CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

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_ SHOWING THAT OLD FRIENDS MAY NOT ONLY APPEAR WITH NEW FACES, BUT IN
FALSE COLOURS. THAT PEOPLE ARE PRONE TO BITE, AND THAT BITERS MAY
SOMETIMES BE BITTEN.

Mr Bailey, Junior--for the sporting character, whilom of general

utility at Todgers's, had now regularly set up in life under that

name, without troubling himself to obtain from the legislature a

direct licence in the form of a Private Bill, which of all kinds and

classes of bills is without exception the most unreasonable in its

charges--Mr Bailey, Junior, just tall enough to be seen by an

inquiring eye, gazing indolently at society from beneath the apron

of his master's cab, drove slowly up and down Pall Mall, about the

hour of noon, in waiting for his 'Governor.' The horse of

distinguished family, who had Capricorn for his nephew, and

Cauliflower for his brother, showed himself worthy of his high

relations by champing at the bit until his chest was white with

foam, and rearing like a horse in heraldry; the plated harness and

the patent leather glittered in the sun; pedestrians admired; Mr

Bailey was complacent, but unmoved. He seemed to say, 'A barrow,

good people, a mere barrow; nothing to what we could do, if we

chose!' and on he went, squaring his short green arms outside the

apron, as if he were hooked on to it by his armpits.

 

Mr Bailey had a great opinion of Brother to Cauliflower, and

estimated his powers highly. But he never told him so. On the

contrary, it was his practice, in driving that animal, to assail him

with disrespectful, if not injurious, expressions, as, 'Ah! would

you!' 'Did you think it, then?' 'Where are you going to now?' 'No,

you won't, my lad!' and similar fragmentary remarks. These being

usually accompanied by a jerk of the rein, or a crack of the whip,

led to many trials of strength between them, and to many contentions

for the upper-hand, terminating, now and then, in china-shops, and

other unusual goals, as Mr Bailey had already hinted to his friend

Poll Sweedlepipe.

 

On the present occasion Mr Bailey, being in spirits, was more than

commonly hard upon his charge; in consequence of which that fiery

animal confined himself almost entirely to his hind legs in

displaying his paces, and constantly got himself into positions with

reference to the cabriolet that very much amazed the passengers in

the street. But Mr Bailey, not at all disturbed, had still a shower

of pleasantries to bestow on any one who crossed his path; as,

calling to a full-grown coal-heaver in a wagon, who for a moment

blocked the way, 'Now, young 'un, who trusted YOU with a cart?'

inquiring of elderly ladies who wanted to cross, and ran back again,

'Why they didn't go to the workhouse and get an order to be buried?'

tempting boys, with friendly words, to get up behind, and

immediately afterwards cutting them down; and the like flashes of a

cheerful humour, which he would occasionally relieve by going round

St. James's Square at a hand gallop, and coming slowly into Pall

Mall by another entry, as if, in the interval, his pace had been a

perfect crawl.

 

It was not until these amusements had been very often repeated, and

the apple-stall at the corner had sustained so many miraculous

escapes as to appear impregnable, that Mr Bailey was summoned to the

door of a certain house in Pall Mall, and turning short, obeyed the

call and jumped out. It was not until he had held the bridle for

some minutes longer, every jerk of Cauliflower's brother's head, and

every twitch of Cauliflower's brother's nostril, taking him off his

legs in the meanwhile, that two persons entered the vehicle, one of

whom took the reins and drove rapidly off. Nor was it until Mr

Bailey had run after it some hundreds of yards in vain, that he

managed to lift his short leg into the iron step, and finally to get

his boots upon the little footboard behind. Then, indeed, he became

a sight to see; and--standing now on one foot and now upon the other,

now trying to look round the cab on this side, now on that, and now

endeavouring to peep over the top of it, as it went dashing in among

the carts and coaches--was from head to heel Newmarket.

 

The appearance of Mr Bailey's governor as he drove along fully

justified that enthusiastic youth's description of him to the

wondering Poll. He had a world of jet-black shining hair upon his

head, upon his cheeks, upon his chin, upon his upper lip. His

clothes, symmetrically made, were of the newest fashion and the

costliest kind. Flowers of gold and blue, and green and blushing

red, were on his waistcoat; precious chains and jewels sparkled on

his breast; his fingers, clogged with brilliant rings, were as

unwieldly as summer flies but newly rescued from a honey-pot. The

daylight mantled in his gleaming hat and boots as in a polished

glass. And yet, though changed his name, and changed his outward

surface, it was Tigg. Though turned and twisted upside down, and

inside out, as great men have been sometimes known to be; though no

longer Montague Tigg, but Tigg Montague; still it was Tigg; the same

Satanic, gallant, military Tigg. The brass was burnished,

lacquered, newly stamped; yet it was the true Tigg metal

notwithstanding.

 

Beside him sat a smiling gentleman, of less pretensions and of

business looks, whom he addressed as David. Surely not the David of

the--how shall it be phrased?--the triumvirate of golden balls? Not

David, tapster at the Lombards' Arms? Yes. The very man.

 

'The secretary's salary, David,' said Mr Montague, 'the office being

now established, is eight hundred pounds per annum, with his house-

rent, coals, and candles free. His five-and-twenty shares he holds,

of course. Is that enough?'

 

David smiled and nodded, and coughed behind a little locked

portfolio which he carried; with an air that proclaimed him to be

the secretary in question.

 

'If that's enough,' said Montague, 'I will propose it at the Board

to-day, in my capacity as chairman.'

 

The secretary smiled again; laughed, indeed, this time; and said,

rubbing his nose slily with one end of the portfolio:

 

'It was a capital thought, wasn't it?'

 

'What was a capital thought, David?' Mr Montague inquired.

 

'The Anglo-Bengalee,' tittered the secretary.

 

'The Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company is

rather a capital concern, I hope, David,' said Montague.

 

'Capital indeed!' cried the secretary, with another laugh--' in one

sense.'

 

'In the only important one,' observed the chairman; 'which is number

one, David.'

 

'What,' asked the secretary, bursting into another laugh, 'what will

be the paid up capital, according to the next prospectus?'

 

'A figure of two, and as many oughts after it as the printer can get

into the same line,' replied his friend. 'Ha, ha!'

 

At this they both laughed; the secretary so vehemently, that in

kicking up his feet, he kicked the apron open, and nearly started

Cauliflower's brother into an oyster shop; not to mention Mr

Bailey's receiving such a sudden swing, that he held on for a

moment quite a young Fame, by one strap and no legs.

 

'What a chap you are!' exclaimed David admiringly, when this little

alarm had subsided.

 

'Say, genius, David, genius.'

 

'"Well, upon my soul, you ARE a genius then,' said David. 'I always

knew you had the gift of the gab, of course; but I never believed

you were half the man you are. How could I?'

 

'I rise with circumstances, David. That's a point of genius in

itself,' said Tigg. 'If you were to lose a hundred pound wager to

me at this minute David, and were to pay it (which is most

confoundedly improbable), I should rise, in a mental point of view,

directly.'

 

It is due to Mr Tigg to say that he had really risen with his

opportunities; and, peculating on a grander scale, he had become

a grander man altogether.

 

'Ha, ha,' cried the secretary, laying his hand, with growing

familiarity, upon the chairman's arm. 'When I look at you, and

think of your property in Bengal being--ha, ha, ha!--'

 

The half-expressed idea seemed no less ludicrous to Mr Tigg than to

his friend, for he laughed too, heartily.

 

'--Being,' resumed David, 'being amenable--your property in Bengal

being amenable--to all claims upon the company; when I look at you

and think of that, you might tickle me into fits by waving the

feather of a pen at me. Upon my soul you might!'

 

'It a devilish fine property,' said Tigg Montague, 'to be amenable

to any claims. The preserve of tigers alone is worth a mint of

money, David.'

 

David could only reply in the intervals of his laughter, 'Oh, what a

chap you are!' and so continued to laugh, and hold his sides, and

wipe his eyes, for some time, without offering any other

observation.

 

'A capital idea?' said Tigg, returning after a time to his

companion's first remark; 'no doubt it was a capital idea. It was

my idea.'

 

'No, no. It was my idea,' said David. 'Hang it, let a man have

some credit. Didn't I say to you that I'd saved a few pounds?--'

 

'You said! Didn't I say to you,' interposed Tigg, 'that I had come

into a few pounds?'

 

'Certainly you did,' returned David, warmly, 'but that's not the

idea. Who said, that if we put the money together we could furnish

an office, and make a show?'

 

'And who said,' retorted Mr Tigg, 'that, provided we did it on a

sufficiently large scale, we could furnish an office and make a

show, without any money at all? Be rational, and just, and calm,

and tell me whose idea was that.'

 

'Why, there,' David was obliged to confess, 'you had the advantage

of me, I admit. But I don't put myself on a level with you. I only

want a little credit in the business.'

 

'All the credit you deserve to have,' said Tigg.

 

'The plain work of the company, David--figures, books, circulars,

advertisements, pen, ink, and paper, sealing-wax and wafers--is

admirably done by you. You are a first-rate groveller. I don't

dispute it. But the ornamental department, David; the inventive

and poetical department--'

 

'Is entirely yours,' said his friend. 'No question of it. But with

such a swell turnout as this, and all the handsome things you've

got about you, and the life you lead, I mean to say it's a precious

comfortable department too.'

 

'Does it gain the purpose? Is it Anglo-Bengalee?' asked Tigg.

 

'Yes,' said David.

 

'Could you undertake it yourself?' demanded Tigg.

 

'No,' said David.

 

'Ha, ha!' laughed Tigg. 'Then be contented with your station and

your profits, David, my fine fellow, and bless the day that made us

acquainted across the counter of our common uncle, for it was a

golden day to you.'

 

It will have been already gathered from the conversation of these

worthies, that they were embarked in an enterprise of some

magnitude, in which they addressed the public in general from the

strong position of having everything to gain and nothing at all to

lose; and which, based upon this great principle, was thriving

pretty comfortably.

 

The Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company

started into existence one morning, not an Infant Institution, but a

Grown-up Company running alone at a great pace, and doing business

right and left: with a 'branch' in a first floor over a tailor's at

the west-end of the town, and main offices in a new street in the

City, comprising the upper part of a spacious house resplendent in

stucco and plate-glass, with wire-blinds in all the windows, and

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On

the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the

Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and

on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription;

always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out

of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long

on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices

were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered,

newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in

every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and

designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green

ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the

court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes,

weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out

a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in

notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes,

the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for

anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the

chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house!

Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance

company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at

every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is

giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it

makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the

porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular

and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and

resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to

the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-

Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully

proves to you that any connection on your part with that

establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and

constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any

risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great

liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple,

Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is

the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of

Management for its permanence and stability.

 

This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as

the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be

misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple.

 

Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be

suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life

Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg

Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in

the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the

premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-

tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the

minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No

confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew

where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given

or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This

mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the

situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They

were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an

extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his

capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected

for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a

peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of

the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of

his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the

horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to

apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds,

and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled

up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His

coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his

waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or

anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the

company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment.

 

Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street

itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a

Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee.

Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was

impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-

Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having

nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would

look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the

treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a

thoughtful man.

 

As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared

bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman,

room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the

bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed

to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg

leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by

this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs,

still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave

there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In

like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the

chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were

transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room;

the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the

great capitalist from vulgar eyes.

 

The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of

Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of

office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a

long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper,

foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his

seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right

hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm

background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being

a light-hearted little fiction.

 

'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg.

 

'Sir!' replied the porter.

 

'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to

see him.'

 

Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying

'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By

your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the

gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--

at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to

stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch

the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber.

 

'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy,

wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I

am glad to see you.'

 

'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer,

throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-

chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from

the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little

worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine,

humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite

comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this

time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr

Montague.'

 

The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had

followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had

attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these

words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from

his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do

you know!'

 

'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell.

 

'Sir!'

 

'Lunch.'

 

'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good.

Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp

practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a

fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make

a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands.

Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--'

 

The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in

the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his

own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there.

 

'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning

back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr

Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say,

between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.'

 

'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with

something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with

other legs, ain't it?'

 

'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his

head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.'

 

'But I do mind,' said David.

 

'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as

illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr

Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In

every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the

same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or

fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and

becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones

sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen,

puny, stunted, miserable man!'

 

The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already

in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and

looked triumphantly at the chairman.

 

'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the

doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and

the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that.

It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally.

Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned

back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands,

of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr

Crimple's stomach is?'

 

Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately

below his waistcoat.

 

'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular

mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.'

 

'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said

Crimple.

 

'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better.

There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning

rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman

who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his

will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting

zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John

Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of

having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality

of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional

reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand,

and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became

speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.'

 

'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave!

Refreshment for the Board-room!'

 

'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew

his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr

Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be

provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?'

 

The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the

gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the

unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its

situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a

tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back,

displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats

and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced

still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and

another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an

appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer.

 

The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass

plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on

a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the

Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer

grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every

mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to

impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his

nose and forehead.

 

In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling

was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular

character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous

voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly

to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium

of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever

of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold

watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His

boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked.

Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself

before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way

of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients

detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed

to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but

go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything

to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full

of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered,

for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for

description. His female patients could never praise him too highly;

and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him

to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might

be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation),

he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your

life!'

 

Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his

connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families,

exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted

for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect

himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well

paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood

abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an

inquiring patient, after this manner:

 

'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my

information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical

officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The

labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical

scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I

receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own

knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can

be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just

paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my

dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or

capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for

figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any

curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will

agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics

of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than

Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so

the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it.

A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect.

Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to

him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish

scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view,

are per-fection. In case you should ever think of doing anything

with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can

conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any

man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has

done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the

patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the

nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell

the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such

a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I

ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and

honour, I'll consider of it!')

 

'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this

morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch,

over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!'

 

'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.'

 

'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the

commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your

pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know.

My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing

else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was

from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution

in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in

this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for

many years--that's quite another question.'

 

He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling

that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the

wine.

 

'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest

glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a

funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague,

have you?' handing him a card.

 

'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour

of his company is not requested if he is.'

 

'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably

connected with that very occasion though.'

 

'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon

the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.'

 

The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a

card to the Medical Officer.

 

'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising.

 

'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg.

 

'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say

that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.'

 

'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to

the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things

out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.'

 

'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling.

 

'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand

and smiling sweetly.

 

The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately

returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit.

 

'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit.

My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking

himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile;

'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really

is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR

chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY

chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther

than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a

medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or

Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear

the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary

operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr

Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.'

 

Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened

and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat

at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the

reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is

especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine

clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on

Jonas.

 

'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the

doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives

are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to

make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to

introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye.

But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who

sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his

snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man

alive or dead. Good-bye!'

 

With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and

proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in

waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge

of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-

Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues,

listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth;

though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of

lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he

was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and

was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation.

 

Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas

Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone.

 

'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards

Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--'

 

'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting.

'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I

was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his

lookout. I don't stand committed by that.'

 

Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual

distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge

himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact

proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence.

 

'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two

to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand

that, you know,' said Jonas.

 

'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I

applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at

first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I

disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of?

We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only

question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours

too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single

living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the

scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we

know we can't help it.'

 

It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these

pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a

simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith

in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had

preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have

suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when

he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and

everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and

one to be talked to freely.

 

He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but

for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit

rejoined:

 

'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to

set about it, I WILL say.'

 

'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white

teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I

hope.'

 

Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out

his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home

he was,

 

'The truth is--'

 

'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's

so like humbug.'

 

Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again.

 

'The long and the short of it is--'

 

'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!'

 

'--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the

old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I

mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put

questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high

for my taste.'

 

As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked

curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him.

 

He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in

his pleasantest manner:

 

'Take a glass of wine.'

 

'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of

that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but

it wouldn't do for me.'

 

'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in

his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes.

 

Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;'

And then resumed, jocosely:

 

'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married.

That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's

young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm

thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man

should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.'

 

'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking

circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before.

 

'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did

it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering

her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a

woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about

such things, that she's going to die directly.'

 

'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex.

'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!'

 

'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence

has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing

this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for

the Company's going on. That's the--'

 

'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't

use that Sunday School expression, please!'

 

'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short

of it is, what's the security?'

 

'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some

papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--'

 

'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas.

 

'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short.

 

'I should hope so.'

 

He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in

his ear:

 

'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!'

 

It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus

requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the

chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him

the better opportunity.

 

'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect?

You've seen me before?'

 

'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said

Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen

it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?'

 

'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg

 

'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath.

'You don't mean when--'

 

'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful

little family party, at which yourself and your respected father

assisted.'

 

'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help

for it.'

 

'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead!

You're very like him.'

 

Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace,

perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the

personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was

not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That

gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve,

beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's

jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable.

 

'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak

plainly.'

 

Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather,

ecod!'

 

'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

 

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas.

 

Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab

were in attendance.

 

'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?'

 

'No.'

 

'Mine. Do you like this room?'

 

'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas.

 

'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and

nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums,

instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join

us!'

 

Jonas stared at him in amazement.

 

'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to

the multitude without.

 

'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards

looking at him again.

 

'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will

tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that

thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em

will come in here, merely because they find this office here;

knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha!

Join us. You shall come in cheap.'

 

Jonas looked at him harder and harder.

 

'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy

annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred

shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint;

yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at

the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!'

 

Jonas gradually broke into a smile.

 

'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast;

'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine

with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!'

 

'I will' said Jonas.

 

'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you

and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from

the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author,

any common thing you like.'

 

'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!'

 

'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no

matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two

securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the

amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the

office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?'

 

'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really

do it?'

 

'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and

will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.'

 

'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas.

 

'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you

say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--'

 

'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas.

 

'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part

of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us

unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for

itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and

justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're

not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular

interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we

charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge

B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em),

and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good

fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a

devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I

drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet,

'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!'

 

Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his

peculiar vein of humour.

 

'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest

and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old

ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And

we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!'

 

'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful.

 

'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible

for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment!

Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the

common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down,

you know; repeated every year; capital fun!'

 

'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very

well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to

die--that's what I am thinking of.'

 

'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you

how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that

brought us down to a grand piano.'

 

'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas.

 

'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I

raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was

left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-

grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear

fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that

week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it

in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you

very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished

the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word

was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.'

 

'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost

admiration.

 

'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when

he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that

shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?'

 

'At what time?' asked Jonas.

 

'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join

us!'

 

'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be

looked into first.'

 

'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into

anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am

convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!'

 

Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared.

Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice

within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave!

Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!'

 

Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then

said, raising his voice:

 

'Is Nadgett in the office there?'

 

'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room

door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder.

 

He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no

virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee

business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to

be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed

to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him

credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body.

How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even

what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried

contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-

merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent,

in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really

didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments

in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit

on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out,

and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-

rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very

damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his

shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed,

threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept

his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might

have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver

glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or

sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been

a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient

Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret.

He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal

in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of

the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go

to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat,

and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own

surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died

worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny,

everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said

it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a

race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one

another, as they are to the rest of mankind.

 

'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon

a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table,

'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself.

Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me.

Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.'

 

Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then

looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them

off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his

pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at

the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his

pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as

it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this

one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn

legerdemain into the same region as before.

 

He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no

wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as

carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of

the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to

various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The

Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. _

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