It was early in the morning of the day after that on which our story
commences. Arthur, worn out by his midnight vigils, had not yet risen.
Mary was astir: she had already prepared and eaten a frugal meal; and the
small table—the only one in the apartment—was covered with a white cloth,
on which was spread, with as tempting an array as the nature of the food
would admit, the breakfast intended for her husband.
Suddenly, there was a violent knock at the door. Mary glanced towards her
husband,—who was still buried in deep sleep,—apprehensive that he might
be awakened, and then went to the door and opened it.
A coarse-featured man entered.
“Good morning, Mrs. Elliott,” was his salutation. “You see I have come
for my week’s rent. I am not likely to forget that.”
“The rent!” said Mary, apprehensively. “I am sorry, Mr. Mudge; but I
haven’t quite got it ready. I didn’t succeed in finishing the work I had
on hand as soon as I anticipated; and I must ask your indulgence for a
day or two.”
“Oh, yes! the old story!” said the man, with a sneer. “And if I should
come again in a day or two, you wouldn’t have finished the work you have
on hand, and would ask for a day or two more. Oh, yes! I am used to such
games.”
“But, Mr. Mudge, have I failed you before? and should I be likely to
begin now? If you will come on Tuesday, you shall have the money, if I
have to pawn some of my furniture to raise it.”
Mr. Mudge was half persuaded, but still sullen. “There’s your
husband,—why doesn’t he work? He is able to. You wouldn’t find any
difficulty in raising the rent, if he would do something.”
“Arthur works already beyond his strength,” was the wife’s slightly
indignant rejoinder (for she could not bear to have any imputation cast
upon _him_); “and some day we shall see what will come of it.”
Just then, her husband stirred in his sleep; and Mary, hastily repeating,
“Call again on Tuesday, and you shall have it,” closed the door, and went
to his bedside.
“They are a proud set,” said Mudge to himself, as he descended the
rickety staircase, which nearly caused him to stumble,—“they are a proud
set; and they say pride and poverty always go together. But, if the rent
isn’t ready on Tuesday, their pride will be likely to meet with a fall,
or my name isn’t Mudge.”
Perceiving that her husband still slept, the artist’s wife took up her
work, and began to ply her needle busily. The work she had received from
the slop-shop consisted of shirts, for which she received ninepence
apiece. She had taken a bundle of six, which, when completed, would
amount to a little less than a crown. By great diligence, she could make
three of these in two days; which would give them an income of not quite
seven shillings per week. Of this sum, one half was obliged to go for the
rent of the miserable room in which they lodged.
By and by, Arthur awoke from the deep sleep in which he had been plunged,
and looked around him.
“It is late,” said he: “the sun is already high; and I must to work.”
He dressed himself hastily, and partook of the food which his wife had
prepared for him.
The next day passed; and Monday afternoon brought to Mrs. Elliott the
sad conviction that she had miscalculated as to the rapidity with which
she could perform her work, and that she would not, after all, be
prepared to meet Mr. Mudge with the rent on the day following. Knowing
his unfeeling nature, she could not doubt that he would insist on their
instantly vacating the apartment. This was to be avoided at all hazards.
She knew her husband’s high spirit; and she feared for the consequences,
if Mr. Mudge should be insolent.
Full of this thought, she took a light gold chain, which in happier days
her husband had presented to her, and proceeded, with reluctant step, to
the pawnbroker’s. It was drawing towards evening; and she hurried through
the streets, scarcely daring to look to the right hand or to the left,
lest she might meet with some interruption.
Solomon Fagin, a Jew, who fully sustained the reputation of his race,
as an avaricious man wholly devoted to the love of gain, stood, with a
cringing expression on his drawn-up features, behind the counter of his
shop in David’s Alley. He was trafficking, or rather seemed to have just
closed a sale, with a young gentleman well dressed and of prepossessing
appearance. The latter made way politely for Mary, who was too much
pre-occupied to acknowledge his courtesy.
“How much will you advance me on this?” asked she, hurriedly, extending
the chain, which had originally been purchased for two guineas.
Solomon looked in her face cunningly, as if to estimate, by the degree of
anxiety she displayed, how little he might venture to offer.
Mary was very nervous, and exceedingly anxious to get home before it grew
much darker. This probably gave her an appearance of solicitude, which
the Jew attributed to destitution.
“These things ish very sheap,” he at length said,—“dog-sheap: people
don’t want ’em. I can’t offer you more than ten shillings, and shall
lose on that.”
The young gentleman had been an attentive spectator of this scene. He
fathomed the cunning of the Jew, and, advancing to the counter, took the
chain in his hands.
“Come, Solomon, this is too bad! You should offer three times as much,
and you would make a good bargain then. You know, as well as I do, that
that chain never cost less than two guineas. Come, come! be honest for
once.”
“It ish all very well,” said Solomon, who did not relish the
interruption, “vor young shentleman to talk; but if young shentleman
should keep a pawnbroker’s shop, he would change his mind.”
“Perhaps so; but I will wait till I am a pawnbroker first. But, Solomon,
if you don’t offer more, I’ll take it myself.”
The Jew, who was afraid of losing a good bargain, and internally cursing
the interference of the young gentleman, began to mumble that it was
very hard to press a poor man so,—that he should certainly lose on it.
However, he closed by offering fifteen shillings.
Mrs. Elliott was about to close with this offer; but the other stepped
forward, and said,—
“No, no! this will never do. That chain cost two guineas at least. I am
sure of it; for I bought one precisely similar the other day. Give it to
me, madam,” said he, respectfully, to Mrs. Elliott, “and I will advance
you that sum.”
The artist’s wife accepted his proffer with grateful astonishment, and
hastened to leave the shop. She had gone but a few steps, when she was
overtaken by the chance companion whom she had met at the pawnbroker’s.
“Do not think me bold,” said he, “if I suggest that it is hardly safe to
carry money open in your hand; and, indeed, it is so dark, that it is
hardly safe at all for a lady to pass through the streets unattended. If
you will accept my escort, I shall be most happy to conduct you to your
lodgings.”
Mrs. Elliott hesitated. She knew it was scarcely safe to trust to an
entire stranger; but the young man’s conduct thus far had so prepossessed
her in his favor, that she did not refuse.
“Sir,” she replied, after a moment’s hesitation, “I know not whether I am
in the right; but I cannot help trusting you. I do not think you intend
to impose upon me. I _will_ trust to you.”
“You shall not regret your confidence,” said her companion. “May I ask
where you reside?”
“At 16, S⸺ Street,” was the reply of Mrs. Elliott. “I am much indebted
to you, sir, no less for the trouble you are now taking than for the
generosity with which you saved me from being imposed upon by the Jew.”
“Oh!” said the other, laughing, “Solomon is a cunning old fellow, who
will cheat where he gets a chance. No worse Jew for that, or pawnbroker
either. It is their business to cheat; and I fancy Fagin is as much of an
adept at it as any one.
“I hope,” he continued, after a pause, “that you were not driven by
distress to the sale of an article which you must value highly?”
“It was presented to me by my husband,” was the reply. “I would not have
parted with it, but that this was probably the only means of saving
ourselves from being turned out of doors.”
“I am sorry for that,” was the sympathizing reply. “Does your husband
know that you have come out on such an errand?”
“No, or he would have offered to pawn some of his own clothing first. Of
this I was afraid; and it was for this reason that I stole secretly out.”
They had now reached the outer door of the dwelling in the upper part of
which Mr. Elliott lodged. It was necessary for them to part.
In parting, the stranger pressed Mrs. Elliott’s hand, and then walked
rapidly away. She found, to her astonishment, that he had placed the
chain in her hand. But he was now so far distant that she could not call
him back. Thanking him in her heart for this unlooked-for generosity,
Mrs. Elliott went up stairs with a light heart; for she foresaw, that,
with the sum of money of which she had so providentially come into
possession, they would be able to live comfortably for some weeks;
in addition to which, she would have it in her power to procure some
delicacies for her husband’s palate.
After a little consideration, she decided not to mention this adventure
to her husband; as the idea of her selling his gift would be painful to
him, and would do him no good. There was no danger of his inquiring, so
much was he absorbed in his painting. Besides, if he thought at all upon
the subject, he would think she had been out on business connected with
her work.
She hastily passed up stairs, and set about preparing supper for herself
and husband.