‘We are not likely to remain alone much longer,’ said Agnes, ‘and while I have an opportunity,let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood,to be friendly to Uriah. Don’t repel him.Don’t resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!’
Agnes had no time to say more, for the room door opened,and Mrs. Waterbrook,who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress:I don’t exactly know which,for I don’t know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in.I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre,as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern;but she appeared to remember me perfectly,and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication.
Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober,and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs.Waterbrook softened towards me considerably,and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks,and secondly, if I went much into society.On my replying to both these questions in the negative,it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion;but she concealed the fact gracefully,and invited me to dinner next day.I accepted the invitation, and took my leave,making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out,and leaving a card for him in his absence.
When I went to dinner next day,and on the street door being opened,plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton,I divined that I was not the only guest,for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise,assisting the family servant,and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name.He looked, to the best of his ability,when he asked me for it confidentially,as if he had never seen me before;but well did I know him, and well did he know me.Conscience made cowards of us both.
I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman,with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar,who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog.He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance;and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook,presented me, with much ceremony,to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress,and a great black velvet hat,whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet’s--say his aunt.
Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady’s name;and her husband was there too: so cold a man,that his head, instead of being grey,seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost.Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers,male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr.Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody,I forget what or which,remotely connected with the Treasury.
I found Uriah Heep among the company,in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me,when I shook hands with him,that he was proud to be noticed by me,and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension.I could have wished he had been less obliged to me,for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening;and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure,with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face,to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind.
There were other guests--all iced for the occasion,as it struck me, like the wine.But there was one who attracted my attention before he came in,on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles!My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy,I thought, who used to draw the skeletons!
I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest.He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners,with a comic head of hair,and eyes that were rather wide open;and he got into an obscure corner so soon,that I had some difficulty in making him out.At length I had a good view of him,and either my vision deceived me,or it was the old unfortunate Tommy.
I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said,that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there.
‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised.‘You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?’
‘Oh, I don’t mean him!’ I returned. ‘I mean the gentleman named Traddles.’
‘Oh!Aye, aye!Indeed!’ said my host, with much diminished interest. ‘Possibly.’
‘If it’s really the same person,’ said I,glancing towards him,‘it was at a place called Salem House where we were together,and he was an excellent fellow.’
‘Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow,’ returned my host nodding his head with an air of toleration.‘Traddles is quite a good fellow.’
‘It’s a curious coincidence,’ said I.
‘It is really,’ returned my host, ‘quite a coincidence,that Traddles should be here at all:as Traddles was only invited this morning,when the place at table,intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker’s brother,became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition.A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker’s brother, Mr. Copperfield.’
I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling,considering that I knew nothing at all about him;and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession.
‘Traddles,’ returned Mr. Waterbrook,‘is a young man reading for the bar. Yes.He is quite a good fellow--nobody’s enemy but his own.’
‘Is he his own enemy?’ said I, sorry to hear this.
‘Well,’ returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth,and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable,prosperous sort of way.‘I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light.Yes, I should say he would never, for example,be worth five hundred pound.Traddles was recommended to me by a professional friend.Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent for drawing briefs,and stating a case in writing, plainly.I am able to throw something in Traddles’s way,in the course of the year;something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes.’
I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word ‘Yes’, every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches.
My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced.Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet’s aunt. Mr.Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes,whom I should have liked to take myself,was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah,Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company,went down last, how we could.I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been,since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervour; while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the banisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet’s aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood.