How the accomplished gentleman spent the evening in the midst of a
dazzling and brilliant circle; how he enchanted all those with whom he
mingled by the grace of his deportment, the politeness of his manner,
the vivacity of his conversation, and the sweetness of his voice; how
it was observed in every corner, that Chester was a man of that happy
disposition that nothing ruffled him, that he was one on whom the
world’s cares and errors sat lightly as his dress, and in whose smiling
face a calm and tranquil mind was constantly reflected; how honest men,
who by instinct knew him better, bowed down before him nevertheless,
deferred to his every word, and courted his favourable notice; how
people, who really had good in them, went with the stream, and fawned
and flattered, and approved, and despised themselves while they did
so, and yet had not the courage to resist; how, in short, he was one of
those who are received and cherished in society (as the phrase is) by
scores who individually would shrink from and be repelled by the
object of their lavish regard; are things of course, which will suggest
themselves. Matter so commonplace needs but a passing glance, and there
an end.
The despisers of mankind--apart from the mere fools and mimics, of that
creed--are of two sorts. They who believe their merit neglected and
unappreciated, make up one class; they who receive adulation and
flattery, knowing their own worthlessness, compose the other. Be sure
that the coldest-hearted misanthropes are ever of this last order.
Mr Chester sat up in bed next morning, sipping his coffee, and
remembering with a kind of contemptuous satisfaction how he had shone
last night, and how he had been caressed and courted, when his servant
brought in a very small scrap of dirty paper, tightly sealed in two
places, on the inside whereof was inscribed in pretty large text these
words: ‘A friend. Desiring of a conference. Immediate. Private. Burn it
when you’ve read it.’
‘Where in the name of the Gunpowder Plot did you pick up this?’ said his
master.
It was given him by a person then waiting at the door, the man replied.
‘With a cloak and dagger?’ said Mr Chester.
With nothing more threatening about him, it appeared, than a leather
apron and a dirty face. ‘Let him come in.’ In he came--Mr Tappertit;
with his hair still on end, and a great lock in his hand, which he put
down on the floor in the middle of the chamber as if he were about to go
through some performances in which it was a necessary agent.
‘Sir,’ said Mr Tappertit with a low bow, ‘I thank you for this
condescension, and am glad to see you. Pardon the menial office in which
I am engaged, sir, and extend your sympathies to one, who, humble as his
appearance is, has inn’ard workings far above his station.’
Mr Chester held the bed-curtain farther back, and looked at him with a
vague impression that he was some maniac, who had not only broken open
the door of his place of confinement, but had brought away the lock. Mr
Tappertit bowed again, and displayed his legs to the best advantage.
‘You have heard, sir,’ said Mr Tappertit, laying his hand upon his
breast, ‘of G. Varden Locksmith and bell-hanger and repairs neatly
executed in town and country, Clerkenwell, London?’
‘What then?’ asked Mr Chester.
‘I’m his ‘prentice, sir.’
‘What THEN?’
‘Ahem!’ said Mr Tappertit. ‘Would you permit me to shut the door, sir,
and will you further, sir, give me your honour bright, that what passes
between us is in the strictest confidence?’
Mr Chester laid himself calmly down in bed again, and turning a
perfectly undisturbed face towards the strange apparition, which had
by this time closed the door, begged him to speak out, and to be as
rational as he could, without putting himself to any very great personal
inconvenience.
‘In the first place, sir,’ said Mr Tappertit, producing a small
pocket-handkerchief and shaking it out of the folds, ‘as I have not
a card about me (for the envy of masters debases us below that level)
allow me to offer the best substitute that circumstances will admit of.
If you will take that in your own hand, sir, and cast your eye on the
right-hand corner,’ said Mr Tappertit, offering it with a graceful air,
‘you will meet with my credentials.’
‘Thank you,’ answered Mr Chester, politely accepting it, and turning to
some blood-red characters at one end. ‘“Four. Simon Tappertit. One.” Is
that the--’
‘Without the numbers, sir, that is my name,’ replied the ‘prentice.
‘They are merely intended as directions to the washerwoman, and have no
connection with myself or family. YOUR name, sir,’ said Mr Tappertit,
looking very hard at his nightcap, ‘is Chester, I suppose? You needn’t
pull it off, sir, thank you. I observe E. C. from here. We will take the
rest for granted.’
‘Pray, Mr Tappertit,’ said Mr Chester, ‘has that complicated piece of
ironmongery which you have done me the favour to bring with you, any
immediate connection with the business we are to discuss?’
‘It has not, sir,’ rejoined the ‘prentice. ‘It’s going to be fitted on a
ware’us-door in Thames Street.’
‘Perhaps, as that is the case,’ said Mr Chester, ‘and as it has a
stronger flavour of oil than I usually refresh my bedroom with, you will
oblige me so far as to put it outside the door?’
‘By all means, sir,’ said Mr Tappertit, suiting the action to the word.
‘You’ll excuse my mentioning it, I hope?’
‘Don’t apologise, sir, I beg. And now, if you please, to business.’
During the whole of this dialogue, Mr Chester had suffered nothing but
his smile of unvarying serenity and politeness to appear upon his face.
Sim Tappertit, who had far too good an opinion of himself to suspect
that anybody could be playing upon him, thought within himself that
this was something like the respect to which he was entitled, and drew
a comparison from this courteous demeanour of a stranger, by no means
favourable to the worthy locksmith.
‘From what passes in our house,’ said Mr Tappertit, ‘I am aware, sir,
that your son keeps company with a young lady against your inclinations.
Sir, your son has not used me well.’
‘Mr Tappertit,’ said the other, ‘you grieve me beyond description.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied the ‘prentice. ‘I’m glad to hear you say so.
He’s very proud, sir, is your son; very haughty.’
‘I am afraid he IS haughty,’ said Mr Chester. ‘Do you know I was really
afraid of that before; and you confirm me?’
‘To recount the menial offices I’ve had to do for your son, sir,’ said
Mr Tappertit; ‘the chairs I’ve had to hand him, the coaches I’ve had to
call for him, the numerous degrading duties, wholly unconnected with
my indenters, that I’ve had to do for him, would fill a family Bible.
Besides which, sir, he is but a young man himself and I do not consider
“thank’ee Sim,” a proper form of address on those occasions.’
‘Mr Tappertit, your wisdom is beyond your years. Pray go on.’
‘I thank you for your good opinion, sir,’ said Sim, much gratified,
‘and will endeavour so to do. Now sir, on this account (and perhaps for
another reason or two which I needn’t go into) I am on your side. And
what I tell you is this--that as long as our people go backwards and
forwards, to and fro, up and down, to that there jolly old Maypole,
lettering, and messaging, and fetching and carrying, you couldn’t help
your son keeping company with that young lady by deputy,--not if he was
minded night and day by all the Horse Guards, and every man of ‘em in
the very fullest uniform.’
Mr Tappertit stopped to take breath after this, and then started fresh
again.
‘Now, sir, I am a coming to the point. You will inquire of me, “how is
this to be prevented?” I’ll tell you how. If an honest, civil, smiling
gentleman like you--’
‘Mr Tappertit--really--’
‘No, no, I’m serious,’ rejoined the ‘prentice, ‘I am, upon my soul.
If an honest, civil, smiling gentleman like you, was to talk but ten
minutes to our old woman--that’s Mrs Varden--and flatter her up a bit,
you’d gain her over for ever. Then there’s this point got--that her
daughter Dolly,’--here a flush came over Mr Tappertit’s face--‘wouldn’t
be allowed to be a go-between from that time forward; and till that
point’s got, there’s nothing ever will prevent her. Mind that.’
‘Mr Tappertit, your knowledge of human nature--’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Sim, folding his arms with a dreadful calmness.
‘Now I come to THE point. Sir, there is a villain at that Maypole, a
monster in human shape, a vagabond of the deepest dye, that unless you
get rid of and have kidnapped and carried off at the very least--nothing
less will do--will marry your son to that young woman, as certainly and
as surely as if he was the Archbishop of Canterbury himself. He will,
sir, for the hatred and malice that he bears to you; let alone the
pleasure of doing a bad action, which to him is its own reward. If you
knew how this chap, this Joseph Willet--that’s his name--comes backwards
and forwards to our house, libelling, and denouncing, and threatening
you, and how I shudder when I hear him, you’d hate him worse than I
do,--worse than I do, sir,’ said Mr Tappertit wildly, putting his hair
up straighter, and making a crunching noise with his teeth; ‘if sich a
thing is possible.’
‘A little private vengeance in this, Mr Tappertit?’
‘Private vengeance, sir, or public sentiment, or both combined--destroy
him,’ said Mr Tappertit. ‘Miggs says so too. Miggs and me both say so.
We can’t bear the plotting and undermining that takes place. Our souls
recoil from it. Barnaby Rudge and Mrs Rudge are in it likewise; but the
villain, Joseph Willet, is the ringleader. Their plottings and schemes
are known to me and Miggs. If you want information of ‘em, apply to us.
Put Joseph Willet down, sir. Destroy him. Crush him. And be happy.’
With these words, Mr Tappertit, who seemed to expect no reply, and to
hold it as a necessary consequence of his eloquence that his hearer
should be utterly stunned, dumbfoundered, and overwhelmed, folded his
arms so that the palm of each hand rested on the opposite shoulder, and
disappeared after the manner of those mysterious warners of whom he had
read in cheap story-books.
‘That fellow,’ said Mr Chester, relaxing his face when he was fairly
gone, ‘is good practice. I HAVE some command of my features, beyond all
doubt. He fully confirms what I suspected, though; and blunt tools are
sometimes found of use, where sharper instruments would fail. I fear
I may be obliged to make great havoc among these worthy people. A
troublesome necessity! I quite feel for them.’
With that he fell into a quiet slumber:--subsided into such a gentle,
pleasant sleep, that it was quite infantine.