‘My dear tutor,’ said I (now, really,without any nonsense),‘to whom I owe more obligations already than I ever can acknowledge--’
‘No, no,’ interposed the Doctor. ‘Pardon me!’
‘If you will take such time as I have,and that is my mornings and evenings,and can think it worth seventy pounds a year,you will do me such a service as I cannot express.’
‘Dear me!’ said the Doctor, innocently.‘To think that so little should go for so much!Dear, dear!And when you can do better, you will?On your word, now?’ said the Doctor,--which he had always made a very grave appeal to the honour of us boys.
‘On my word, sir!’ I returned, answering in our old school manner.
‘Then be it so,’ said the Doctor,clapping me on the shoulder,and still keeping his hand there,as we still walked up and down.
‘And I shall be twenty times happier, sir,’ said I,with a little--I hope innocent--flattery,‘if my employment is to be on the Dictionary.’
The Doctor stopped, smilingly clapped me on the shoulder again,and exclaimed, with a triumph most delightful to behold,as if I had penetrated to the profoundest depths of mortal sagacity,‘My dear young friend, you have hit it.It IS the Dictionary!’
How could it be anything else!His pockets were as full of it as his head.It was sticking out of him in all directions.He told me that since his retirement from scholastic life,he had been advancing with it wonderfully;and that nothing could suit him better than the proposed arrangements for morning and evening work, as it was his custom to walk about in the daytime with his considering cap on. His papers were in a little confusion, in consequence of Mr. Jack Maldon having lately proffered his occasional services as an amanuensis, and not being accustomed to that occupation; but we should soon put right what was amiss, and go on swimmingly. Afterwards, when we were fairly at our work, I found Mr. Jack Maldon’s efforts more troublesome to me than I had expected, as he had not confined himself to making numerous mistakes, but had sketched so many soldiers, and ladies’ heads, over the Doctor’s manuscript, that I often became involved in labyrinths of obscurity.
The Doctor was quite happy in the prospect of our going to work together on that wonderful performance, and we settled to begin next morning at seven o’clock. We were to work two hours every morning, and two or three hours every night, except on Saturdays, when I was to rest. On Sundays, of course, I was to rest also, and I considered these very easy terms.
Our plans being thus arranged to our mutual satisfaction,the Doctor took me into the house to present me to Mrs.Strong, whom we found in the Doctor’s new study,dusting his books,--a freedom which he never permitted anybody else to take with those sacred favourites.
They had postponed their breakfast on my account,and we sat down to table together.We had not been seated long,when I saw an approaching arrival in Mrs.Strong’s face, before I heard any sound of it.A gentleman on horseback came to the gate,and leading his horse into the little court,with the bridle over his arm,as if he were quite at home,tied him to a ring in the empty coach-house wall,and came into the breakfast parlour, whip in hand.It was Mr. Jack Maldon; and Mr.Jack Maldon was not at all improved by India,I thought. I was in a state of ferocious virtue,however, as to young men who were not cutting down trees in the forest of difficulty; and my impression must be received with due allowance.
‘Mr. Jack!’ said the Doctor. ‘Copperfield!’
Mr. Jack Maldon shook hands with me;but not very warmly, I believed;and with an air of languid patronage,at which I secretly took great umbrage.But his languor altogether was quite a wonderful sight;except when he addressed himself to his cousin Annie.‘Have you breakfasted this morning, Mr. Jack?’ said the Doctor.
‘I hardly ever take breakfast, sir,’ he replied,with his head thrown back in an easy-chair.‘I find it bores me.’
‘Is there any news today?’ inquired the Doctor.
‘Nothing at all, sir,’ replied Mr. Maldon.‘There’s an account about the people being hungry and discontented down in the North, but they are always being hungry and discontented somewhere.’
The Doctor looked grave, and said,as though he wished to change the subject,‘Then there’s no news at all; and no news, they say, is good news.’
‘There’s a long statement in the papers, sir,about a murder,’ observed Mr. Maldon.‘But somebody is always being murdered,and I didn’t read it.’
A display of indifference to all the actions and passions of mankind was not supposed to be such a distinguished quality at that time, I think, as I have observed it to be considered since. I have known it very fashionable indeed. I have seen it displayed with such success, that I have encountered some fine ladies and gentlemen who might as well have been born caterpillars. Perhaps it impressed me the more then, because it was new to me, but it certainly did not tend to exalt my opinion of, or to strengthen my confidence in, Mr. Jack Maldon.
‘I came out to inquire whether Annie would like to go to the opera tonight,’ said Mr. Maldon, turning to her.‘It’s the last good night there will be, this season;and there’s a singer there,whom she really ought to hear.She is perfectly exquisite. Besides which,she is so charmingly ugly,’ relapsing into languor.
The Doctor, ever pleased with what was likely to please his young wife,turned to her and said:
‘You must go, Annie. You must go.’
‘I would rather not,’ she said to the Doctor.‘I prefer to remain at home.I would much rather remain at home.’
Without looking at her cousin, she then addressed me,and asked me about Agnes,and whether she should see her,and whether she was not likely to come that day;and was so much disturbed,that I wondered how even the Doctor,buttering his toast,could be blind to what was so obvious.