DAVID
COPPERFIELD
PART 6
CHAPTER 6. I ENLARGE MY CIRCLE OF ACQUAINTANCE
I HAD led
this life about a month, when the man with the wooden leg began to stump about
with a mop and a bucket of water, from which I inferred that preparations were
making to receive Mr. Creakle and the boys. I was not mistaken; for the mop
came into the schoolroom before long, and turned out Mr. Mell and me, who lived
where we could, and got on how we could, for some days, during which we were
always in the way of two or three young women, who had rarely shown themselves
before, and were so continually in the midst of dust that I sneezed almost as
much as if Salem House had been a great snuff-box.
One day I
was informed by Mr. Mell that Mr. Creakle would be home that evening. In the
evening, after tea, I heard that he was come. Before bedtime, I was fetched by
the man with the wooden leg to appear before him.
Mr.
Creakle's part of the house was a good deal more comfortable than ours, and he
had a snug bit of garden that looked pleasant after the dusty playground, which
was such a desert in miniature, that I thought no one but a camel, or a
dromedary, could have felt at home in it. It seemed to me a bold thing even to
take notice that the passage looked comfortable, as I went on my way, trembling,
to Mr. Creakle's presence: which so abashed me, when I was ushered into it,
that I hardly saw Mrs. Creakle or Miss Creakle (who were both there, in the
parlour), or anything but Mr. Creakle, a stout gentleman with a bunch of
watch-chain and seals, in an arm-chair, with a tumbler and bottle beside him.
'So!'
said Mr. Creakle. 'This is the young gentleman whose teeth are to be filed!
Turn him round.'
The
wooden-legged man turned me about so as to exhibit the placard; and having
afforded time for a full survey of it, turned me about again, with my face to
Mr. Creakle, and posted himself at Mr. Creakle's side. Mr. Creakle's face was
fiery, and his eyes were small, and deep in his head; he had thick veins in his
forehead, a little nose, and a large chin. He was bald on the top of his head;
and had some thin wet-looking hair that was just turning grey, brushed across
each temple, so that the two sides interlaced on his forehead. But the
circumstance about him which impressed me most, was, that he had no voice, but
spoke in a whisper. The exertion this cost him, or the consciousness of talking
in that feeble way, made his angry face so much more angry, and his thick veins
so much thicker, when he spoke, that I am not surprised, on looking back, at
this peculiarity striking me as his chief one. 'Now,' said Mr. Creakle. 'What's
the report of this boy?'
'There's
nothing against him yet,' returned the man with the wooden leg. 'There has been
no opportunity.'
I thought
Mr. Creakle was disappointed. I thought Mrs. and Miss Creakle (at whom I now
glanced for the first time, and who were, both, thin and quiet) were not
disappointed.
'Come
here, sir!' said Mr. Creakle, beckoning to me.
'Come
here!' said the man with the wooden leg, repeating the gesture.
'I have
the happiness of knowing your father-in-law,' whispered Mr. Creakle, taking me
by the ear; 'and a worthy man he is, and a man of a strong character. He knows
me, and I know him. Do YOU know me? Hey?' said Mr. Creakle, pinching my ear
with ferocious playfulness.
'Not yet,
sir,' I said, flinching with the pain.
'Not yet?
Hey?' repeated Mr. Creakle. 'But you will soon. Hey?'
'You will
soon. Hey?' repeated the man with the wooden leg. I afterwards found that he
generally acted, with his strong voice, as Mr. Creakle's interpreter to the
boys.
I was
very much frightened, and said, I hoped so, if he pleased. I felt, all this
while, as if my ear were blazing; he pinched it so hard.
'I'll
tell you what I am,' whispered Mr. Creakle, letting it go at last, with a screw
at parting that brought the water into my eyes. 'I'm a Tartar.'
'A
Tartar,' said the man with the wooden leg.
'When I
say I'll do a thing, I do it,' said Mr. Creakle; 'and when I say I will have a
thing done, I will have it done.'
'—Will
have a thing done, I will have it done,' repeated the man with the wooden leg.
'I am a
determined character,' said Mr. Creakle. 'That's what I am. I do my duty.
That's what I do. My flesh and blood'—he looked at Mrs. Creakle as he said
this—'when it rises against me, is not my flesh and blood. I discard it. Has
that fellow'—to the man with the wooden leg—'been here again?'
'No,' was
the answer.
'No,'
said Mr. Creakle. 'He knows better. He knows me. Let him keep away. I say let
him keep away,' said Mr. Creakle, striking his hand upon the table, and looking
at Mrs. Creakle, 'for he knows me. Now you have begun to know me too, my young
friend, and you may go. Take him away.'
I was
very glad to be ordered away, for Mrs. and Miss Creakle were both wiping their
eyes, and I felt as uncomfortable for them as I did for myself. But I had a
petition on my mind which concerned me so nearly, that I couldn't help saying,
though I wondered at my own courage:
'If you
please, sir—'
Mr.
Creakle whispered, 'Hah! What's this?' and bent his eyes upon me, as if he
would have burnt me up with them.
'If you
please, sir,' I faltered, 'if I might be allowed (I am very sorry indeed, sir,
for what I did) to take this writing off, before the boys come back—'
Whether
Mr. Creakle was in earnest, or whether he only did it to frighten me, I don't
know, but he made a burst out of his chair, before which I precipitately
retreated, without waiting for the escort of the man with the wooden leg, and
never once stopped until I reached my own bedroom, where, finding I was not
pursued, I went to bed, as it was time, and lay quaking, for a couple of hours.
Next
morning Mr. Sharp came back. Mr. Sharp was the first master, and superior to
Mr. Mell. Mr. Mell took his meals with the boys, but Mr. Sharp dined and supped
at Mr. Creakle's table. He was a limp, delicate-looking gentleman, I thought,
with a good deal of nose, and a way of carrying his head on one side, as if it
were a little too heavy for him. His hair was very smooth and wavy; but I was
informed by the very first boy who came back that it was a wig (a second-hand
one HE said), and that Mr. Sharp went out every Saturday afternoon to get it
curled.
It was no
other than Tommy Traddles who gave me this piece of intelligence. He was the
first boy who returned. He introduced himself by informing me that I should
find his name on the right-hand corner of the gate, over the top-bolt; upon
that I said, 'Traddles?' to which he replied, 'The same,' and then he asked me
for a full account of myself and family.
It was a
happy circumstance for me that Traddles came back first. He enjoyed my placard
so much, that he saved me from the embarrassment of either disclosure or
concealment, by presenting me to every other boy who came back, great or small,
immediately on his arrival, in this form of introduction, 'Look here! Here's a
game!' Happily, too, the greater part of the boys came back low-spirited, and
were not so boisterous at my expense as I had expected. Some of them certainly
did dance about me like wild Indians, and the greater part could not resist the
temptation of pretending that I was a dog, and patting and soothing me, lest I
should bite, and saying, 'Lie down, sir!' and calling me Towzer. This was
naturally confusing, among so many strangers, and cost me some tears, but on
the whole it was much better than I had anticipated.
I was not
considered as being formally received into the school, however, until J.
Steerforth arrived. Before this boy, who was reputed to be a great scholar, and
was very good-looking, and at least half-a-dozen years my senior, I was carried
as before a magistrate. He inquired, under a shed in the playground, into the
particulars of my punishment, and was pleased to express his opinion that it
was 'a jolly shame'; for which I became bound to him ever afterwards.
'What
money have you got, Copperfield?' he said, walking aside with me when he had
disposed of my affair in these terms. I told him seven shillings.
'You had
better give it to me to take care of,' he said. 'At least, you can if you like.
You needn't if you don't like.'
I
hastened to comply with his friendly suggestion, and opening Peggotty's purse,
turned it upside down into his hand.
'Do you
want to spend anything now?' he asked me.
'No thank
you,' I replied.
'You can,
if you like, you know,' said Steerforth. 'Say the word.'
'No,
thank you, sir,' I repeated.
'Perhaps
you'd like to spend a couple of shillings or so, in a bottle of currant wine by
and by, up in the bedroom?' said Steerforth. 'You belong to my bedroom, I
find.'
It
certainly had not occurred to me before, but I said, Yes, I should like that.
'Very
good,' said Steerforth. 'You'll be glad to spend another shilling or so, in
almond cakes, I dare say?'
I said,
Yes, I should like that, too.
'And
another shilling or so in biscuits, and another in fruit, eh?' said Steerforth.
'I say, young Copperfield, you're going it!'
I smiled
because he smiled, but I was a little troubled in my mind, too.
'Well!'
said Steerforth. 'We must make it stretch as far as we can; that's all. I'll do
the best in my power for you. I can go out when I like, and I'll smuggle the
prog in.' With these words he put the money in his pocket, and kindly told me
not to make myself uneasy; he would take care it should be all right. He was as
good as his word, if that were all right which I had a secret misgiving was
nearly all wrong—for I feared it was a waste of my mother's two
half-crowns—though I had preserved the piece of paper they were wrapped in:
which was a precious saving. When we went upstairs to bed, he produced the
whole seven shillings' worth, and laid it out on my bed in the moonlight,
saying:
'There
you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread you've got.'
I
couldn't think of doing the honours of the feast, at my time of life, while he
was by; my hand shook at the very thought of it. I begged him to do me the favour
of presiding; and my request being seconded by the other boys who were in that
room, he acceded to it, and sat upon my pillow, handing round the viands—with
perfect fairness, I must say—and dispensing the currant wine in a little glass
without a foot, which was his own property. As to me, I sat on his left hand,
and the rest were grouped about us, on the nearest beds and on the floor.
How well
I recollect our sitting there, talking in whispers; or their talking, and my
respectfully listening, I ought rather to say; the moonlight falling a little
way into the room, through the window, painting a pale window on the floor, and
the greater part of us in shadow, except when Steerforth dipped a match into a
phosphorus-box, when he wanted to look for anything on the board, and shed a
blue glare over us that was gone directly! A certain mysterious feeling,
consequent on the darkness, the secrecy of the revel, and the whisper in which
everything was said, steals over me again, and I listen to all they tell me
with a vague feeling of solemnity and awe, which makes me glad that they are
all so near, and frightens me (though I feign to laugh) when Traddles pretends
to see a ghost in the corner.
I heard
all kinds of things about the school and all belonging to it. I heard that Mr.
Creakle had not preferred his claim to being a Tartar without reason; that he
was the sternest and most severe of masters; that he laid about him, right and
left, every day of his life, charging in among the boys like a trooper, and slashing
away, unmercifully. That he knew nothing himself, but the art of slashing,
being more ignorant (J. Steerforth said) than the lowest boy in the school;
that he had been, a good many years ago, a small hop-dealer in the Borough, and
had taken to the schooling business after being bankrupt in hops, and making
away with Mrs. Creakle's money. With a good deal more of that sort, which I
wondered how they knew.
I heard
that the man with the wooden leg, whose name was Tungay, was an obstinate
barbarian who had formerly assisted in the hop business, but had come into the
scholastic line with Mr. Creakle, in consequence, as was supposed among the
boys, of his having broken his leg in Mr. Creakle's service, and having done a
deal of dishonest work for him, and knowing his secrets. I heard that with the
single exception of Mr. Creakle, Tungay considered the whole establishment,
masters and boys, as his natural enemies, and that the only delight of his life
was to be sour and malicious. I heard that Mr. Creakle had a son, who had not
been Tungay's friend, and who, assisting in the school, had once held some
remonstrance with his father on an occasion when its discipline was very
cruelly exercised, and was supposed, besides, to have protested against his
father's usage of his mother. I heard that Mr. Creakle had turned him out of
doors, in consequence; and that Mrs. and Miss Creakle had been in a sad way,
ever since.
But the
greatest wonder that I heard of Mr. Creakle was, there being one boy in the
school on whom he never ventured to lay a hand, and that boy being J.
Steerforth. Steerforth himself confirmed this when it was stated, and said that
he should like to begin to see him do it. On being asked by a mild boy (not me)
how he would proceed if he did begin to see him do it, he dipped a match into
his phosphorus-box on purpose to shed a glare over his reply, and said he would
commence by knocking him down with a blow on the forehead from the
seven-and-sixpenny ink-bottle that was always on the mantelpiece. We sat in the
dark for some time, breathless.
I heard
that Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both supposed to be wretchedly paid; and that
when there was hot and cold meat for dinner at Mr. Creakle's table, Mr. Sharp
was always expected to say he preferred cold; which was again corroborated by
J. Steerforth, the only parlour-boarder. I heard that Mr. Sharp's wig didn't
fit him; and that he needn't be so 'bounceable'—somebody else said
'bumptious'—about it, because his own red hair was very plainly to be seen
behind.
I heard
that one boy, who was a coal-merchant's son, came as a set-off against the
coal-bill, and was called, on that account, 'Exchange or Barter'—a name
selected from the arithmetic book as expressing this arrangement. I heard that
the table beer was a robbery of parents, and the pudding an imposition. I heard
that Miss Creakle was regarded by the school in general as being in love with
Steerforth; and I am sure, as I sat in the dark, thinking of his nice voice,
and his fine face, and his easy manner, and his curling hair, I thought it very
likely. I heard that Mr. Mell was not a bad sort of fellow, but hadn't a
sixpence to bless himself with; and that there was no doubt that old Mrs. Mell,
his mother, was as poor as job. I thought of my breakfast then, and what had
sounded like 'My Charley!' but I was, I am glad to remember, as mute as a mouse
about it.
The
hearing of all this, and a good deal more, outlasted the banquet some time. The
greater part of the guests had gone to bed as soon as the eating and drinking
were over; and we, who had remained whispering and listening half-undressed, at
last betook ourselves to bed, too.
'Good
night, young Copperfield,' said Steerforth. 'I'll take care of you.' 'You're
very kind,' I gratefully returned. 'I am very much obliged to you.'
'You
haven't got a sister, have you?' said Steerforth, yawning.
'No,' I
answered.
'That's a
pity,' said Steerforth. 'If you had had one, I should think she would have been
a pretty, timid, little, bright-eyed sort of girl. I should have liked to know
her. Good night, young Copperfield.'
'Good
night, sir,' I replied.
I thought
of him very much after I went to bed, and raised myself, I recollect, to look
at him where he lay in the moonlight, with his handsome face turned up, and his
head reclining easily on his arm. He was a person of great power in my eyes;
that was, of course, the reason of my mind running on him. No veiled future
dimly glanced upon him in the moonbeams. There was no shadowy picture of his
footsteps, in the garden that I dreamed of walking in all night.
To be continued
