‘And a blessing on every dimple in her handsome
face, say I!’ cried John, ’though why
you should give her the preference over me, I don’t
know. Never mind. I bide my time, Tom.’
‘And I hope you’ll continue to bide it,’
returned Tom, gayly. ’For I owe you more,
already, in a hundred other ways, than I can ever hope
to pay.’
They parted at the door of Tom’s new residence.
John Westlock, sitting in the cab, and, catching a
glimpse of a blooming little busy creature darting
out to kiss Tom and to help him with his box, would
not have had the least objection to change places
with him.
Well! she was a cheerful little thing; and had
a quaint, bright quietness about her that was infinitely
pleasant. Surely she was the best sauce for chops
ever invented. The potatoes seemed to take a
pleasure in sending up their grateful steam before
her; the froth upon the pint of porter pouted to attract
her notice. But it was all in vain. She
saw nothing but Tom. Tom was the first and last
thing in the world.
As she sat opposite to Tom at supper, fingering one
of Tom’s pet tunes upon the table-cloth, and
smiling in his face, he had never been so happy in
his life.
In walking from the city with his sentimental friend,
Tom Pinch had looked into the face, and brushed against
the threadbare sleeve, of Mr Nadgett, man of mystery
to the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life
Assurance Company. Mr Nadgett naturally passed
away from Tom’s remembrance as he passed out
of his view; for he didn’t know him, and had
never heard his name.
As there are a vast number of people in the huge metropolis
of England who rise up every morning not knowing where
their heads will rest at night, so there are a multitude
who shooting arrows over houses as their daily business,
never know on whom they fall. Mr Nadgett might
have passed Tom Pinch ten thousand times; might even
have been quite familiar with his face, his name,
pursuits, and character; yet never once have dreamed
that Tom had any interest in any act or mystery of
his. Tom might have done the like by him of course.
But the same private man out of all the men alive,
was in the mind of each at the same moment; was prominently
connected though in a different manner, with the day’s
adventures of both; and formed, when they passed each
other in the street, the one absorbing topic of their
thoughts.
Why Tom had Jonas Chuzzlewit in his mind requires
no explanation. Why Mr Nadgett should have had
Jonas Chuzzlewit in his, is quite another thing.
