Bleak House. Charles Dickens
This, too, delighted Mr. Skimpole.
His compliments were so delicately administered, that I blushed less than I might have done; and settled with the stranger in the white coat, without making any mistakes. He put the money in his pocket, and shortly said, 'Well, then, I'll wish you a good evening, miss.'
'My friend,' said Mr. Skimpole, standing with his back to the fire, after giving up the sketch when it was half finished, 'I should like to ask you something, without offence.'
I think the reply was, 'Cut away, then!'
'Did you know this morning, now, that you were coming out on this errand?' said Mr. Skimpole.
'Know'd it yes'day aft'noon at tea-time,' said Coavinses.
'It didn't affect your appetite? Didn't make you at all uneasy?'
'Not a bit,' said Coavinses. 'I know'd if you wos missed to-day, you wouldn't be missed to-morrow. A day makes no such odds.'
'But when you came down here,' proceeded Mr. Skimpole, 'it was a fine day. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing, the lights and shadows were passing across the fields, the birds were singing.'
'Nobody said they warn't, in my hearing,' returned Coavinses.
'No,' observed Mr. Skimpole. 'But what did you think upon the road?'
'Wot do you mean?' growled Coavinses, with an appearance of strong resentment. 'Think! I've got enough to do, and little enough to get for it, without thinking. Thinking!' (with profound contempt).
'Then you didn't think, at all events,' proceeded Mr. Skimpole, 'to this effect. "Harold Skimpole loves to see the sun shine; loves to hear the wind blow; loves to watch the changing lights and shadows; loves to hear the birds, those choristers in Nature's great cathedral. And does it seem to me that I am about to deprive Harold Skimpole of his share in such possessions, which are his only birthright!' You thought nothing to that effect?'
'I – certainly – did – NOT,' said Coavinses, whose dogged-ness in utterly renouncing the idea was of that intense kind, that he could only give adequate expression to it by putting a long interval between each word, and accompanying the last with a jerk that might have dislocated his neck.
'Very odd and very curious, the mental process is, in you men of business!' said Mr. Skimpole thoughtfully. 'Thank you, my friend. Good night.'
As our absence had been long enough already to seem strange down-stairs, I returned at once, and found Ada sitting at work by the fireside talking to her cousin John. Mr. Skimpole presently appeared, and Richard shortly after him. I was sufficiently engaged, during the remainder of the evening, in taking my first lesson in backgammon from Mr. Jarndyce, who was very fond of the game, and from whom I wished of course to learn it as quickly as I could, in order that I might be of the very small use of being able to play when he had no better adversary. But I thought, occasionally when Mr. Skimpole played some fragments of his own compositions; or when, both at the piano and the violoncello, and at our table, he preserved, with an absence of all effort, his delightful spirits and his easy flow of conversation; that Richard and I seemed to retain the transferred impression of having been arrested since dinner, and that it was very curious altogether.
It was late before we separated: for when Ada was going at eleven o'clock, Mr. Skimpole went to the piano, and rattled, hilariously, that the best of all ways, to lengthen our days, was to steal a few hours from Night, my dear! It was past twelve before he took his candle and his radiant face out of the room; and I think he might have kept us there, if he had seen fit, until daybreak. Ada and Richard were lingering for a few moments by the fire, wondering whether Mrs. Jellyby had yet finished her dictation for the day, when Mr. Jarndyce, who had been out of the room, returned.
'Oh, dear me, what's this, what's this!' he said, rubbing his head and walking about with his good-humoured vexation. 'What's this they tell me? Rick, my boy, Esther, my dear, what have you been doing? Why did you do it? How could you do it? How much apiece was it? – The wind's round again. I feel it all over me!'
We neither of us quite knew what to answer.
'Come, Rick, come! I must settle this before I sleep. How much are you out of pocket? You two made the money up, you know! Why did you? How could you? – O Lord, yes, it's due east – must be!'
'Really, sir,' said Richard. 'I don't think it would be honourable in me to tell you. Mr. Skimpole relied upon us—'
'Lord bless you, my dear boy! He relies upon everybody!' said Mr. Jarndyce, giving his head a great rub, and stopping short.
'Indeed, sir?'
'Everybody! And he'll be in the same scrape again, next week!' said Mr. Jarndyce, walking again at a great pace, with a candle in his hand that had gone out. 'He's always in the same scrape. He was born in the same scrape. I verily believe that the announcement in the newspapers when his mother was confined, was "On Tuesday last, at her residence in Botheration Buildings, Mrs. Skimpole of a son in difficulties." '
Richard laughed heartily, but added, 'Still, sir, I don't want to shake his confidence, or to break his confidence; and if I submit to your better knowledge again, that I ought to keep his secret, I hope you will consider before you press me any more. Of course, if you do press me, sir, I shall know I am wrong, and will tell you.'
'Well!' cried Mr. Jarndyce, stopping again, and making several absent endeavours to put his candlestick in his pocket. 'I – here! Take it away, my dear. I don't know what I am about with it; it's all the wind – invariably has that effect– I won't press you, Rick; you may be right. But really – to get hold of you and Esther – and to squeeze you like a couple of tender young Saint Michael's oranges! – It'll blow a gale in the course of the night!'
He was now alternately putting his hands into his pockets, as if he were going to keep them there a long time, and taking them out again, and vehemently rubbing them all over his head.
I ventured to take this opportunity of hinting that Mr. Skimpole, being in all such matters, quite a child—
'Eh, my dear?' said Mr. Jarndyce, catching at the word.
'—Being quite a child, sir,' said I, 'and so different from other people—'
'You are right!' said Mr. Jarndyce, brightening. 'Your woman's wit hits the mark. He is a child – an absolute child. I told you he was a child, you know, when I first mentioned him.'
Certainly! certainly! we said.
'And he is a child. Now, isn't he?' asked Mr. Jarndyce, brightening more and more.
He was indeed, we said.
'When you come to think of it, it's the height of childishness in you – I mean me—' said Mr. Jarndyce, 'to regard him for a moment as a man. You can't make him responsible. The idea of Harold Skimpole with designs or plans, or knowledge of consequences! Ha, ha, ha!'
It was so delicious to see the clouds about his bright face clearing, and to see him so heartily pleased, and to know, as it was impossible not to know, that the source of his pleasure was the goodness which was tortured by condemning, or mistrusting, or secretly accusing any one, that I saw the tears in Ada's eyes, while she echoed his laugh, and felt them in my own.
'Why, what a cod's head and shoulders I am,' said Mr. Jarndyce, 'to require reminding of it! The whole business shows the child from beginning to end. Nobody but a child would have thought of singling you two out for parties in the affair! Nobody but a child would have thought of your having the money! If it had been a thousand pounds, it would have been just the same!' said Mr. Jarndyce, with his whole face in a glow.
We all confirmed it from our night's experience.
'To be sure, to be sure!' said Mr. Jarndyce. 'However, Rick, Esther, and you too, Ada, for I don't know that even your little purse is safe from his inexperience – I must have a promise all round, that nothing of this sort shall ever be done any more. No advances! Not even sixpences.'
We all promised faithfully; Richard, with a merry glance at me, touching his pocket, as if to remind me that there was no danger of our transgressing.
'As to Skimpole,' said