Old Curiosity Shop

"The Old Curiosity Shop" was begun by Dickens in his new

weekly publication called "Master Humphrey's Clock," in 1840,

and its early chapters were written in the first person. But

its author soon got rid of the impediments that pertained to

"Master Humphrey," and "when the story was finished," Dickens

wrote, "I caused the few sheets of 'Master Humphrey's Clock,'

which had been printed in connection with it, to be

cancelled." "The Old Curiosity Shop" won a host of friends for

the author; A.C. Swinburne even declared Little Nell equal to

any character in fiction. The lonely figure of the child with

grotesque and wild, but not impossible, companions, took the

hearts of all readers by storm, and the death of Little Nell

moved thousands to tears. While the story was appearing, Tom

Hood, then unknown to Dickens, wrote an essay "tenderly

appreciative" of Little Nell, "and of all her shadowy kith and

kin." The immense and deserved popularity of the book is shown

by the universal acquaintance with Mrs. Jarley, and the common

use of the phrase "Codlin's the friend--not Short."

_I.--Little Nell and Her Grandfather_

The shop was one of those receptacles for old and curious things which

seem to crouch in odd corners of London. There were suits of mail

standing like ghosts in armour, rusty weapons of various kinds,

tapestry, and strange furniture that might have been designed in dreams.

The haggard aspect of a little old man, with long grey hair, who stood

within, was wonderfully suited to the place. Nothing in the whole

collection looked older or more worn than he.

Confronting the old man was a young man of dissipated appearance, and

high words were taking place.

"I tell you again I want to see my sister," said the younger man. "You

can't change the relationship, you know. If you could, you'd have done

it long ago. But as I may have to wait some time I'll call in a friend

of mine, with your leave."

At this he brought in a companion of even more dissolute appearance than

himself.

"There, it's Dick Swiveller," said the young fellow, pushing him in.

"But is the old min agreeable?" said Mr. Swiveller in an undertone.

"What is the odds so long as the fire of soul is kindled at the taper of

conviviality, and the wing of friendship never moults a feather! But,

only one little whisper, Fred--_is_ the old min friendly?"

Mr. Swiveller then leaned back in his chair and relapsed into silence;

only to break it by observing, "Gentlemen, how does the case stand? Here

is a jolly old grandfather, and here is a wild young grandson. The jolly

old grandfather says to the wild young grandson, 'I have brought you up

and educated you, Fred; you have bolted a little out of the course, and

you shall never have another chance.' The wild young grandson makes

answer, 'You're as rich as can be, why can't you stand a trifle for your

grown up relation?' Then the plain question is, ain't it a pity this

state of things should continue, and how much better it would be for the

old gentleman to hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all

right and comfortable?"

"Why do you persecute me?" said the old man, turning to his grandson.

"Why do you bring your profligate companions here? I am poor. You have

chosen your own path, follow it. Leave Nell and me to toil and work."

"Nell will be a woman soon," returned the other; "She'll forget her

brother unless he shows himself sometimes."

The door opened, and the child herself appeared, followed by an elderly

man so low in stature as to be quite a dwarf, though his head and face

were large enough for the body of a giant.

Mr. Swiveller turned to the dwarf and, stooping down, whispered audibly

in his ear. "The watchword to the old min is--fork."

"Is what?" demanded Quilp, for that--Daniel Quilp--was the dwarf's name.

"Is fork, sir, fork," replied Mr. Swiveller, slapping his pocket. "You

are awake, sir?"

The dwarf nodded; the grandson, having announced his intention of

repeating his visit, left the house accompanied by his friend.

"So much for dear relations," said Quilp, with a sour look. He put his

hand into his breast, and pulled out a bag. "Here, I brought it myself,

as, being in gold, it was too large and heavy for Nell to carry. I would

I knew in what good investment all these supplies are sunk. But you are

a deep man, and keep your secret close."

"My secret!" said the old man, with a haggard look. "Yes, you're

right--I keep it close--very close."

He said no more, but, taking the money, locked it in an iron safe.

That night, as on many a night previous, Nell's grandfather went out,

leaving the child in the strange house alone, to return in the early

morning.

Quilp, to whom the old man had again applied for money, learnt of these

nocturnal expeditions, and sent no answer, but came in person to the old

curiosity shop.

The old man was feverish and excited as he impatiently addressed the

dwarf.

"Have you brought me any money?"

"No," returned Quilp.

"Then," said the old man, clenching his hands, "the child and I are

lost. No recompense for the time and money lost!"

"Neighbour," said Quilp, "you have no secret from me now. I know that

all those sums of money you have had from me have found their way to the

gamingtable."

"I never played for gain of mine, or love of play," cried the old man

fiercely. "My winnings would have been bestowed to the last farthing on

a young sinless child, whose life they would have sweetened and made

happy. But I never won."

"Dear me!" said Quilp. "The last advance was £70, and it went in one

night. And so it comes to pass that I hold every security you could

scrape together, and a bill of sale upon the stock and property."

So saying, he nodded, deaf to all entreaties for further loans, and took

his leave.

The house was no longer theirs. Mr. Quilp encamped on the premises, and

the goods were sold. A day was fixed for their removal.

"Grandfather, let us begone from this place," said little Nell; "let us

wander barefoot through the world, rather than linger here."

"We will," answered the old man. "We will travel afoot through the

fields and woods, and by the side of rivers and trust ourselves to God.

Thou and I together, Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to

forget this time, as if it had never been."

_II.--Messrs. Codlin and Short_

The sun was setting when little Nell and her grandfather, who had been

wandering many days, reached the wicket gate of a country churchyard.

Two men were seated in easy attitudes on the grass by the church--two

men of the class of itinerant showmen, exhibitors of the freaks of

Punch--and they had come there to make needful repairs in the stage

arrangements, for one was engaged in binding together a small gallows

with thread, while the other was fixing a new black wig upon the head of

a puppet.

"Are you going to show 'em to-night? Are you?" said the old man.

"That's the intention, governor, and unless I'm much mistaken, my

partner, Tommy Codlin, is a-calculating at this minute what we've lost

through your coming upon us. Cheer up, Tommy, it can't be much."

To this Mr. Codlin replied in a surly, grumbling manner, "I don't care

if we haven't lost a farden, but you're too free. If you stood in front

of the curtain, and see the public's faces as I do, you'd know human

natur' better."

"Ah! it's been the spoiling of you, Tommy, your taking to that branch,"

rejoined his companion. "When you played the ghost in the reg'lar drama

in the fairs, you believed in everything--except ghosts. But now you're

a universal mistruster."

"Never mind," said Mr. Codlin, with the air of a discontented

philosopher; "I know better now; p'r'aps I'm sorry for it. Look here,

here's all this Judy's clothes falling to pieces again."

The child, seeing they were at a loss for a needle and thread, timidly

proposed to mend it for them, and even Mr. Codlin had nothing to urge

against a proposal so reasonable.

"If you're wanting a place to stop at," said Short, "I should advise you

to take up at the same house with us. That's it, the long, low, white

house there. It's very cheap."

The public-house was kept by a fat old landlord and landlady, who made

no objection to receiving their new guests, but praised Nelly's beauty,

and were at once prepossessed in her behalf.

"We're going on to the races," said Short next morning to the

travellers. "If that's your way, and you'd like to have us for company,

let us go together. If you prefer going alone, only say the word, and we

shan't trouble you."

"We'll go with you," said the old man. "Nell--with them, with them."

They stopped that night at an ancient roadside inn called the Jolly

Sandboys, and supper being in preparation, Nelly and her grandfather had

not long taken their seats by the kitchen fire before they fell asleep.

"Who are they?" whispered the landlord.

"No-good, I suppose," said Mr. Codlin.

"They're no harm," said Short, "depend upon that. It's very plain,

besides, that they're not used to this way of life. Don't tell me that

handsome child has been in the habit of prowling about as she's done

these last two or three days. I know better. The old man ain't in his

right mind. Haven't you noticed how anxious he is always to get

on--furder away--furder away? Mind what I say, he has given his friends

the slip, and persuaded this delicate young creatur all along of her

fondness for him to be his guide--where to, he knows no more than the

man in the moon. I'm not a-going to stand that!"

"You're not a-going to stand that!" cried Mr. Codlin, glancing at the

clock, and counting the minutes to supper time.

"I," repeated Short, emphatically and slowly, "am not a-going to stand

it. I am not a-going to see this fair young child a-falling into bad

hands. Therefore, when they develop an intention of parting company from

us, I shall take measures for detaining of 'em, and restoring 'em to

their friends, who, I dare say, have had their disconsolation pasted up

on every wall in London by this time."

"Short," said Mr. Codlin, looking up with eager eyes, "it's possible

there may be uncommon good sense in what you've said. If there should be

a reward, Short, remember that we're partners in everything!"

Before Nell retired to rest in her poor garret she was a little startled

by the appearance of Mr. Thomas Codlin at her door.

"Nothing's the matter, my dear; only I'm your friend. Perhaps you

haven't thought so, but it's me that's your friend--not him. I'm the

real, open-hearted man. Short's very well, and seems kind, but he

overdoes it. Now, I don't."

The child was puzzled, and could not tell what to say.

"Take my advice; as long as you travel with us, keep as near me as you

can. Recollect the friend. Codlin's the friend, not Short. Short's very

well as far as he goes, but the real friend is Codlin--not Short."

_III.--Jarley's Waxwork_

Codlin and Short stuck so close to Nell and her grandfather that the

child grew frightened, especially at the unwonted attentions of Mr.

Thomas Codlin. The bustle of the racecourse enabled them to escape, and

once more the travellers were alone.

It was a few days later when, as the afternoon was wearing away, they

came upon a caravan drawn up by the roadside. It was a smart little

house upon wheels, not a gipsy caravan, for at the open door sat a

Christian lady, stout and comfortable, taking her tea upon a drum

covered with a white napkin.

"Hey!" cried the lady of the caravan, seeing the old man and the child

walking slowly by. "Yes, to be sure I saw you there with my own eyes!

And very sorry I was to see you in company with a Punch; a low,

practical, wulgar wretch that people should scorn to look at."

"I was not there by choice," returned the child. "We don't know our way,

and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them. Do

you know them, ma'am?"

"Know 'em, child! Know _them_! But you're young and inexperienced. Do I

look as if I knowed 'em? Does the caravan look as if _it_ knowed 'em?"

"No, ma'am, no. I beg your pardon."

It was granted immediately. And then the lady of the caravan, finding

the travellers were hungry, handed them a tea-tray with bread-and-butter

and a knuckle of ham; and finding they were tired, took them into the

caravan, which was bound for the nearest town, some eight miles off.

As the caravan moved slowly along, its owner began to talk to Nell, and

presently pulled out a large roll of canvas. "There child," she said,

"read that!"