Part 10

Doctor Blimber was already in his place in the dining-room, at the top of the table, with Miss Blimber and Mrs. Blimber on either side of him. Mr. Feeder in a black coat was at the bottom. Paul’s chair was next to Miss Blimber; but it being found, when he sat in it, that his eyebrows were not much above the level of the table-cloth, some books were brought in from the Doctor’s study, on which he was elevated, and on which he always sat from that time--carrying them in and out himself on after occasions, like a little elephant and castle.

Grace having been said by the Doctor, dinner began. There was some nice soup; also roast meat, boiled meat, vegetables, pie, and cheese. Every young gentleman had a massive silver fork, and a napkin; and all the arrangements were stately and handsome. In particular, there was a butler in a blue coat and bright buttons, who gave quite a winey flavor to the table beer; he poured it out so superbly.

Nobody spoke, unless spoken to, except Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and Miss Blimber, who conversed occasionally. Whenever a young gentleman was not actually engaged with his knife and fork or spoon, his eye, with an irresistible attraction, sought the eye of Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, or Miss Blimber, and modestly rested there. Toots appeared to be the only exception to this rule. He sat next Mr. Feeder on Paul’s side of the table, and frequently looked behind and before the intervening boys to catch a glimpse of Paul.

Only once during dinner was there any conversation that included the young gentlemen. It happened at the epoch of the cheese, when the Doctor, having taken a glass of port wine and hemmed twice or thrice, said:

“It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder, that the Romans----”

At the mention of this terrible people, their implacable enemies, every young gentleman fastened his gaze upon the Doctor, with an assumption of the deepest interest. One of the number who happened to be drinking, and who caught the Doctor’s eye glaring at him through the side of his tumbler, left off so hastily that he was convulsed for some moments, and in the sequel ruined Doctor Blimber’s point.

“It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder,” said the Doctor, beginning again slowly, “that the Romans, in those gorgeous and profuse entertainments of which we read in the days of the Emperors, when luxury had attained a height unknown before or since, and when whole provinces were ravaged to supply the splendid means of one Imperial Banquet----”

Here the offender, who had been swelling and straining, and waiting in vain for a full stop, broke out violently.

“Johnson,” said Mr. Feeder, in a low, reproachful voice, “take some water.”

The Doctor, looking very stern, made a pause until the water was brought, and then resumed:

“And when, Mr. Feeder----”

But Mr. Feeder, who saw that Johnson must break out again, and who knew that the Doctor would never come to a period before the young gentlemen until he had finished all he meant to say, couldn’t keep his eye off Johnson; and thus was caught in the act of not looking at the Doctor, who consequently stopped.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Mr. Feeder, reddening. “I beg your pardon, Doctor Blimber.”

“And when,” said the Doctor, raising his voice, “when, sir, as we read, and have no reason to doubt--incredible as it may appear to the vulgar of our time--the brother of Vitellius prepared for him a feast, in which were served, of fish, two thousand dishes----”

“Take some water, Johnson--dishes, sir,” said Mr. Feeder.

“Of various sorts of fowl, five thousand dishes.”

“Or try a crust of bread,” said Mr. Feeder.

“And one dish,” pursued Doctor Blimber, raising his voice still higher as he looked all round the table, “called, from its enormous dimensions, the Shield of Minerva, and made, among other costly ingredients, of the brains of pheasants----”

“Ow, ow, ow!” (from Johnson).

“Woodcocks,----”

“Ow, ow, ow!”

“The sounds of the fish called scari,----”

“You’ll burst some vessel in your head,” said Mr. Feeder. “You had better let it come.”

“And the spawn of the lamprey, brought from the Carpathian Sea,” pursued the Doctor, in his severest voice; “when we read of costly entertainments such as these, and still remember, that we have a Titus,----”

“What would be your mother’s feelings if you died of apoplexy!” said Mr. Feeder.

“A Domitian,----”

“And you’re blue, you know,” said Mr. Feeder.

“A Nero, a Tiberius, a Caligula, a Heliogabalus, and many more,” pursued the Doctor; “it is, Mr. Feeder--if you are doing me the honor to attend--remarkable; VERY remarkable, sir----”

But Johnson, unable to suppress it any longer, burst at that moment into such an overwhelming fit of coughing, that, although both his immediate neighbors thumped him on the back, and Mr. Feeder himself held a glass of water to his lips, and the butler walked him up and down several times between his own chair and the sideboard, like a sentry, it was full five minutes before he was moderately composed. Then there was a profound silence.

“Gentlemen,” said Doctor Blimber, “rise for grace! Cornelia, lift Dombey down”--nothing of whom but his scalp was accordingly seen above the table-cloth. “Johnson will repeat to me to-morrow morning before breakfast, without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first Epistle of Saint Paul to the Ephesians. We will resume our studies, Mr. Feeder, in half-an-hour.”

* * * * *

No wonder that poor little Paul looked forward longingly to the happy Saturdays, for then Florence always came at noon, and they had long walks on the great beach, and watched the waves come in. Then Paul forgot about Doctor Blimber and Nero, and Tiberius and the rest, and only knew how much he loved his sister.

JEMMY JACKMAN LIRRIPER’S STORY

XIX

JEMMY JACKMAN LIRRIPER’S STORY

MRS. LIRRIPER kept a lodging-house at 81 Norfolk Street, London. Major Jackman was one of the lodgers, and a very kindly gentleman he was. One day a young woman left Jemmy at the house, and Mrs. Lirriper adopted him as her grandchild, and when he was christened the Major stood as godfather. Jemmy grew up to be a fine boy, and was sent to school in Lincolnshire. Mrs. Lirriper and the Major were very lonely while he was away, and there was great rejoicing when he came back for the Christmas holidays. They sat by the Christmas fire and told stories. The Major afterward repeated Jemmy’s story thus.

* * * * *

Our first reunited Christmas Day was the most delightful one we have ever passed together. Jemmy was never silent for five minutes, except in church-time. He talked as we sat by the fire, he talked when we were out walking, he talked as we sat by the fire again, he talked incessantly at dinner, though he made a dinner almost as remarkable as himself. It was the spring of happiness in his fresh young heart flowing and flowing, and it fertilized (if I may be allowed so bold a figure) my much-esteemed friend, and J. J. the present writer.

There were only we three. We dined, in my esteemed friend’s little room, and our entertainment was perfect. But everything in the establishment is, in neatness, order, and comfort, always perfect. After dinner our boy slipped away to his old stool at my esteemed friend’s knee, and there, with his hot chestnuts and his glass of brown sherry (really, a most excellent wine!) on a chair for a table, his face outshone the apples in the dish.

We talked of these jottings of mine, which Jemmy had read through and through by that time; and so it came about that my esteemed friend remarked, as she sat smoothing Jemmy’s curls:

“And as you belong to the house too, Jemmy,--and so much more than the lodgers, having been born in it,--why your story ought to be added to the rest I think, one of these days.”

Jemmy’s eyes sparkled at this, and he said: “So _I_ think, Gran.”

Then he sat looking at the fire, and then he began to laugh in a sort of confidence with the fire, and then he said, folding his arms across my esteemed friend’s lap, and raising his bright face to hers: “Would you like to hear a boy’s story, Gran?”

“Of all things,” replied my esteemed friend.

“Would you, Godfather?”

“Of all things,” I too replied.

“Well, then,” said Jemmy, “I’ll tell you one.”

Here our indisputably remarkable boy gave himself a hug, and laughed again, musically, at the idea of his coming out in that new line. Then he once more took the fire into the same sort of confidence as before, and began:

“Once upon a time, When pigs drank wine, And monkeys chewed tobaccer, ’Twas neither in your time nor mine, But that’s no macker--”

“Bless the child!” cried my esteemed friend, “what’s amiss with his brain?”

“It’s poetry, Gran,” returned Jemmy, shouting with laughter. “We always begin stories that way at school.”

“Gave me quite a turn, Major,” said my esteemed friend, fanning herself with a plate. “Thought he was light-headed!”

“In those remarkable times, Gran and Godfather, there was once a boy,--not me, you know.”

“No, no,” says my respected friend, “not you. Not him, Major, you understand?”

“No, no,” says I.

“And he went to school in Rutlandshire----”

“Why not Lincolnshire?” says my respected friend.

“Why not, you dear old gran? Because _I_ go to school in Lincolnshire, don’t I?”

“Ah, to be sure!” says my respected friend. “And it’s not Jemmy, you understand, Major?”

“No, no,” says I.

“Well!” our boy proceeded, hugging himself comfortably, and laughing merrily (again in confidence with the fire), before he again looked up in Mrs. Lirriper’s face, “and so he was tremendously in love with his schoolmaster’s daughter, and she was the most beautiful creature that ever was seen, and she had brown eyes, and she had brown hair all curling beautifully, and she had a delicious voice, and she was delicious altogether, and her name was Seraphina.”

“What’s the name of _your_ schoolmaster’s daughter, Jemmy?” asks my respected friend.

“Polly!” replied Jemmy, pointing his forefinger at her. “There now! Caught you! Ha, ha, ha!”

When he and my respected friend had had a laugh and a hug together, our admittedly remarkable boy resumed with a great relish:

“Well! And so he loved her. And so he thought about her, and dreamed about her, and made her presents of oranges and nuts, and would have made her presents of pearls and diamonds if he could have afforded it out of his pocket-money, but he couldn’t. And so her father--Oh, he was a Tartar! Keeping the boys up to the mark, holding examinations once a month, lecturing upon all sorts of subjects at all sorts of times, and knowing everything in the world out of book. And so this boy----”

“Had he any name?” asks my respected friend.

“No, he hadn’t, Gran. Ha, ha! There now! Caught you again!”

After this, they had another laugh and another hug, and then our boy went on.

“Well! And so this boy, he had a friend about as old as himself at the same school, and his name (for he _had_ a name, as it happened) was--let me remember--was Bobbo.”

“Not Bob,” says my respected friend.

“Of course not,” says Jemmy. “What made you think it was, Gran? Well! And so this friend was the cleverest and bravest and best-looking and most generous of all the friends that ever were, and so he was in love with Seraphina’s sister, and so Seraphina’s sister was in love with him, and so they all grew up.”

“Bless us!” says my respected friend. “They were very sudden about it.”

“So they all grew up,” our boy repeated, laughing heartily, “and Bobbo and this boy went away together on horseback to seek their fortunes, and they partly got their horses by favor, and partly in a bargain; that is to say, they had saved up between them seven and fourpence, and the two horses, being Arabs, were worth more, only the man said he would take that, to favor them. Well! And so they made their fortunes and came prancing back to the school, with their pockets full of gold, enough to last forever. And so they rang at the parents’ and visitors’ bell (not the back gate), and when the bell was answered they proclaimed ‘The same as if it was scarlet fever! Every boy goes home for an indefinite period!’ And then there was great hurrahing, and then they kissed Seraphina and her sister,--each his own love, and not the other’s on any account,--and then they ordered the Tartar into instant confinement.”

“Poor man!” said my respected friend.

“Into instant confinement, Gran,” repeated Jemmy, trying to look severe and roaring with laughter; “and he was to have nothing to eat but the boys’ dinners, and was to drink half a cask of their beer every day. And so then the preparations were made for the two weddings, and there were hampers, and potted things, and sweet things, and nuts, and postage-stamps, and all manner of things. And so they were so jolly, that they let the Tartar out, and he was jolly too.”

“I am glad they let him out,” says my respected friend, “because he had only done his duty.”

“Oh, but hadn’t he overdone it, though!” cried Jemmy. “Well! And so then this boy mounted his horse, with his bride in his arms, and cantered away, and cantered on and on till he came to a certain place where he had a certain gran and a certain godfather,--not you two, you know.”

“No, no,” we both said.

“And there he was received with great rejoicings, and he filled the cupboard and the bookcase with gold, and he showered it out on his gran and his godfather because they were the kindest and dearest people that ever lived in this world. And so while they were sitting up to their knees in gold, a knocking was heard at the street door, and who should it be but Bobbo, also on horseback with his bride in his arms, and what had he come to say but that he would take (at double rent) all the lodgings forever, that were not wanted by this boy and this gran and this godfather, and that they would all live together, and all be happy! And so they were, and so it never ended!”

“And was there no quarrelling?” asked my respected friend, as Jemmy sat upon her lap and hugged her.

“No! Nobody ever quarrelled.”

“And did the money never melt away?”

“No! Nobody could ever spend it all.”

“And did none of them ever grow older?”

“No! Nobody ever grew older after that.”

ON THE WAY TO GRETNA GREEN

XX

ON THE WAY TO GRETNA GREEN

HARRY was eight and Norah was seven. They lived on Shooters Hill, six or seven miles from London. Harry’s father, Mr. Walmer, had a big place called the Elms. The children read fairy-stories and delighted in princes and dragons and wicked enchanters, and kings who had fair daughters and offered them to any knights who were brave enough to come and take them. And they liked to read about lovers who ran away to Gretna Green and were married and lived happily ever after. Just where Gretna Green was they didn’t know, but it must be a very romantic place to run away to. Cobbs, the gardener, heard them talking about it all as they sat under a tree. They intended to keep bees and a cow, and live on milk and honey.

Cobbs left Mr. Walmer, and went to work at the Holly Tree Inn up in Yorkshire. One day the coach drew up and two little passengers got out. Harry and Norah were on their way to Gretna Green.

“We’ll stop here,” said Harry to the landlord. “Chops and cherry pudding for two.” Then they went to the sitting-room.

Cobbs found them there. Master Harry, on an enormous sofa, was drying the eyes of Miss Norah with his pocket-handkerchief. Their little legs were entirely off the floor.

[Illustration:

_Copyright by Charles Scribner’s Sons_

THE RUNAWAY COUPLE]

“I see you a-getting out, sir,” said Cobbs. “I thought it was you. I thought I couldn’t be mistaken in your height and figure. What’s the object of your journey, sir? Matrimonial?”

“We are going to be married, Cobbs, at Gretna Green. We have run away on purpose. Norah has been in low spirits, Cobb, but she’ll be happy now that we have found you to be our friend.”

“Thank you, sir, and thank _you_, miss, for your good opinion. Did you bring any luggage with you?”

The lady had got a parasol, a smelling-bottle, some buttered toast, eight peppermint drops, and a small hair-brush. The gentleman had got half a dozen yards of string, a knife, three or four sheets of writing-paper, an orange, and a china mug with his name on it.

“What may be the exact natur of your plans, sir?” said Cobb.

“To go on,” said the boy, “in the morning and be married to-morrow.”

“Just so, sir,” said Cobb. “Would it meet your views if I was to accompany you?”

When Cobbs said this, they both jumped for joy again, and cried out: “Oh, yes, Cobbs, yes!”

“Well, sir,” said Cobbs, “if you will excuse my having to give an opinion, what I should recommend would be this. I’m acquainted with a pony, sir, which, put in a phaeton which I could borrow, would take you and Mrs. Harry Walmer Junior (myself driving, if you approved), to the end of your journey in a very short space of time.”

They clapped their hands and jumped for joy.

“Is there anything you want, just at present, sir?”

“We should like some cakes after dinner,” answered Master Harry, “and two apples and jam. With dinner we should have toast and water. But Norah has been accustomed to half a glass of currant wine for dessert, and so have I.”

“It shall be ordered at the bar, sir,” said Cobbs.

“Cobbs, are there any good walks in this neighborhood?”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Cobbs, “there is Love Lane. And a pleasant walk it is, and proud shall I be to show it to yourself and Mrs. Harry Walmer Junior.”

“Norah, dear,” said Master Harry, “put on your bonnet, my sweetest darling, and we’ll go there with Cobbs.”

It was very pleasant walking down Love Lane gathering water-lilies, but as the afternoon came on they both became a little homesick. Master Harry kept up nobly, but Mrs. Harry Walmer Junior began to cry, “I want to go home.” When Harry’s father and Norah’s mother appeared upon the scene, every one was happy. Harry and Norah had been on the way to Gretna Green, though they never got there.

OUR SCHOOL

XXI

OUR SCHOOL

THE children who live now are fortunate in having schools that are made for their happiness as well as for their mental improvement. Most of the schools Dickens describes were dreary places like that which Sissie Jupes attended. However, there were some memories that were not altogether unpleasant, and I enjoy reading the chapter which he entitles “Our School.”

* * * * *

It seems as if our schools were doomed to be the sport of change. We have faint recollections of a Preparatory Day-School, which we have sought in vain, and which must have been pulled down to make a new street, ages ago. We have dim impressions, scarcely amounting to a belief, that it was over a dyer’s shop. We know that you went up steps to it; that you frequently grazed your knees in doing so; that you generally got your leg over the scraper, in trying to scrape the mud off a very unsteady little shoe. The mistress of the Establishment holds no place in our memory; but, rampant on one eternal door-mat, in an eternal entry long and narrow, is a puffy pug-dog, with a personal animosity toward us, who triumphs over Time. The bark of that baleful Pug, a certain radiating way he had of snapping at our undefended legs, the ghastly grinning of his moist black muzzle and white teeth, and the insolence of his crisp tail curled like a pastoral crook, all live and flourish. From an otherwise unaccountable association of him with a fiddle, we conclude that he was of French extraction, and his name _Fidèle_. He belonged to some female, chiefly inhabiting a back parlor, whose life appears to us to have been consumed in sniffing, and in wearing a brown beaver bonnet. For her, he would sit up and balance cake upon his nose, and not eat it until twenty had been counted. To the best of our belief we were once called in to witness this performance; when, unable, even in his milder moments, to endure our presence, he instantly made at us, cake and all.

Why a something in mourning, called “Miss Frost,” should still connect itself with our preparatory school, we are unable to say. We retain no impression of the beauty of Miss Frost--if she were beautiful; or of the mental fascinations of Miss Frost--if she were accomplished; yet her name and her black dress hold an enduring place in our remembrance. An equally impersonal boy, whose name has long since shaped itself unalterably into “Master Mawls,” is not to be dislodged from our brain. Retaining no vindictive feeling toward Mawls--no feeling whatever, indeed--we infer that neither he nor we can have loved Miss Frost....

But, the School that was Our School before the Railroad came and overthrew it, was quite another sort of place. We were old enough to be put into Virgil when we went there, and to get prizes for a variety of polishing on which the rust has long accumulated. It was a school of some celebrity in its neighborhood--nobody could have said why--and we had the honor to attain and hold the eminent position of first boy. The master was supposed among us to know nothing, and one of the ushers was supposed to know everything. We are still inclined to think the first-named supposition perfectly correct.

We have a general idea that its subject had been in the leather trade, and had bought us--meaning Our School--of another proprietor who was immensely learned. Whether this belief had any real foundation, we are not likely ever to know now. The only branches of education with which he showed the least acquaintance were ruling and corporally punishing. He was always ruling ciphering-books with a bloated mahogany ruler, or smiting the palms of offenders with the same diabolical instrument, or viciously drawing a pair of pantaloons tight with one of his large hands, and caning the wearer with the other. We have no doubt whatever that this occupation was the principal solace of his existence.