Dombey and Son by Charles Dickens (ebook reader 7 inch .txt) 📖

‘You’re a very small chap;’ said Mr Toots.

‘Yes, Sir, I’m small,’ returned Paul. ‘Thank you, Sir.’

For Toots had lifted him into the seat, and done it kindly too.

‘Who’s your tailor?’ inquired Toots, after looking at him for some moments.

‘It’s a woman that has made my clothes as yet,’ said Paul. ‘My sister’s dressmaker.’

‘My tailor’s Burgess and Co.,’ said Toots. ‘Fash’nable. But very dear.’

Paul had wit enough to shake his head, as if he would have said it was easy to see that; and indeed he thought so.

‘Your father’s regularly rich, ain’t he?’ inquired Mr Toots.

‘Yes, Sir,’ said Paul. ‘He’s Dombey and Son.’

‘And which?’ demanded Toots.

‘And Son, Sir,’ replied Paul.

Mr Toots made one or two attempts, in a low voice, to fix the Firm in his mind; but not quite succeeding, said he would get Paul to mention the name again to-morrow morning, as it was rather important. And indeed he purposed nothing less than writing himself a private and confidential letter from Dombey and Son immediately.

By this time the other pupils (always excepting the stony boy) gathered round. They were polite, but pale; and spoke low; and they were so depressed in their spirits, that in comparison with the general tone of that company, Master Bitherstone was a perfect Miller, or complete Jest Book.’ And yet he had a sense of injury upon him, too, had Bitherstone.

‘You sleep in my room, don’t you?’ asked a solemn young gentleman, whose shirt-collar curled up the lobes of his ears.

‘Master Briggs?’ inquired Paul.

‘Tozer,’ said the young gentleman.

Paul answered yes; and Tozer pointing out the stony pupil, said that was Briggs. Paul had already felt certain that it must be either Briggs or Tozer, though he didn’t know why.

‘Is yours a strong constitution?’ inquired Tozer.

Paul said he thought not. Tozer replied that he thought not also, judging from Paul’s looks, and that it was a pity, for it need be. He then asked Paul if he were going to begin with Cornelia; and on Paul saying ‘yes,’ all the young gentlemen (Briggs excepted) gave a low groan.

It was drowned in the tintinnabulation of the gong, which sounding again with great fury, there was a general move towards the dining-room; still excepting Briggs the stony boy, who remained where he was, and as he was; and on its way to whom Paul presently encountered a round of bread, genteelly served on a plate and napkin, and with a silver fork lying crosswise on the top of it. 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 flavour 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 fact 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 honour 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 neighbours 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 a 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 tablecloth. ‘Johnson will repeat to me tomorrow morning before breakfast, without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first chapter of the Epistle of Saint Paul to the Ephesians. We will resume our studies, Mr Feeder, in half-an-hour.’