The Old Curiosity Shop

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The child left her gathering the flowers that grew upon the grave,
and thoughtfully retraced her steps.

The old man was by this time up and dressed. Mr Codlin, still
doomed to contemplate the harsh realities of existence, was packing
among his linen the candle-ends which had been saved from the
previous night's performance; while his companion received the
compliments of all the loungers in the stable-yard, who, unable to
separate him from the master-mind of Punch, set him down as next in
importance to that merry outlaw, and loved him scarcely less. When
he had sufficiently acknowledged his popularity he came in to
breakfast, at which meal they all sat down together.

'And where are you going to-day?' said the little man, addressing
himself to Nell.

'Indeed I hardly know--we have not determined yet,' replied the child.

'We're going on to the races,' said the little man. 'If that's your
way and you like to have us for company, let us travel together. If
you prefer going alone, only say the word and you'll find that we
shan't trouble you.'

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

The child considered for a moment, and reflecting that she must
shortly beg, and could scarcely hope to do so at a better place
than where crowds of rich ladies and gentlemen were assembled
together for purposes of enjoyment and festivity, determined to
accompany these men so far. She therefore thanked the little man
for his offer, and said, glancing timidly towards his friend, that
if there was no objection to their accompanying them as far as the
race town--

'Objection!' said the little man. 'Now be gracious for once, Tommy,
and say that you'd rather they went with us. I know you would. Be
gracious, Tommy.'

'Trotters,' said Mr Codlin, who talked very slowly and ate very
greedily, as is not uncommon with philosophers and misanthropes;
'you're too free.'

'Why what harm can it do?' urged the other. 'No harm at all in this
particular case, perhaps,' replied Mr Codlin; 'but the principle's
a dangerous one, and you're too free I tell you.'

'Well, are they to go with us or not?'

'Yes, they are,' said Mr Codlin; 'but you might have made a favour
of it, mightn't you?'

The real name of the little man was Harris, but it had gradually
merged into the less euphonious one of Trotters, which, with the
prefatory adjective, Short, had been conferred upon him by reason
of the small size of his legs. Short Trotters however, being a
compound name, inconvenient of use in friendly dialogue, the
gentleman on whom it had been bestowed was known among his
intimates either as 'Short,' or 'Trotters,' and was seldom accosted
at full length as Short Trotters, except in formal conversations
and on occasions of ceremony.

Short, then, or Trotters, as the reader pleases, returned unto the
remonstrance of his friend Mr Thomas Codlin a jocose answer
calculated to turn aside his discontent; and applying himself with
great relish to the cold boiled beef, the tea, and bread and
butter, strongly impressed upon his companions that they should do
the like. Mr Codlin indeed required no such persuasion, as he had
already eaten as much as he could possibly carry and was now
moistening his clay with strong ale, whereof he took deep draughts
with a silent relish and invited nobody to partake--thus again
strongly indicating his misanthropical turn of mind.

Breakfast being at length over, Mr Codlin called the bill, and
charging the ale to the company generally (a practice also
savouring of misanthropy) divided the sum-total into two fair and
equal parts, assigning one moiety to himself and friend, and the
other to Nelly and her grandfather. These being duly discharged and
all things ready for their departure, they took farewell of the
landlord and landlady and resumed their journey.

And here Mr Codlin's false position in society and the effect it
wrought upon his wounded spirit, were strongly illustrated; for
whereas he had been last night accosted by Mr Punch as 'master,'
and had by inference left the audience to understand that he
maintained that individual for his own luxurious entertainment and
delight, here he was, now, painfully walking beneath the burden of
that same Punch's temple, and bearing it bodily upon his shoulders
on a sultry day and along a dusty road. In place of enlivening his
patron with a constant fire of wit or the cheerful rattle of his
quarter-staff on the heads of his relations and acquaintance, here
was that beaming Punch utterly devoid of spine, all slack and
drooping in a dark box, with his legs doubled up round his neck,
and not one of his social qualities remaining.

Mr Codlin trudged heavily on, exchanging a word or two at intervals
with Short, and stopping to rest and growl occasionally. Short led
the way; with the flat box, the private luggage (which was not
extensive) tied up in a bundle, and a brazen trumpet slung from his
shoulder-blade. Nell and her grandfather walked next him on either
hand, and Thomas Codlin brought up the rear.

When they came to any town or village, or even to a detached house
of good appearance, Short blew a blast upon the brazen trumpet and
carolled a fragment of a song in that hilarious tone common to
Punches and their consorts. If people hurried to the windows, Mr
Codlin pitched the temple, and hastily unfurling the drapery and
concealing Short therewith, flourished hysterically on the pipes
and performed an air. Then the entertainment began as soon as might
be; Mr Codlin having the responsibility of deciding on its length
and of protracting or expediting the time for the hero's final
triumph over the enemy of mankind, according as he judged that the
after-crop of half-pence would be plentiful or scant. When it had
been gathered in to the last farthing, he resumed his load and on
they went again.

Sometimes they played out the toll across a bridge or ferry, and
once exhibited by particular desire at a turnpike, where the
collector, being drunk in his solitude, paid down a shilling to
have it to himself. There was one small place of rich promise in
which their hopes were blighted, for a favourite character in the
play having gold-lace upon his coat and being a meddling
wooden-headed fellow was held to be a libel on the beadle, for
which reason the authorities enforced a quick retreat; but they
were generally well received, and seldom left a town without a
troop of ragged children shouting at their heels.

They made a long day's journey, despite these interruptions, and
were yet upon the road when the moon was shining in the sky. Short
beguiled the time with songs and jests, and made the best of
everything that happened. Mr Codlin on the other hand, cursed his
fate, and all the hollow things of earth (but Punch especially),
and limped along with the theatre on his back, a prey to the
bitterest chagrin.

They had stopped to rest beneath a finger-post where four roads
met, and Mr Codlin in his deep misanthropy had let down the drapery
and seated himself in the bottom of the show, invisible to mortal
eyes and disdainful of the company of his fellow creatures, when
two monstrous shadows were seen stalking towards them from a
turning in the road by which they had come. The child was at first
quite terrified by the sight of these gaunt giants--for such they
looked as they advanced with lofty strides beneath the shadow of
the trees--but Short, telling her there was nothing to fear, blew
a blast upon the trumpet, which was answered by a cheerful shout.

'It's Grinder's lot, an't it?' cried Mr Short in a loud key.

'Yes,' replied a couple of shrill voices.

'Come on then,' said Short. 'Let's have a look at you. I thought it
was you.'

Thus invited, 'Grinder's lot' approached with redoubled speed and
soon came up with the little party.

Mr Grinder's company, familiarly termed a lot, consisted of a young
gentleman and a young lady on stilts, and Mr Grinder himself, who
used his natural legs for pedestrian purposes and carried at his
back a drum. The public costume of the young people was of the
Highland kind, but the night being damp and cold, the young
gentleman wore over his kilt a man's pea jacket reaching to his
ankles, and a glazed hat; the young lady too was muffled in an old
cloth pelisse and had a handkerchief tied about her head. Their
Scotch bonnets, ornamented with plumes of jet black feathers, Mr
Grinder carried on his instrument.

'Bound for the races, I see,' said Mr Grinder coming up out of
breath. 'So are we. How are you, Short?' With that they shook hands
in a very friendly manner. The young people being too high up for
the ordinary salutations, saluted Short after their own fashion.
The young gentleman twisted up his right stilt and patted him on
the shoulder, and the young lady rattled her tambourine.

'Practice?' said Short, pointing to the stilts.

'No,' returned Grinder. 'It comes either to walkin' in 'em or
carryin' of 'em, and they like walkin' in 'em best. It's wery
pleasant for the prospects. Which road are you takin'? We go the
nighest.'

'Why, the fact is,' said Short, 'that we are going the longest way,
because then we could stop for the night, a mile and a half on. But
three or four mile gained to-night is so many saved to-morrow, and
if you keep on, I think our best way is to do the same.'

'Where's your partner?' inquired Grinder.

'Here he is,' cried Mr Thomas Codlin, presenting his head and face
in the proscenium of the stage, and exhibiting an expression of
countenance not often seen there; 'and he'll see his partner boiled
alive before he'll go on to-night. That's what he says.'

'Well, don't say such things as them, in a spear which is dewoted
to something pleasanter,' urged Short. 'Respect associations,
Tommy, even if you do cut up rough.'

'Rough or smooth,' said Mr Codlin, beating his hand on the little
footboard where Punch, when suddenly struck with the symmetry of
his legs and their capacity for silk stockings, is accustomed to
exhibit them to popular admiration, 'rough or smooth, I won't go
further than the mile and a half to-night. I put up at the Jolly
Sandboys and nowhere else. If you like to come there, come there.
If you like to go on by yourself, go on by yourself, and do without
me if you can.'

So saying, Mr Codlin disappeared from the scene and immediately
presented himself outside the theatre, took it on his shoulders at
a jerk, and made off with most remarkable agility.

Any further controversy being now out of the question, Short was
fain to part with Mr Grinder and his pupils and to follow his
morose companion. After lingering at the finger-post for a few
minutes to see the stilts frisking away in the moonlight and the
bearer of the drum toiling slowly after them, he blew a few notes
upon the trumpet as a parting salute, and hastened with all speed
to follow Mr Codlin. With this view he gave his unoccupied hand to
Nell, and bidding her be of good cheer as they would soon be at the
end of their journey for that night, and stimulating the old man
with a similar assurance, led them at a pretty swift pace towards
their destination, which he was the less unwilling to make for, as
the moon was now overcast and the clouds were threatening rain.

CHAPTER 18

The Jolly Sandboys was a small road-side inn of pretty ancient
date, with a sign, representing three Sandboys increasing their
jollity with as many jugs of ale and bags of gold, creaking and
swinging on its post on the opposite side of the road. As the
travellers had observed that day many indications of their drawing
nearer and nearer to the race town, such as gipsy camps, carts
laden with gambling booths and their appurtenances, itinerant
showmen of various kinds, and beggars and trampers of every degree,
all wending their way in the same direction, Mr Codlin was fearful
of finding the accommodations forestalled; this fear increasing as
he diminished the distance between himself and the hostelry, he
quickened his pace, and notwithstanding the burden he had to carry,
maintained a round trot until he reached the threshold. Here he had
the gratification of finding that his fears were without
foundation, for the landlord was leaning against the door-post
looking lazily at the rain, which had by this time begun to descend
heavily, and no tinkling of cracked bell, nor boisterous shout, nor
noisy chorus, gave note of company within.

'All alone?' said Mr Codlin, putting down his burden and wiping his
forehead.

'All alone as yet,' rejoined the landlord, glancing at the sky,
'but we shall have more company to-night I expect. Here one of you
boys, carry that show into the barn. Make haste in out of the wet,
Tom; when it came on to rain I told 'em to make the fire up, and
there's a glorious blaze in the kitchen, I can tell you.'

Mr Codlin followed with a willing mind, and soon found that the
landlord had not commended his preparations without good reason. A
mighty fire was blazing on the hearth and roaring up the wide
chimney with a cheerful sound, which a large iron cauldron,
bubbling and simmering in the heat, lent its pleasant aid to swell.
There was a deep red ruddy blush upon the room, and when the
landlord stirred the fire, sending the flames skipping and leaping
up--when he took off the lid of the iron pot and there rushed out
a savoury smell, while the bubbling sound grew deeper and more
rich, and an unctuous steam came floating out, hanging in a
delicious mist above their heads--when he did this, Mr Codlin's
heart was touched. He sat down in the chimney-corner and smiled.

Mr Codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner, eyeing the landlord as
with a roguish look he held the cover in his hand, and, feigning
that his doing so was needful to the welfare of the cookery,
suffered the delightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his guest.
The glow of the fire was upon the landlord's bald head, and upon
his twinkling eye, and upon his watering mouth, and upon his
pimpled face, and upon his round fat figure. Mr Codlin drew his
sleeve across his lips, and said in a murmuring voice, 'What is
it?'

'It's a stew of tripe,' said the landlord smacking his lips, 'and
cow-heel,' smacking them again, 'and bacon,' smacking them once
more, 'and steak,' smacking them for the fourth time, 'and peas,
cauliflowers, new potatoes, and sparrow-grass, all working up
together in one delicious gravy.' Having come to the climax, he
smacked his lips a great many times, and taking a long hearty sniff
of the fragrance that was hovering about, put on the cover again
with the air of one whose toils on earth were over.

'At what time will it be ready?' asked Mr Codlin faintly.

'It'll be done to a turn,' said the landlord looking up to the
clock--and the very clock had a colour in its fat white face, and
looked a clock for jolly Sandboys to consult--'it'll be done to a
turn at twenty-two minutes before eleven.'

'Then,' said Mr Codlin, 'fetch me a pint of warm ale, and don't let
nobody bring into the room even so much as a biscuit till the time
arrives.'

Nodding his approval of this decisive and manly course of
procedure, the landlord retired to draw the beer, and presently
returning with it, applied himself to warm the same in a small tin
vessel shaped funnel-wise, for the convenience of sticking it far
down in the fire and getting at the bright places. This was soon
done, and he handed it over to Mr Codlin with that creamy froth
upon the surface which is one of the happy circumstances attendant
on mulled malt.

Greatly softened by this soothing beverage, Mr Codlin now bethought
him of his companions, and acquainted mine host of the Sandboys
that their arrival might be shortly looked for. The rain was
rattling against the windows and pouring down in torrents,
and such was Mr Codlin's extreme amiability of mind, that
he more than once expressed his earnest hope that they would not be
so foolish as to get wet.

At length they arrived, drenched with the rain and presenting a
most miserable appearance, notwithstanding that Short had sheltered
the child as well as he could under the skirts of his own coat, and
they were nearly breathless from the haste they had made. But their
steps were no sooner heard upon the road than the landlord, who had
been at the outer door anxiously watching for their coming, rushed
into the kitchen and took the cover off. The effect was electrical.
They all came in with smiling faces though the wet was dripping
from their clothes upon the floor, and Short's first remark was,
'What a delicious smell!'

It is not very difficult to forget rain and mud by the side of a
cheerful fire, and in a bright room. They were furnished with
slippers and such dry garments as the house or their own bundles
afforded, and ensconcing themselves, as Mr Codlin had already done,
in the warm chimney-corner, soon forgot their late troubles or only
remembered them as enhancing the delights of the present time.
Overpowered by the warmth and comfort and the fatigue they had
undergone, Nelly and the old man had not long taken their seats
here, when they fell asleep.

'Who are they?' whispered the landlord. Short shook his head, and
wished he knew himself. 'Don't you know?' asked the host, turning
to Mr Codlin. 'Not I,' he replied. 'They're no good, I suppose.'

'They're no harm,' said Short. 'Depend upon that. I tell you what--
it's plain that the old man an't in his right mind--'

'If you haven't got anything newer than that to say,' growled Mr
Codlin, glancing at the clock, 'you'd better let us fix our minds
upon the supper, and not disturb us.'

'Here me out, won't you?' retorted his friend. 'It's very plain to
me, besides, that they're not used to this way of life. Don't tell
me that that handsome child has been in the habit of prowling about
as she's done these last two or three days. I know better.'

'Well, who DOES tell you she has?' growled Mr Codlin, again
glancing at the clock and from it to the cauldron, 'can't you think
of anything more suitable to present circumstances than saying
things and then contradicting 'em?'

'I wish somebody would give you your supper,' returned Short, 'for
there'll be no peace till you've got it. Have you seen how anxious
the old man is to get on--always wanting to be furder away--
furder away. Have you seen that?'

'Ah! what then?' muttered Thomas Codlin.

'This, then,' said Short. 'He has given his friends the slip. Mind
what I say--he has given his friends the slip, and persuaded this
delicate young creetur all along of her fondness for him to be his
guide and travelling companion--where to, he knows no more than
the man in the moon. Now I'm not a going to stand that.'

'YOU'RE not a going to stand that!' cried Mr Codlin, glancing at
the clock again and pulling his hair with both hands in a kind of
frenzy, but whether occasioned by his companion's observation or
the tardy pace of Time, it was difficult to determine. 'Here's a
world to live in!'

'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, and getting among people that she's no more fit
for, than they are to get among angels as their ordinary chums.
Therefore when they dewelope 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, who with his head upon his hands, and his
elbows on his knees, had been shaking himself impatiently from side
to side up to this point and occasionally stamping on the ground,
but who now looked up with eager eyes; 'it's possible that there
may be uncommon good sense in what you've said. If there is, and
there should be a reward, Short, remember that we're partners in
everything!'

His companion had only time to nod a brief assent to this position,
for the child awoke at the instant. They had drawn close together
during the previous whispering, and now hastily separated and were
rather awkwardly endeavouring to exchange some casual remarks in
their usual tone, when strange footsteps were heard without, and
fresh company entered.

These were no other than four very dismal dogs, who came pattering
in one after the other, headed by an old bandy dog of particularly
mournful aspect, who, stopping when the last of his followers had
got as far as the door, erected himself upon his hind legs and
looked round at his companions, who immediately stood upon their
hind legs, in a grave and melancholy row. Nor was this the only
remarkable circumstance about these dogs, for each of them wore a
kind of little coat of some gaudy colour trimmed with tarnished
spangles, and one of them had a cap upon his head, tied very
carefully under his chin, which had fallen down upon his nose and
completely obscured one eye; add to this, that the gaudy coats were
all wet through and discoloured with rain, and that the wearers
were splashed and dirty, and some idea may be formed of the unusual
appearance of these new visitors to the Jolly Sandboys.

Neither Short nor the landlord nor Thomas Codlin, however, was in
the least surprised, merely remarking that these were Jerry's dogs
and that Jerry could not be far behind. So there the dogs stood,
patiently winking and gaping and looking extremely hard at the
boiling pot, until Jerry himself appeared, when they all dropped
down at once and walked about the room in their natural manner.
This posture it must be confessed did not much improve their
appearance, as their own personal tails and their coat tails--both
capital things in their way--did not agree together.

Jerry, the manager of these dancing dogs, was a tall black-
whiskered man in a velveteen coat, who seemed well known to the
landlord and his guests and accosted them with great cordiality.
Disencumbering himself of a barrel organ which he placed upon a
chair, and retaining in his hand a small whip wherewith to awe his
company of comedians, he came up to the fire to dry himself, and
entered into conversation.

'Your people don't usually travel in character, do they?' said
Short, pointing to the dresses of the dogs. 'It must come expensive
if they do?'

'No,' replied Jerry, 'no, it's not the custom with us. But we've
been playing a little on the road to-day, and we come out with a
new wardrobe at the races, so I didn't think it worth while to stop
to undress. Down, Pedro!'

This was addressed to the dog with the cap on, who being a new
member of the company, and not quite certain of his duty, kept his
unobscured eye anxiously on his master, and was perpetually
starting upon his hind legs when there was no occasion, and falling
down again.

'I've got a animal here,' said Jerry, putting his hand into the
capacious pocket of his coat, and diving into one corner as if he
were feeling for a small orange or an apple or some such article,
'a animal here, wot I think you know something of, Short.'

'Ah!' cried Short, 'let's have a look at him.'

'Here he is,' said Jerry, producing a little terrier from his
pocket. 'He was once a Toby of yours, warn't he!'

In some versions of the great drama of Punch there is a small dog--
a modern innovation--supposed to be the private property of that
gentleman, whose name is always Toby. This Toby has been stolen in
youth from another gentleman, and fraudulently sold to the
confiding hero, who having no guile himself has no suspicion that
it lurks in others; but Toby, entertaining a grateful recollection
of his old master, and scorning to attach himself to any new
patrons, not only refuses to smoke a pipe at the bidding of Punch,
but to mark his old fidelity more strongly, seizes him by the nose
and wrings the same with violence, at which instance of canine
attachment the spectators are deeply affected. This was the
character which the little terrier in question had once sustained;
if there had been any doubt upon the subject he would speedily have
resolved it by his conduct; for not only did he, on seeing Short,
give the strongest tokens of recognition, but catching sight of the
flat box he barked so furiously at the pasteboard nose which he
knew was inside, that his master was obliged to gather him up and
put him into his pocket again, to the great relief of the whole
company.

The landlord now busied himself in laying the cloth, in which
process Mr Codlin obligingly assisted by setting forth his own
knife and fork in the most convenient place and establishing
himself behind them. When everything was ready, the landlord took
off the cover for the last time, and then indeed there burst forth
such a goodly promise of supper, that if he had offered to put it
on again or had hinted at postponement, he would certainly have
been sacrificed on his own hearth.

However, he did nothing of the kind, but instead thereof assisted
a stout servant girl in turning the contents of the cauldron into
a large tureen; a proceeding which the dogs, proof against various
hot splashes which fell upon their noses, watched with terrible
eagerness. At length the dish was lifted on the table, and mugs of
ale having been previously set round, little Nell ventured to say
grace, and supper began.