Chapter VI
Tending to Refute the Popular Prejudice against the Present of aPocket-Knife
In that dark time of December, the sale of the household furniturelasted beyond the middle of the second day. Mr. Tulliver, who hadbegun, in his intervals of consciousness, to manifest an irritabilitywhich often appeared to have as a direct effect the recurrence ofspasmodic rigidity and insensibility, had lain in this living deaththroughout the critical hours when the noise of the sale came nearestto his chamber. Mr. Turnbull had decided that it would be a less riskto let him remain where he was than to remove him to Luke'scottage,--a plan which the good Luke had proposed to Mrs. Tulliver,thinking it would be very bad if the master were to waken up at thenoise of the sale; and the wife and children had sat imprisoned in thesilent chamber, watching the large prostrate figure on the bed, andtrembling lest the blank face should suddenly show some response tothe sounds which fell on their own ears with such obstinate, painfulrepetition.
But it was over at last, that time of importunate certainty andeye-straining suspense. The sharp sound of a voice, almost as metallicas the rap that followed it, had ceased; the tramping of footsteps onthe gravel had died out. Mrs. Tulliver's blond face seemed aged tenyears by the last thirty hours; the poor woman's mind had been busydivining when her favorite things were being knocked down by theterrible hammer; her heart had been fluttering at the thought thatfirst one thing and then another had gone to be identified as hers inthe hateful publicity of the Golden Lion and all the while she had tosit and make no sign of this inward agitation. Such things bring linesin well-rounded faces, and broaden the streaks of white among thehairs that once looked as if they had been dipped in pure sunshine.Already, at three o'clock, Kezia, the good-hearted, bad-temperedhousemaid, who regarded all people that came to the sale as herpersonal enemies, the dirt on whose feet was of a peculiarly vilequality, had begun to scrub and swill with an energy much assisted bya continual low muttering against folks as came to buy up otherfolk's things, and made light of scrazing the tops of mahoganytables over which better folks than themselves had had to--suffer awaste of tissue through evaporation. She was not scrubbingindiscriminately, for there would be further dirt of the sameatrocious kind made by people who had still to fetch away theirpurchases; but she was bent on bringing the parlor, where thatpipe-smoking pig, the bailiff, had sat, to such an appearance ofscant comfort as could be given to it by cleanliness and the fewarticles of furniture bought in for the family. Her mistress and theyoung folks should have their tea in it that night, Kezia wasdetermined.
It was between five and six o'clock, near the usual teatime, when shecame upstairs and said that Master Tom was wanted. The person whowanted him was in the kitchen, and in the first moments, by theimperfect fire and candle light, Tom had not even an indefinite senseof any acquaintance with the rather broad-set but active figure,perhaps two years older than himself, that looked at him with a pairof blue eyes set in a disc of freckles, and pulled some curly redlocks with a strong intention of respect. A low-crownedoilskin-covered hat, and a certain shiny deposit of dirt on the restof the costume, as of tablets prepared for writing upon, suggested acalling that had to do with boats; but this did not help Tom's memory.
Sarvant, Master Tom, said he of the red locks, with a smile whichseemed to break through a self-imposed air of melancholy. You don'tknow me again, I doubt, he went on, as Tom continued to look at himinquiringly; but I'd like to talk to you by yourself a bit, please.
There's a fire i' the parlor, Master Tom, said Kezia, who objectedto leaving the kitchen in the crisis of toasting.
Come this way, then, said Tom, wondering if this young fellowbelonged to Guest & Co.'s Wharf, for his imagination ran continuallytoward that particular spot; and uncle Deane might any time be sendingfor him to say that there was a situation at liberty.
The bright fire in the parlor was the only light that showed the fewchairs, the bureau, the carpetless floor, and the one table--no, notthe _one_ table; there was a second table, in a corner, with a largeBible and a few other books upon it. It was this new strange barenessthat Tom felt first, before he thought of looking again at the facewhich was also lit up by the fire, and which stole a half-shy,questioning glance at him as the entirely strange voice said:
Why! you don't remember Bob, then, as you gen the pocket-knife to,Mr. Tom?
The rough-handled pocket-knife was taken out in the same moment, andthe largest blade opened by way of irresistible demonstration.
What! Bob Jakin? said Tom, not with any cordial delight, for he felta little ashamed of that early intimacy symbolized by thepocket-knife, and was not at all sure that Bob's motives for recallingit were entirely admirable.
Ay, ay, Bob Jakin, if Jakin it must be, 'cause there's so many Bobsas you went arter the squerrils with, that day as I plumped right downfrom the bough, and bruised my shins a good un--but I got the squerriltight for all that, an' a scratter it was. An' this littlish blade'sbroke, you see, but I wouldn't hev a new un put in, 'cause they mightbe cheatin' me an' givin' me another knife instid, for there isn'tsuch a blade i' the country,--it's got used to my hand, like. An'there was niver nobody else gen me nothin' but what I got by my ownsharpness, only you, Mr. Tom; if it wasn't Bill Fawks as gen me theterrier pup istid o' drowndin't it, an' I had to jaw him a good unafore he'd give it me.
Bob spoke with a sharp and rather treble volubility, and got throughhis long speech with surprising despatch, giving the blade of hisknife an affectionate rub on his sleeve when he had finished.
Well, Bob, said Tom, with a slight air of patronage, the foregoingreminscences having disposed him to be as friendly as was becoming,though there was no part of his acquaintance with Bob that heremembered better than the cause of their parting quarrel; is thereanything I can do for you?
Why, no, Mr. Tom, answered Bob, shutting up his knife with a clickand returning it to his pocket, where he seemed to be feeling forsomething else. I shouldn't ha' come back upon you now ye're i'trouble, an' folks say as the master, as I used to frighten the birdsfor, an' he flogged me a bit for fun when he catched me eatin' theturnip, as they say he'll niver lift up his head no more,--I shouldn'tha' come now to ax you to gi' me another knife 'cause you gen me oneafore. If a chap gives me one black eye, that's enough for me; Isha'n't ax him for another afore I sarve him out; an' a good turn'sworth as much as a bad un, anyhow. I shall niver grow down'ards again,Mr. Tom, an' you war the little chap as I liked the best when _I_ wara little chap, for all you leathered me, and wouldn't look at meagain. There's Dick Brumby, there, I could leather him as much as I'da mind; but lors! you get tired o' leatherin' a chap when you canniver make him see what you want him to shy at. I'n seen chaps as 'udstand starin' at a bough till their eyes shot out, afore they'd see asa bird's tail warn't a leaf. It's poor work goin' wi' such raff. Butyou war allays a rare un at shying, Mr. Tom, an' I could trusten toyou for droppin' down wi' your stick in the nick o' time at a runnin'rat, or a stoat, or that, when I war a-beatin' the bushes.
Bob had drawn out a dirty canvas bag, and would perhaps not havepaused just then if Maggie had not entered the room and darted a lookof surprise and curiosity at him, whereupon he pulled his red locksagain with due respect. But the next moment the sense of the alteredroom came upon Maggie with a force that overpowered the thought ofBob's presence. Her eyes had immediately glanced from him to the placewhere the bookcase had hung; there was nothing now but the oblongunfaded space on the wall, and below it the small table with the Bibleand the few other books.
Oh, Tom! she burst out, clasping her hands, where are the books? Ithought my uncle Glegg said he would buy them. Didn't he? Are thoseall they've left us?
I suppose so, said Tom, with a sort of desperate indifference. Whyshould they buy many books when they bought so little furniture?
Oh, but, Tom, said Maggie, her eyes filling with tears, as sherushed up to the table to see what books had been rescued. Our dearold Pilgrim's Progress that you colored with your little paints; andthat picture of Pilgrim with a mantle on, looking just like aturtle--oh dear! Maggie went on, half sobbing as she turned over thefew books, I thought we should never part with that while we lived;everything is going away from us; the end of our lives will havenothing in it like the beginning!
Maggie turned away from the table and threw herself into a chair, withthe big tears ready to roll down her cheeks, quite blinded to thepresence of Bob, who was looking at her with the pursuant gaze of anintelligent dumb animal, with perceptions more perfect than hiscomprehension.
Well, Bob, said Tom, feeling that the subject of the books wasunseasonable, I suppose you just came to see me because we're introuble? That was very good-natured of you.
I'll tell you how it is, Master Tom, said Bob, beginning to untwisthis canvas bag. You see, I'n been with a barge this two 'ear; that'show I'n been gettin' my livin',--if it wasn't when I was tentin' thefurnace, between whiles, at Torry's mill. But a fortni't ago I'd arare bit o' luck,--I allays thought I was a lucky chap, for I niverset a trap but what I catched something; but this wasn't trap, it wasa fire i' Torry's mill, an' I doused it, else it 'ud set th' oilalight, an' the genelman gen me ten suvreigns; he gen me 'em himselflast week. An' he said first, I was a sperrited chap,--but I knowedthat afore,--but then he outs wi' the ten suvreigns, an' that warsummat new. Here they are, all but one! Here Bob emptied the canvasbag on the table. An' when I'd got 'em, my head was all of a boillike a kettle o' broth, thinkin' what sort o' life I should take to,for there war a many trades I'd thought on for as for the barge, I'mclean tired out wi't, for it pulls the days out till they're as longas pigs' chitterlings. An' I thought first I'd ha' ferrets an' dogs,an' be a rat-catcher; an' then I thought as I should like a bigger wayo' life, as I didn't know so well; for I'n seen to the bottom o'rat-catching; an' I thought, an' thought, till at last I settled I'dbe a packman,--for they're knowin' fellers, the packmen are,--an' I'dcarry the lightest things I could i' my pack; an' there'd be a use fora feller's tongue, as is no use neither wi' rats nor barges. An' Ishould go about the country far an' wide, an' come round the women wi'my tongue, an' get my dinner hot at the public,--lors! it 'ud be alovely life!
Bob paused, and then said, with defiant decision, as if resolutelyturning his back on that paradisaic picture:
But I don't mind about it, not a chip! An' I'n changed one o' thesuvreigns to buy my mother a goose for dinner, an' I'n bought a blueplush wescoat, an' a sealskin cap,--for if I meant to be a packman,I'd do it respectable. But I don't mind about it, not a chip! My yeadisn't a turnip, an' I shall p'r'aps have a chance o' dousing anotherfire afore long. I'm a lucky chap. So I'll thank you to take the ninesuvreigns, Mr. Tom, and set yoursen up with 'em somehow, if it's trueas the master's broke. They mayn't go fur enough, but they'll help.
Tom was touched keenly enough to forget his pride and suspicion.
You're a very kind fellow, Bob, he said, coloring, with that littlediffident tremor in his voice which gave a certain charm even to Tom'spride and severity, and I sha'n't forget you again, though I didn'tknow you this evening. But I can't take the nine sovereigns; I shouldbe taking your little fortune from you, and they wouldn't do me muchgood either.
Wouldn't they, Mr. Tom? said Bob, regretfully. Now don't say so'cause you think I want 'em. I aren't a poor chap. My mother gets agood penn'orth wi' picking feathers an' things; an' if she eatsnothin' but bread-an'-water, it runs to fat. An' I'm such a luckychap; an' I doubt you aren't quite so lucky, Mr. Tom,--th' old masterisn't, anyhow,--an' so you might take a slice o' my luck, an' no harmdone. Lors! I found a leg o' pork i' the river one day; it had tumbledout o' one o' them round-sterned Dutchmen, I'll be bound. Come, thinkbetter on it, Mr. Tom, for old 'quinetance' sake, else I shall thinkyou bear me a grudge.
Bob pushed the sovereigns forward, but before Tom could speak Maggie,clasping her hands, and looking penitently at Bob, said:
Oh, I'm so sorry, Bob; I never thought you were so good. Why, I thinkyou're the kindest person in the world!
Bob had not been aware of the injurious opinion for which Maggie wasperforming an inward act of penitence, but he smiled with pleasure atthis handsome eulogy,--especially from a young lass who, as heinformed his mother that evening, had such uncommon eyes, they lookedsomehow as they made him feel nohow.
No, indeed Bob, I can't take them, said Tom; but don't think I feelyour kindness less because I say no. I don't want to take anythingfrom anybody, but to work my own way. And those sovereigns wouldn'thelp me much--they wouldn't really--if I were to take them. Let meshake hands with you instead.
Tom put out his pink palm, and Bob was not slow to place his hard,grimy hand within it.
Let me put the sovereigns in the bag again, said Maggie; and you'llcome and see us when you've bought your pack, Bob.
It's like as if I'd come out o' make believe, o' purpose to show 'emyou, said Bob, with an air of discontent, as Maggie gave him the bagagain, a-taking 'em back i' this way. I _am_ a bit of a Do, you know;but it isn't that sort o' Do,--it's on'y when a feller's a big rogue,or a big flat, I like to let him in a bit, that's all.
Now, don't you be up to any tricks, Bob, said Tom, else you'll gettransported some day.
No, no; not me, Mr. Tom, said Bob, with an air of cheerfulconfidence. There's no law again' flea-bites. If I wasn't to take afool in now and then, he'd niver get any wiser. But, lors! hev asuvreign to buy you and Miss summat, on'y for a token--just to matchmy pocket-knife.
While Bob was speaking he laid down the sovereign, and resolutelytwisted up his bag again. Tom pushed back the gold, and said, No,indeed, Bob; thank you heartily, but I can't take it. And Maggie,taking it between her fingers, held it up to Bob and said, morepersuasively:
Not now, but perhaps another time. If ever Tom or my father wantshelp that you can give, we'll let you know; won't we, Tom? That's whatyou would like,--to have us always depend on you as a friend that wecan go to,--isn't it, Bob?
Yes, Miss, and thank you, said Bob, reluctantly taking the money;that's what I'd like, anything as you like. An' I wish you good-by,Miss, and good-luck, Mr. Tom, and thank you for shaking hands wi' me,_though_ you wouldn't take the money.
Kezia's entrance, with very black looks, to inquire if she shouldn'tbring in the tea now, or whether the toast was to get hardened to abrick, was a seasonable check on Bob's flux of words, and hastened hisparting bow.