, Steerforth continued to eat and drink.

'It's a bad job,' he said, when I had done; 'but the sun sets every

day, and people die every minute, and we mustn't be scared by the

common lot. If we failed to hold our own, because that equal foot

at all men's doors was heard knocking somewhere, every object in

this world would slip from us. No! Ride on! Rough-shod if need

be, smooth-shod if that will do, but ride on! Ride on over all

obstacles, and win the race!'

'And win what race?' said I.

'The race that one has started in,' said he. 'Ride on!'

I noticed, I remember, as he paused, looking at me with his

handsome head a little thrown back, and his glass raised in his

hand, that, though the freshness of the sea-wind was on his face,

and it was ruddy, there were traces in it, made since I last saw

it, as if he had applied himself to some habitual strain of the

fervent energy which, when roused, was so passionately roused

within him. I had it in my thoughts to remonstrate with him upon

his desperate way of pursuing any fancy that he took - such as this

buffeting of rough seas, and braving of hard weather, for example

- when my mind glanced off to the immediate subject of our

conversation again, and pursued that instead.

'I tell you what, Steerforth,' said I, 'if your high spirits will

listen to me -'

'They are potent spirits, and will do whatever you like,' he

answered, moving from the table to the fireside again.

'Then I tell you what, Steerforth. I think I will go down and see

my old nurse. It is not that I can do her any good, or render her

any real service; but she is so attached to me that my visit will

have as much effect on her, as if I could do both. She will take

it so kindly that it will be a comfort and support to her. It is

no great effort to make, I am sure, for such a friend as she has

been to me. Wouldn't you go a day's journey, if you were in my

place?'

His face was thoughtful, and he sat considering a little before he

answered, in a low voice, 'Well! Go. You can do no harm.'

'You have just come back,' said I, 'and it would be in vain to ask

you to go with me?'

'Quite,' he returned. 'I am for Highgate tonight. I have not seen

my mother this long time, and it lies upon my conscience, for it's

something to be loved as she loves her prodigal son. - Bah!

Nonsense! - You mean to go tomorrow, I suppose?' he said, holding

me out at arm's length, with a hand on each of my shoulders.

'Yes, I think so.'

'Well, then, don't go till next day. I wanted you to come and stay

a few days with us. Here I am, on purpose to bid you, and you fly

off to Yarmouth!'

'You are a nice fellow to talk of flying off, Steerforth, who are

always running wild on some unknown expedition or other!'

He looked at me for a moment without speaking, and then rejoined,

still holding me as before, and giving me a shake:

'Come! Say the next day, and pass as much of tomorrow as you can

with us! Who knows when we may meet again, else? Come! Say the

next day! I want you to stand between Rosa Dartle and me, and keep

us asunder.'

'Would you love each other too much, without me?'

'Yes; or hate,' laughed Steerforth; 'no matter which. Come! Say

the next day!'

I said the next day; and he put on his great-coat and lighted his

cigar, and set off to walk home. Finding him in this intention, I

put on my own great-coat (but did not light my own cigar, having

had enough of that for one while) and walked with him as far as the

open road: a dull road, then, at night. He was in great spirits

all the way; and when we parted, and I looked after him going so

gallantly and airily homeward, I thought of his saying, 'Ride on

over all obstacles, and win the race!' and wished, for the first

time, that he had some worthy race to run.

I was undressing in my own room, when Mr. Micawber's letter tumbled

on the floor. Thus reminded of it, I broke the seal and read as

follows. It was dated an hour and a half before dinner. I am not

sure whether I have mentioned that, when Mr. Micawber was at any

particularly desperate crisis, he used a sort of legal phraseology,

which he seemed to think equivalent to winding up his affairs.

'SIR - for I dare not say my dear Copperfield,

'It is expedient that I should inform you that the undersigned is

Crushed. Some flickering efforts to spare you the premature

knowledge of his calamitous position, you may observe in him this

day; but hope has sunk beneath the horizon, and the undersigned is

Crushed.

'The present communication is penned within the personal range (I

cannot call it the society) of an individual, in a state closely

bordering on intoxication, employed by a broker. That individual

is in legal possession of the premises, under a distress for rent.

His inventory includes, not only the chattels and effects of every

description belonging to the undersigned, as yearly tenant of this

habitation, but also those appertaining to Mr. Thomas Traddles,

lodger, a member of the Honourable Society of the Inner Temple.

'If any drop of gloom were wanting in the overflowing cup, which is

now "commended" (in the language of an immortal Writer) to the lips

of the undersigned, it would be found in the fact, that a friendly

acceptance granted to the undersigned, by the before-mentioned Mr.

Thomas Traddles, for the sum Of 23l 4s 9 1/2d is over due, and is

NOT provided for. Also, in the fact that the living

responsibilities clinging to the undersigned will, in the course of

nature, be increased by the sum of one more helpless victim; whose

miserable appearance may be looked for - in round numbers - at the

expiration of a period not exceeding six lunar months from the

present date.

'After premising thus much, it would be a work of supererogation to

add, that dust and ashes are for ever scattered

'On

'The

'Head

'Of

'WILKINS MICAWBER.'

Poor Traddles! I knew enough of Mr. Micawber by this time, to

foresee that he might be expected to recover the blow; but my

night's rest was sorely distressed by thoughts of Traddles, and of

the curate's daughter, who was one of ten, down in Devonshire, and

who was such a dear girl, and who would wait for Traddles (ominous

praise!) until she was sixty, or any age that could be mentioned.

Read next: CHAPTER 29 - I VISIT STEERFORTH AT HIS HOME, AGAIN

Read previous: CHAPTER 27 - TOMMY TRADDLES

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