[Literature] Charles Dickens: Our Mutual Friend #7/413

Coal-dust, vegetable-dust, bone-dust,
crockery dust, rough dust and sifted dust,—all manner of Dust.’

A passing remembrance of Mrs Veneering, here induces Mortimer to address
his next half-dozen words to her; after which he wanders away again, tries
Twemlow and finds he doesn’t answer, ultimately takes up with the Buffers
who receive him enthusiastically.

‘The moral being—I believe that’s the right expression—of this
exemplary person, derived its highest gratification from anathematizing
his nearest relations and turning them out of doors. Having begun (as was
natural) by rendering these attentions to the wife of his bosom, he next
found himself at leisure to bestow a similar recognition on the claims of
his daughter. He chose a husband for her, entirely to his own satisfaction
and not in the least to hers, and proceeded to settle upon her, as her
marriage portion, I don’t know how much Dust, but something immense. At
this stage of the affair the poor girl respectfully intimated that she was
secretly engaged to that popular character whom the novelists and
versifiers call Another, and that such a marriage would make Dust of her
heart and Dust of her life—in short, would set her up, on a very
extensive scale, in her father’s business. Immediately, the venerable
parent—on a cold winter’s night, it is said—anathematized and
turned her out.’

Here, the Analytical Chemist (who has evidently formed a very low opinion
of Mortimer’s story) concedes a little claret to the Buffers; who, again
mysteriously moved all four at once, screw it slowly into themselves with
a peculiar twist of enjoyment, as they cry in chorus, ‘Pray go on.’

‘The pecuniary resources of Another were, as they usually are, of a very
limited nature. I believe I am not using too strong an expression when I
say that Another was hard up. However, he married the young lady, and they
lived in a humble dwelling, probably possessing a porch ornamented with
honeysuckle and woodbine twining, until she died. I must refer you to the
Registrar of the District in which the humble dwelling was situated, for
the certified cause of death; but early sorrow and anxiety may have had to
do with it, though they may not appear in the ruled pages and printed
forms. Indisputably this was the case with Another, for he was so cut up
by the loss of his young wife that if he outlived her a year it was as
much as he did.’

There is that in the indolent Mortimer, which seems to hint that if good
society might on any account allow itself to be impressible, he, one of
good society, might have the weakness to be impressed by what he here
relates. It is hidden with great pains, but it is in him. The gloomy
Eugene too, is not without some kindred touch; for, when that appalling
Lady Tippins declares that if Another had survived, he should have gone
down at the head of her list of lovers—and also when the mature
young lady shrugs her epaulettes, and laughs at some private and
confidential comment from the mature young gentleman—his gloom
deepens to that degree that he trifles quite ferociously with his
dessert-knife.

Mortimer proceeds.

‘We must now return, as novelists say, and as we all wish they wouldn’t,
to the man from Somewhere. Being a boy of fourteen, cheaply educated at
Brussels when his sister’s expulsion befell, it was some little time
before he heard of it—probably from herself, for the mother was
dead; but that I don’t know. Instantly, he absconded, and came over here.
He must have been a boy of spirit and resource, to get here on a stopped
allowance of five sous a week; but he did it somehow, and he burst in on
his father, and pleaded his sister’s cause. Venerable parent promptly
resorts to anathematization, and turns him out. Shocked and terrified boy
takes flight, seeks his fortune, gets aboard ship, ultimately turns up on
dry land among the Cape wine: small proprietor, farmer, grower—whatever
you like to call it.’

At this juncture, shuffling is heard in the hall, and tapping is heard at
the dining-room door. Analytical Chemist goes to the door, confers angrily
with unseen tapper, appears to become mollified by descrying reason in the
tapping, and goes out.

‘So he was discovered, only the other day, after having been expatriated
about fourteen years.’

A Buffer, suddenly astounding the other three, by detaching himself, and
asserting individuality, inquires: ‘How discovered, and why?’

‘Ah! To be sure. Thank you for reminding me. Venerable parent dies.’

Same Buffer, emboldened by success, says: ‘When?’

‘The other day.