Sketches by Boz Page 33

  “Tell Mr. Calton I'll come down directly,” said Mr. Septimus to the boy. “Stop—is Mr. Calton unwell?” inquired this excited walker of hospitals, as he put on a bed-furniture-looking dressing-gown.

  “Not as I knows on, sir,” replied the boy.” Please, sir, he looked rather rum, as it might be.”

  “Ah, that's no proof of his being ill,” returned Hicks, unconsciously. “Very well: I'll be down directly.” Downstairs ran the boy with the message, and down went the excited Hicks himself, almost as soon as the message was delivered. “Tap, tap.” “Come in. “—Door opens, and discovers Mr. Calton sitting in an easy chair. Mutual shakes of the hand exchanged, and Mr. Septimus Hicks motioned to a seat. A short pause. Mr. Hicks coughed, and Mr. Calton took a pinch of snuff. It was one of those interviews where neither party knows what to say. Mr. Septimus Hicks broke silence.

  “I received a note—” he said, very tremulously, in a voice like a Punch with a cold.

  “Yes,” returned the other, “you did.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Yes.”

  Now, although this dialogue must have been satisfactory, both gentlemen felt there was something more important to be said; therefore they did as most men in such a situation would have done—they looked at the table with a determined aspect. The conversation had been opened, however, and Mr. Calton had made up his mind to continue it with a regular double knock. He always spoke very pompously.

  “Hicks,” said he, “I have sent for you, in consequence of certain arrangements which are pending in this house, connected with a marriage.”

  “With a marriage!” gasped Hicks, compared with whose expression of countenance, Hamlet's, when he sees his father's ghost, is pleasing and composed.

  “With a marriage,” returned the knocker. “I have sent for you to prove the great confidence I can repose in you.”

  “And will you betray me?” eagerly inquired Hicks, who in his alarm had even forgotten to quote.

  “I betray YOU! Won't YOU betray ME?”

  “Never: no one shall know, to my dying day, that you had a hand in the business,” responded the agitated Hicks, with an inflamed countenance, and his hair standing on end as if he were on the stool of an electrifying machine in full operation.

  “People must know that, some time or other—within a year, I imagine,” said Mr. Calton, with an air of great self-complacency. “We MAY have a family.”

  “WE!—That won't affect you, surely?”

  “The devil it won't!”

  “No! how can it?” said the bewildered Hicks. Calton was too much inwrapped in the contemplation of his happiness to see the equivoque between Hicks and himself; and threw himself back in his chair. “Oh, Matilda!” sighed the antique beau, in a lack-adaisical voice, and applying his right hand a little to the left of the fourth button of his waistcoat, counting from the bottom. “Oh, Matilda!”

  “What Matilda?” inquired Hicks, starting up.

  “Matilda Maplesone,” responded the other, doing the same.

  “I marry her to-morrow morning,” said Hicks.

  “It's false,” rejoined his companion: “I marry her!”

  “You marry her?”

  “I marry her!”

  “You marry Matilda Maplesone?”

  “Matilda Maplesone.”

  “MISS Maplesone marry YOU?”

  “Miss Maplesone! No; Mrs. Maplesone.”

  “Good Heaven!” said Hicks, falling into his chair: “You marry the mother, and I the daughter!”

  “Most extraordinary circumstance!” replied Mr. Calton, “and rather inconvenient too; for the fact is, that owing to Matilda's wishing to keep her intention secret from her daughters until the ceremony had taken place, she doesn't like applying to any of her friends to give her away. I entertain an objection to making the affair known to my acquaintance just now; and the consequence is, that I sent to you to know whether you'd oblige me by acting as father.”

  “I should have been most happy, I assure you,” said Hicks, in a tone of condolence; “but, you see, I shall be acting as bridegroom. One character is frequently a consequence of the other; but it is not usual to act in both at the same time. There's Simpson—I have no doubt he'll do it for you.”

  “I don't like to ask him,” replied Calton, “he's such a donkey.”

  Mr. Septimus Hicks looked up at the ceiling, and down at the floor; at last an idea struck him. “Let the man of the house, Tibbs, be the father,” he suggested; and then he quoted, as peculiarly applicable to Tibbs and the pair—

  “Oh Powers of Heaven! what dark eyes meets she there? “Tis—“tis her father's—fixed upon the pair.”

  “The idea has struck me already,” said Mr. Calton: “but, you see, Matilda, for what reason I know not, is very anxious that Mrs. Tibbs should know nothing about it, till it's all over. It's a natural delicacy, after all, you know.”

  “He's the best-natured little man in existence, if you manage him properly,” said Mr. Septimus Hicks. “Tell him not to mention it to his wife, and assure him she won't mind it, and he'll do it directly. My marriage is to be a secret one, on account of the mother and MY father; therefore he must be enjoined to secrecy.”

  A small double knock, like a presumptuous single one, was that instant heard at the street-door. It was Tibbs; it could be no one else; for no one else occupied five minutes in rubbing his shoes. He had been out to pay the baker's bill.

  “Mr. Tibbs,” called Mr. Calton in a very bland tone, looking over the banisters.

  “Sir!” replied he of the dirty face.

  “Will you have the kindness to step up-stairs for a moment?”

  “Certainly, sir,” said Tibbs, delighted to be taken notice of. The bedroom-door was carefully closed, and Tibbs, having put his hat on the floor (as most timid men do), and been accommodated with a seat, looked as astounded as if he were suddenly summoned before the familiars of the Inquisition.

  “A rather unpleasant occurrence, Mr. Tibbs,” said Calton, in a very portentous manner, “obliges me to consult you, and to beg you will not communicate what I am about to say, to your wife.”

  Tibbs acquiesced, wondering in his own mind what the deuce the other could have done, and imagining that at least he must have broken the best decanters.

  Mr. Calton resumed; “I am placed, Mr. Tibbs, in rather an unpleasant situation.”

  Tibbs looked at Mr. Septimus Hicks, as if he thought Mr. H. “s being in the immediate vicinity of his fellow-boarder might constitute the unpleasantness of his situation; but as he did not exactly know what to say, he merely ejaculated the monosyllable “Lor!”

  “Now,” continued the knocker, “let me beg you will exhibit no manifestations of surprise, which may be overheard by the domestics, when I tell you—command your feelings of astonishment—that two inmates of this house intend to be married to-morrow morning.” And he drew back his chair, several feet, to perceive the effect of the unlooked-for announcement.

  If Tibbs had rushed from the room, staggered down-stairs, and fainted in the passage—if he had instantaneously jumped out of the window into the mews behind the house, in an agony of surprise—his behaviour would have been much less inexplicable to Mr. Calton than it was, when he put his hands into his inexpressiblepockets, and said with a half-chuckle, “Just so.”

  “You are not surprised, Mr. Tibbs?” inquired Mr. Calton.

  “Bless you, no, sir,” returned Tibbs; “after all, its very natural. When two young people get together, you know—”

  “Certainly, certainly,” said Calton, with an indescribable air of self-satisfaction.

  “You don't think it's at all an out-of-the-way affair then?” asked Mr. Septimus Hicks, who had watched the countenance of Tibbs in mute astonishment.

  “No, sir,” replied Tibbs; “I was just the same at his age.” He actually smiled when he said this.

  “How devilish well I must carry my years!” thought the delighted old beau, knowing he was at least ten y
ears older than Tibbs at that moment.

  “Well, then, to come to the point at once,” he continued, “I have to ask you whether you will object to act as father on the occasion?”

  “Certainly not,” replied Tibbs; still without evincing an atom of surprise.

  “You will not?”

  “Decidedly not,” reiterated Tibbs, still as calm as a pot of porter with the head off.

  Mr. Calton seized the hand of the petticoat-governed little man, and vowed eternal friendship from that hour. Hicks, who was all admiration and surprise, did the same.

  “Now, confess,” asked Mr. Calton of Tibbs, as he picked up his hat, “were you not a little surprised?”

  “I b'lieve you!” replied that illustrious person, holding up one hand; “I b'lieve you! When I first heard of it.”

  “So sudden,” said Septimus Hicks.

  “So strange to ask ME, you know,” said Tibbs.

  “So odd altogether!” said the superannuated love-maker; and then all three laughed.

  “I say,” said Tibbs, shutting the door which he had previously opened, and giving full vent to a hitherto corked-up giggle, “what bothers me is, what WILL his father say?”

  Mr. Septimus Hicks looked at Mr. Calton.

  “Yes; but the best of it is,” said the latter, giggling in his turn, “I haven't got a father—he! he! he!”

  “You haven't got a father. No; but HE has,” said Tibbs.

  “WHO has?” inquired Septimus Hicks.

  “Why, HIM.”

  “Him, who? Do you know my secret? Do you mean me?”

  “You! No; you know who I mean,” returned Tibbs with a knowing wink.

  “For Heaven's sake, whom do you mean?” inquired Mr. Calton, who, like Septimus Hicks, was all but out of his senses at the strange confusion.

  “Why Mr. Simpson, of course,” replied Tibbs; “who else could I mean?”

  “I see it all,” said the Byron-quoter; “Simpson marries Julia Maplesone to-morrow morning!”

  “Undoubtedly,” replied Tibbs, thoroughly satisfied, “of course he does.”

  It would require the pencil of Hogarth to illustrate—our feeble pen is inadequate to describe—the expression which the countenances of Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks respectively assumed, at this unexpected announcement. Equally impossible is it to describe, although perhaps it is easier for our lady readers to imagine, what arts the three ladies could have used, so completely to entangle their separate partners. Whatever they were, however, they were successful. The mother was perfectly aware of the intended marriage of both daughters; and the young ladies were equally acquainted with the intention of their estimable parent. They agreed, however, that it would have a much better appearance if each feigned ignorance of the other's engagement; and it was equally desirable that all the marriages should take place on the same day, to prevent the discovery of one clandestine alliance, operating prejudicially on the others. Hence, the mystification of Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks, and the pre-engagement of the unwary Tibbs.

  On the following morning, Mr. Septimus Hicks was united to Miss Matilda Maplesone. Mr. Simpson also entered into a “holy alliance” with Miss Julia; Tibbs acting as father, “his first appearance in that character.” Mr. Calton, not being quite so eager as the two young men, was rather struck by the double discovery; and as he had found some difficulty in getting any one to give the lady away, it occurred to him that the best mode of obviating the inconvenience would be not to take her at all. The lady, however, “appealed,” as her counsel said on the trial of the cause, MAPLESONE v. CALTON, for a breach of promise, “with a broken heart, to the outraged laws of her country.” She recovered damages to the amount of 1,000L. which the unfortunate knocker was compelled to pay. Mr. Septimus Hicks having walked the hospitals, took it into his head to walk off altogether. His injured wife is at present residing with her mother at Boulogne. Mr. Simpson, having the misfortune to lose his wife six weeks after marriage (by her eloping with an officer during his temporary sojourn in the Fleet Prison, in consequence of his inability to discharge her little mantua-maker's bill), and being disinherited by his father, who died soon afterwards, was fortunate enough to obtain a permanent engagement at a fashionable haircutter's; hairdressing being a science to which he had frequently directed his attention. In this situation he had necessarily many opportunities of making himself acquainted with the habits, and style of thinking, of the exclusive portion of the nobility of this kingdom. To this fortunate circumstance are we indebted for the production of those brilliant efforts of genius, his fashionable novels, which so long as good taste, unsullied by exaggeration, cant, and quackery, continues to exist, cannot fail to instruct and amuse the thinking portion of the community.

  It only remains to add, that this complication of disorders completely deprived poor Mrs. Tibbs of all her inmates, except the one whom she could have best spared—her husband. That wretched little man returned home, on the day of the wedding, in a state of partial intoxication; and, under the influence of wine, excitement, and despair, actually dared to brave the anger of his wife. Since that ill-fated hour he has constantly taken his meals in the kitchen, to which apartment, it is understood, his witticisms will be in future confined: a turn-up bedstead having been conveyed there by Mrs. Tibbs's order for his exclusive accommodation. It is possible that he will be enabled to finish, in that seclusion, his story of the volunteers.

  The advertisement has again appeared in the morning papers. Results must be reserved for another chapter.

  CHAPTER THE SECOND.

  “Well!” said little Mrs. Tibbs to herself, as she sat in the front parlour of the Coram-street mansion one morning, mending a piece of stair-carpet off the first Landings;—“Things have not turned out so badly, either, and if I only get a favourable answer to the advertisement, we shall be full again.”

  Mrs. Tibbs resumed her occupation of making worsted lattice-work in the carpet, anxiously listening to the twopenny postman, who was hammering his way down the street, at the rate of a penny a knock. The house was as quiet as possible. There was only one low sound to be heard—it was the unhappy Tibbs cleaning the gentlemen's boots in the back kitchen, and accompanying himself with a buzzing noise, in wretched mockery of humming a tune.

  The postman drew near the house. He paused—so did Mrs. Tibbs. A knock—a bustle—a letter—post-paid.

  “T. I. presents compt. to I. T. and T. I. begs To say that i see the advertisement And she will Do Herself the pleasure of calling On you at 12 o'clock to-morrow morning.

  “T. I. as To apologise to I. T. for the shortness Of the notice But i hope it will not unconvenience you.

  “I remain yours Truly

  “Wednesday evening.”

  Little Mrs. Tibbs perused the document, over and over again; and the more she read it, the more was she confused by the mixture of the first and third person; the substitution of the “i” for the “T. I.;” and the transition from the “ I. T.” to the “You.” The writing looked like a skein of thread in a tangle, and the note was ingeniously folded into a perfect square, with the direction squeezed up into the right-hand corner, as if it were ashamed of itself. The back of the epistle was pleasingly ornamented with a large red wafer, which, with the addition of divers ink-stains, bore a marvellous resemblance to a black beetle trodden upon. One thing, however, was perfectly clear to the perplexed Mrs. Tibbs. Somebody was to call at twelve. The drawing-room was forthwith dusted for the third time that morning; three or four chairs were pulled out of their places, and a corresponding number of books carefully upset, in order that there might be a due absence of formality. Down went the piece of stair-carpet before noticed, and up ran Mrs. Tibbs “to make herself tidy.”

  The clock of New Saint Pancras Church struck twelve, and the Foundling, with laudable politeness, did the same ten minutes afterwards, Saint something else struck the quarter, and then there arrived a single lady with a double knock, in a pelisse the colour of the interi
or of a damson pie; a bonnet of the same, with a regular conservatory of artificial flowers; a white veil, and a green parasol, with a cobweb border.

  The visitor (who was very fat and red-faced) was shown into the drawing-room; Mrs. Tibbs presented herself, and the negotiation commenced.

  “I called in consequence of an advertisement,” said the stranger, in a voice as if she had been playing a set of Pan's pipes for a fortnight without leaving off.

  “Yes!” said Mrs. Tibbs, rubbing her hands very slowly, and looking the applicant full in the face—two things she always did on such occasions.

  “Money isn't no object whatever to me,” said the lady, “so much as living in a state of retirement and obtrusion.”

  Mrs. Tibbs, as a matter of course, acquiesced in such an exceedingly natural desire.

  “I am constantly attended by a medical man,” resumed the pelisse wearer; “I have been a shocking unitarian for some time—I, indeed, have had very little peace since the death of Mr. Bloss.”

  Mrs. Tibbs looked at the relict of the departed Bloss, and thought he must have had very little peace in his time. Of course she could not say so; so she looked very sympathising.

  “I shall be a good deal of trouble to you,” said Mrs. Bloss; “but, for that trouble I am willing to pay. I am going through a course of treatment which renders attention necessary. I have one muttonchop in bed at half-past eight, and another at ten, every morning.”

  Mrs. Tibbs, as in duty bound, expressed the pity she felt for anybody placed in such a distressing situation; and the carnivorous Mrs. Bloss proceeded to arrange the various preliminaries with wonderful despatch. “Now mind,” said that lady, after terms were arranged; “I am to have the second-floor front, for my bed-room?”