Ten Thousand a-Year Volume I Part 8

"Never mind, ma'am," said t.i.tmouse, stretching his hand towards her--"now we've got it, it don't much signify." She gave it to him.

"Seem _particularly_ anxious for me to get it--did they, ma'am?" he inquired, with a strong effort to appear unconcerned--the dreaded letter quite quivering, the while, in his fingers.

"No, sir--Mr. Quirk only said I was to give it you when you called.

B'lieve they sent it to you, but the clerk said he couldn't find your place out; by the way, (excuse me, sir,) but yours _is_ a funny name!

How I heard 'em laughing at it, to be sure! What makes people give such queer names? Would you like to read it here, sir?--you're welcome."

"No, thank you, ma'am--it's of not the _least_ consequence," he replied, with a desperate air; and tossing it with attempted carelessness into his hat, which he put on his head, he very civilly wished her good-night, and departed--very nearly inclined to sickness, or faintness, or something of the sort, which the fresh air might perhaps dispel. He quickly espied a lamp at a corner, which promised to afford him an uninterrupted opportunity of inspecting his letter. He took it out of his hat. It was addressed--simply, "Mr. t.i.tmouse, _c.o.c.king_ Court, Oxford Street," (which accounted, perhaps, for the clerk's having been unable to find it;) and having been opened with trembling eagerness, thus it read:--

"Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, present their compliments to Mr.

t.i.tmouse, and are anxious to save him the trouble of his intended visit this evening.

"They exceedingly regret that obstacles (which it is to be hoped, however, may not prove _ultimately_ insurmountable) exist in the way of their prosecuting their intended inquiries on behalf of Mr.

t.i.tmouse.

"Since their last night's interview with him, circ.u.mstances, which they could not have foreseen, and over which they have no control, have occurred, which render it unnecessary for Mr. T. to give himself any more anxiety in the affair--at least, not until he shall have heard from Messrs. Q. G. and S.

"If anything of importance _should_ hereafter transpire, it is not improbable that Mr. T. may hear from them.

"They were favored, this afternoon, with a visit from Mr. T.'s friend--a Mr. Hucklebottom."

"_Saffron Hill, Wednesday Evening, 12th July 18--._"

When poor t.i.tmouse had finished reading over this vague, frigid, and disheartening note a second time, a convulsive sob or two pierced his bosom, indicative of its being indeed swollen with sorrow; and at length, overcome by his feelings, he cried bitterly--not checked even by the occasional exclamations of one or two pa.s.sers-by. He could not at all control himself. He felt as if he could have almost relieved himself, by banging his head against the wall! A tumultuous feeling of mingled grief and despair prevented his thoughts, for a long while, from settling on any one idea or object. At length, when the violence of the storm had somewhat abated, on concluding a third perusal of the death-warrant to all his hopes, which he held in his hand, his eye lit upon the strange word which was intended to designate his friend Huckaback; and it instantly changed both the kind of his feelings, and the current in which they had been rushing. Grief became rage; and the stream foamed in quite a new direction--namely, towards Huckaback. That accursed fellow he considered to be the sole cause of the direful disaster which had befallen him. He utterly lost sight of one circ.u.mstance, which one might have imagined likely to have occurred to his thoughts at such a time--viz. his own offensive and insolent behavior over-night to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. Yet so it was:--yes, upon the devoted (but unconscious) head of Huckaback, was the lightning rage of t.i.ttlebat t.i.tmouse doomed to descend. The fire that was thus quickly kindled within, soon dried up the source of his tears.

He crammed the letter into his pocket, and started off at once in the direction of Leicester Square, breathing rage at every step--_viresque acquirens eundo_. His hands kept convulsively clinching together as he pelted along. Hotter and hotter became his rage as he neared the residence of Huckaback. When he had reached it, he sprang up-stairs; knocked at his _quondam_ friend's door; and on the instant of its being--doubtless somewhat surprisedly--opened by Huckaback, who was undressing, t.i.tmouse sprang towards him, let fly a goodly number of violent blows upon his face and breast--and down fell Huckaback upon the bed behind him, insensible, and bleeding profusely from his nose.

"There! there!"--gasped t.i.tmouse, breathless and exhausted, discharging a volley of oaths and opprobrious epithets at the victim of his fury.

"Do it again! You will, won't you? _You'll_ go--and meddle again in other people's--you---- cu-cu-cursed officious"--but his rage was spent--the paroxysm was over; the silent and bleeding figure of Huckaback was before his eyes; and he gazed at him, terror-stricken.

What had he done! He sank down on the bed beside Huckaback--then started up, wringing his hands, and staring at him in an ecstasy of remorse and fright. It was rather singular that the noise of such an a.s.sault should have roused no one to inquire into it; but so it was. Frightened almost out of his bewildered senses, he closed and bolted the door; and addressed himself, as well as he was able, to the recovering of Huckaback. After propping him up, and splashing cold water into his face, t.i.tmouse at length discovered symptoms of restoration to consciousness, which he anxiously endeavored to accelerate, by putting to the lips of the slowly-reviving victim of his violence some cold water, in a tea-cup. He swallowed a little; and soon afterwards, opening his eyes, stared on t.i.tmouse with a dull eye and bewildered air.

"What's been the matter?" at length he faintly inquired.

"Oh, Hucky! so glad to hear you speak again. It's I--I--t.i.tty! I did it!

Strike me, Hucky, as soon as you're well enough! Do--kick me--anything you choose! I won't hinder you!" cried t.i.tmouse, sinking on his knees, and clasping his hands together, as he perceived Huckaback rapidly reviving.

"Why, what _is_ the matter?" repeated that gentleman, with a wondering air, raising his hand to his nose, from which the blood was still trickling. The fact is, that he had lost his senses, probably from the suddenness, rather than the violence of the injuries which he had received.

"I did it all--yes, I did!" continued t.i.tmouse, gazing on him with a look of agony and remorse.

"Why, I can't be awake--I can't!" said Huckaback, rubbing his eyes, and then staring at his wet and blood-stained shirt-front and hands.

"Oh yes, you are--you are!" groaned t.i.tmouse; "and I'm going _mad_ as fast as I can! Do what you like to me! Kick me if you please! Call in a constable! Send me to jail! Say I came to rob you--anything--blow me if I care what becomes of me!"

"Why, what _does_ all this jabber mean, t.i.tmouse?" inquired Huckaback, sternly, and apparently meditating reprisals.

"Oh, yes, I see! Now you _are_ going to give it me! but I won't stir. So hit away, Hucky."

"Why--are you mad?" inquired Huckaback, grasping him by the collar rather roughly.

"Yes, quite! Mad!--ruined!--gone to the devil all at once!"

"And what if you are? What did it matter to _me_? What brought you here?" continued Huckaback, in a tone of increasing vehemence. "What have I done to offend you? How _dare_ you come _here_? And at this time of night, too? Eh?"

"What, indeed! Oh lud, oh lud, oh lud! Kick me, I say--strike me! You'll do me good, and bring me to my senses. _Me_ to do all this to you! And we've been such precious good friends always. I'm a brute, Hucky--I've been mad, stark mad, Hucky--and that's all I can say!"

Huckaback stared at him more and more; and began at length to suspect how matters stood--namely, that the Sunday's incident had turned t.i.tmouse's head--he having also, no doubt, heard some desperate bad news during the day, smashing all his hopes. A mixture of emotions kept Huckaback silent.

Astonishment--apprehension--doubt--pride--pique--resentment. He had been _struck_--his blood had been drawn--by the man there before him on his knees, formerly his friend; now, he supposed, a madman.

"Why, curse me, t.i.tmouse, if I can make up my mind what to do to you!"

he exclaimed, "I--I suppose you are going mad, or gone mad, and I must forgive you. But get away with you--out with you, or--or--I'll call in"----

"Forgive me--forgive me, dear Hucky! Don't send me away--I shall go and drown myself if you do."

"What the d--l do I care if you do? You'd much better have gone and done it before you came here. Nay, be off and do it _now_, instead of blubbering here in this way."

"Go on! go on!--it's doing me good--the worse the better!" sobbed t.i.tmouse.

"Come, come," said Huckaback, roughly, "none of this noise here. I'm tired of it!"

"But, pray, don't send me away from you. I shall go straight to the devil if you do! I've no friend but you, Hucky. Yet I've been such a villain to you!--But it quite put the devil into me, when all of a sudden I found it was _you_."

"Me!--Why, what _are_ you after?" interrupted Huckaback, with an air of angry wonder.

"Oh dear, dear!" groaned t.i.tmouse; "if I've been a brute to you, which is quite true, _you've_ been the _ruin_ of me, clean! I'm clean done for, Huck. Cleaned out! You've done my business for me; knocked it all on the head!--I sha'n't never hear any more of it--they've said as much in their letter--they say you called to-day"----

Huckaback now began to have a glimmering notion of his having been, in some considerable degree, connected with the mischief of the day--an unconscious agent in it. He audibly drew in his breath, as it were, as he more and more distinctly recollected his visit to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap; and adverted more particularly to his _threats_, uttered, too, in t.i.tmouse's name, and as if by his authority. Whew! here was a kettle of fish.

Now, strange and unaccountable as, at first thought, it may appear, the very circ.u.mstance which one should have thought calculated to a.s.suage his resentment against t.i.tmouse--namely, that he had really _injured_ t.i.tmouse most seriously, (if not indeed irreparably,) and so _provoked_ the drubbing which had just been administered to him--had quite the contrary effect. Paradoxical as it may seem, matter of clear mitigation was at once converted into matter of aggravation. Were the feelings which Huckaback then experienced, akin to that which often produces hatred of a person whom one has injured? May it be thus accounted for?

That there is a secret satisfaction in the mere consciousness of being a sufferer--a martyr--and that, too, in the presence of a person whom one perceives to be aware that he has wantonly injured one; that one's bruised spirit is soothed by the sight of his remorse--by the consciousness that he is punishing himself infinitely more severely than _we_ could punish him; and of the claim one has obtained to the _sympathy_ of everybody who sees, or may hear of one's sufferings, (that rich and grateful balm to injured feeling.) But when, as in the case of Huckaback, feelings of this description (in a coa.r.s.e and small way, to be sure, according to his kind) were suddenly encountered by a consciousness of his having _deserved_ his sufferings; when the martyr felt himself quickly sinking into the culprit and offender; when, I say, Huckaback felt an involuntary consciousness that the gross indignities which t.i.tmouse had just inflicted on him, had been justified by the provocation--nay, had been far less than his mischievous and impudent interference had deserved;--and when feelings of this sort, moreover, were sharpened by a certain tingling sense of physical pain from the blows which he had received--the result was, that the sleeping lion of Huckaback's courage was very nearly awakening.

"_I've half a mind, t.i.tmouse_"--said Huckaback, knitting his brows, fixing his eyes, and appearing inclined to raise his arm. There was an ominous pause for a moment or two, during which t.i.tmouse's feelings also underwent a slight alteration. His allusion to Huckaback's ruinous insult to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, unconsciously converted his remorse into rage, which it rather, perhaps, resuscitated. t.i.tmouse rose from his knees. "Ah!" said he, in quite an altered tone, "you _may_ look fierce! you may!--you'd better strike me, Huckaback--do! Finish the mischief you've begun this day! Hit away--you're quite safe"--and he secretly prepared himself for the mischief which--did not come. "You _have_ ruined me! you have, Huckaback!" he continued with increasing vehemence; "and I shall be cutting my throat--nay," striking his fist on the table, "I will!"

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Huckaback, apprehensively. "No, t.i.tmouse, don't--don't think of it; it will all come right yet, depend on't; you see if it don't!"

"Oh, no, it's all done for--it's all up with me!"

"But _what's_ been done?--let us hear," said Huckaback, as he pa.s.sed a wet towel to and fro over his ensanguined features. It was by this time clear that the storm which had for some time given out only a few faint fitful flashes or flickerings in the distance, had pa.s.sed away.

t.i.tmouse, with many grievous sighs, took out the letter which had produced the paroxysms I have been describing, and read it aloud. "And only see how they've spelled your name, Huckaback--look!" he added, handing his friend the letter.

"How _partic'lar_ vulgar!" exclaimed Huckaback, with a contemptuous air, which, overspreading his features, half-closed as was his left eye, and swollen as were his cheek and nose, would have made him a queer object to one who had leisure to observe such matters. "And so _this_ is all they say of _me_," he continued. "How do you come to know that I've been doing you mischief? All I did was just to look in, as respectful as possible, to ask how you was, and they very civilly told me you was very well, and we parted"----

"Nay, now, that's a lie, Huckaback, and you know it!" interrupted t.i.tmouse.

"It's true, so help me----!" vehemently a.s.severated Huckaback.

"Why, perhaps you'll deny that you wrote and told me all you said,"

interrupted t.i.tmouse, indignantly, feeling in his pocket for Huckaback's letter, which that worthy had at the moment quite forgotten having sent, and on being reminded of it, he certainly seemed rather nonplussed.

"Oh--ay, if you mean _that_--hem!"--he stammered.

"Come, you _know_ you're a liar, Huck--but it's no good now: liar or no liar, it's all over."