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mind too that I don't pounce in upon you at unseasonable hours again,

for I'll be a spy upon you, and come and go like a mole or a weazel.

Tom Scott--where's Tom Scott?'

'Here I am, master,' cried the voice of the boy, as Quilp threw up the

window.

'Wait there, you dog,' returned the dwarf, 'to carry a bachelor's

portmanteau. Pack it up, Mrs Quilp. Knock up the dear old lady to

help; knock her up. Halloa there! Halloa!'

With these exclamations, Mr Quilp caught up the poker, and hurrying to

the door of the good lady's sleeping-closet, beat upon it therewith

until she awoke in inexpressible terror, thinking that her amiable

son-in-law surely intended to murder her in justification of the legs

she had slandered. Impressed with this idea, she was no sooner fairly

awake than she screamed violently, and would have quickly precipitated

herself out of the window and through a neighbouring skylight, if her

daughter had not hastened in to undeceive her, and implore her

assistance. Somewhat reassured by her account of the service she was

required to render, Mrs Jiniwin made her appearance in a flannel

dressing-gown; and both mother and daughter, trembling with terror and

cold--for the night was now far advanced--obeyed Mr Quilp's directions

in submissive silence. Prolonging his preparations as much as

possible, for their greater comfort, that eccentric gentleman

superintended the packing of his wardrobe, and having added to it with

his own hands, a plate, knife and fork, spoon, teacup and saucer, and

other small household matters of that nature, strapped up the

portmanteau, took it on his shoulders, and actually marched off without

another word, and with the case-bottle (which he had never once put

down) still tightly clasped under his arm. Consigning his heavier

burden to the care of Tom Scott when he reached the street, taking a

dram from the bottle for his own encouragement, and giving the boy a

rap on the head with it as a small taste for himself, Quilp very

deliberately led the way to the wharf, and reached it at between three

and four o'clock in the morning.

'Snug!' said Quilp, when he had groped his way to the wooden

counting-house, and opened the door with a key he carried about with

him. 'Beautifully snug! Call me at eight, you dog.'

With no more formal leave-taking or explanation, he clutched the

portmanteau, shut the door on his attendant, and climbing on the desk,

and rolling himself up as round as a hedgehog, in an old boat-cloak,

fell fast asleep.

Being roused in the morning at the appointed time, and roused with

difficulty, after his late fatigues, Quilp instructed Tom Scott to make

a fire in the yard of sundry pieces of old timber, and to prepare some

coffee for breakfast; for the better furnishing of which repast he

entrusted him with certain small moneys, to be expended in the purchase

of hot rolls, butter, sugar, Yarmouth bloaters, and other articles of

housekeeping; so that in a few minutes a savoury meal was smoking on

the board. With this substantial comfort, the dwarf regaled himself to

his heart's content; and being highly satisfied with this free and

gipsy mode of life (which he had often meditated, as offering, whenever

he chose to avail himself of it, an agreeable freedom from the

restraints of matrimony, and a choice means of keeping Mrs Quilp and

her mother in a state of incessant agitation and suspense), bestirred

himself to improve his retreat, and render it more commodious and

comfortable.

With this view, he issued forth to a place hard by, where sea-stores

were sold, purchased a second-hand hammock, and had it slung in

seamanlike fashion from the ceiling of the counting-house. He also

caused to be erected, in the same mouldy cabin, an old ship's stove

with a rusty funnel to carry the smoke through the roof; and these

arrangements completed, surveyed them with ineffable delight.

'I've got a country-house like Robinson Crusoe,' said the dwarf, ogling

the accommodations; 'a solitary, sequestered, desolate-island sort of

spot, where I can be quite alone when I have business on hand, and be

secure from all spies and listeners. Nobody near me here, but rats,

and they are fine stealthy secret fellows. I shall be as merry as a

grig among these gentry. I'll look out for one like Christopher, and

poison him--ha, ha, ha! Business though--business--we must be mindful

of business in the midst of pleasure, and the time has flown this

morning, I declare.'

Enjoining Tom Scott to await his return, and not to stand upon his

head, or throw a summerset, or so much as walk upon his hands

meanwhile, on pain of lingering torments, the dwarf threw himself into

a boat, and crossing to the other side of the river, and then speeding

away on foot, reached Mr Swiveller's usual house of entertainment in

Bevis Marks, just as that gentleman sat down alone to dinner in its

dusky parlour.

'Dick,' said the dwarf, thrusting his head in at the door, 'my pet, my

pupil, the apple of my eye, hey, hey!'

'Oh you're there, are you?' returned Mr Swiveller; 'how are you?'

'How's Dick?' retorted Quilp. 'How's the cream of clerkship, eh?'

'Why, rather sour, sir,' replied Mr Swiveller. 'Beginning to border

upon cheesiness, in fact.'

'What's the matter?' said the dwarf, advancing. 'Has Sally proved

unkind. "Of all the girls that are so smart, there's none like--" eh,

Dick!'

'Certainly not,' replied Mr Swiveller, eating his dinner with great

gravity, 'none like her. She's the sphynx of private life, is Sally B.'

'You're out of spirits,' said Quilp, drawing up a chair. 'What's the

matter?'

'The law don't agree with me,' returned Dick. 'It isn't moist enough,

and there's too much confinement. I have been thinking of running

away.'

'Bah!' said the dwarf. 'Where would you run to, Dick?'

'I don't know' returned Mr Swiveller. 'Towards Highgate, I suppose.

Perhaps the bells might strike up "Turn again Swiveller, Lord Mayor of

London." Whittington's name was Dick. I wish cats were scarcer.'

Quilp looked at his companion with his eyes screwed up into a comical

expression of curiosity, and patiently awaited his further explanation;

upon which, however, Mr Swiveller appeared in no hurry to enter, as he

ate a very long dinner in profound silence, finally pushed away his

plate, threw himself back into his chair, folded his arms, and stared

ruefully at the fire, in which some ends of cigars were smoking on

their own account, and sending up a fragrant odour.

'Perhaps you'd like a bit of cake'--said Dick, at last turning to the

dwarf. 'You're quite welcome to it. You ought to be, for it's of your

making.'

'What do you mean?' said Quilp.

Mr Swiveller replied by taking from his pocket a small and very greasy

parcel, slowly unfolding it, and displaying a little slab of plum-cake

extremely indigestible in appearance, and bordered with a paste of

white sugar an inch and a half deep.

'What should you say this was?' demanded Mr Swiveller.

'It looks like bride-cake,' replied the dwarf, grinning.

'And whose should you say it was?' inquired Mr Swiveller, rubbing the

pastry against his nose with a dreadful calmness. 'Whose?'

'Not--'

'Yes,' said Dick, 'the same. You needn't mention her name. There's no

such name now. Her name is Cheggs now, Sophy Cheggs. Yet loved I as

man never loved that hadn't wooden legs, and my heart, my heart is

breaking for the love of Sophy Cheggs.'

With this extemporary adaptation of a popular ballad to the distressing

circumstances of his own case, Mr Swiveller folded up the parcel again,

beat it very flat between the palms of his hands, thrust it into his

breast, buttoned his coat over it, and folded his arms upon the whole.

'Now, I hope you're satisfied, sir,' said Dick; 'and I hope Fred's

satisfied. You went partners in the mischief, and I hope you like it.

This is the triumph I was to have, is it? It's like the old

country-dance of that name, where there are two gentlemen to one lady,

and one has her, and the other hasn't, but comes limping up behind to

make out the figure. But it's Destiny, and mine's a crusher.'

Disguising his secret joy in Mr Swiveller's defeat, Daniel Quilp

adopted the surest means of soothing him, by ringing the bell, and

ordering in a supply of rosy wine (that is to say, of its usual

representative), which he put about with great alacrity, calling upon

Mr Swiveller to pledge him in various toasts derisive of Cheggs, and

eulogistic of the happiness of single men. Such was their impression

on Mr Swiveller, coupled with the reflection that no man could oppose

his destiny, that in a very short space of time his spirits rose

surprisingly, and he was enabled to give the dwarf an account of the

receipt of the cake, which, it appeared, had been brought to Bevis

Marks by the two surviving Miss Wackleses in person, and delivered at

the office door with much giggling and joyfulness.

'Ha!' said Quilp. 'It will be our turn to giggle soon. And that

reminds me--you spoke of young Trent--where is he?'

Mr Swiveller explained that his respectable friend had recently

accepted a responsible situation in a locomotive gaming-house, and was

at that time absent on a professional tour among the adventurous

spirits of Great Britain.

'That's unfortunate,' said the dwarf, 'for I came, in fact, to ask you

about him. A thought has occurred to me, Dick; your friend over the

way--'

'Which friend?'

'In the first floor.'

'Yes?'

'Your friend in the first floor, Dick, may know him.'

'No, he don't,' said Mr Swiveller, shaking his head.

'Don't! No, because he has never seen him,' rejoined Quilp; 'but if we

were to bring them together, who knows, Dick, but Fred, properly

introduced, would serve his turn almost as well as little Nell or her

grandfather--who knows but it might make the young fellow's fortune,

and, through him, yours, eh?'

'Why, the fact is, you see,' said Mr Swiveller, 'that they HAVE been

brought together.'

'Have been!' cried the dwarf, looking suspiciously at his companion.

'Through whose means?'

'Through mine,' said Dick, slightly confused. 'Didn't I mention it to

you the last time you called over yonder?'

'You know you didn't,' returned the dwarf.

'I believe you're right,' said Dick. 'No. I didn't, I recollect. Oh

yes, I brought 'em together that very day. It was Fred's suggestion.'

'And what came of it?'

'Why, instead of my friend's bursting into tears when he knew who Fred

was, embracing him kindly, and telling him that he was his grandfather,

or his grandmother in disguise (which we fully expected), he flew into

a tremendous passion; called him all manner of names; said it was in a

great measure his fault that little Nell and the old gentleman had ever

been brought to poverty; didn't hint at our taking anything to drink;

and--and in short rather turned us out of the room than otherwise.'

'That's strange,' said the dwarf, musing.

'So we remarked to each other at the time,' returned Dick coolly, 'but

quite true.'

Quilp was plainly staggered by this intelligence, over which he brooded

for some time in moody silence, often raising his eyes to Mr

Swiveller's face, and sharply scanning its expression. As he could

read in it, however, no additional information or anything to lead him

to believe he had spoken falsely; and as Mr Swiveller, left to his own

meditations, sighed deeply, and was evidently growing maudlin on the

subject of Mrs Cheggs; the dwarf soon broke up the conference and took

his departure, leaving the bereaved one to his melancholy ruminations.

'Have been brought together, eh?' said the dwarf as he walked the

streets alone. 'My friend has stolen a march upon me. It led him to

nothing, and therefore is no great matter, save in the intention. I'm

glad he has lost his mistress. Ha ha! The blockhead mustn't leave the

law at present. I'm sure of him where he is, whenever I want him for

my own purposes, and, besides, he's a good unconscious spy on Brass,

and tells, in his cups, all that he sees and hears. You're useful to

me, Dick, and cost nothing but a little treating now and then. I am

not sure that it may not be worth while, before long, to take credit

with the stranger, Dick, by discovering your designs upon the child;

but for the present we'll remain the best friends in the world, with

your good leave.'

Pursuing these thoughts, and gasping as he went along, after his own

peculiar fashion, Mr Quilp once more crossed the Thames, and shut

himself up in his Bachelor's Hall, which, by reason of its

newly-erected chimney depositing the smoke inside the room and carrying

none of it off, was not quite so agreeable as more fastidious people

might have desired. Such inconveniences, however, instead of

disgusting the dwarf with his new abode, rather suited his humour; so,

after dining luxuriously from the public-house, he lighted his pipe,

and smoked against the chimney until nothing of him was visible through

the mist but a pair of red and highly inflamed eyes, with sometimes a

dim vision of his head and face, as, in a violent fit of coughing, he

slightly stirred the smoke and scattered the heavy wreaths by which