should appear. After a few minutes, the well-known creaking of his boots was heard on the stairs, and then the bell rung.
‘Has the post come in?’
‘No.’
‘Any other letters?’
‘One.’ Newman eyed him closely, and laid it on the desk.
‘What’s this?’ asked Ralph, taking up the key.
‘Left with the letter;—a boy brought them—quarter of an hour ago, or less.’
Ralph glanced at the direction, opened the letter, and read as follows:—
‘You are known to me now. There are no reproaches I could heap upon your head which would carry with them one thousandth part of the grovelling shame that this assurance will awaken even in your breast.
‘Your brother’s widow and her orphan child spurn the shelter of your roof, and shun you with disgust and loathing. Your kindred renounce you, for they know no shame but the ties of blood which bind them in name with you.
‘You are an old man, and I leave you to the grave. May every recollection of your life cling to your false heart, and cast their darkness on your death-bed.’
Ralph Nickleby read this letter twice, and frowning heavily, fell into a fit of musing; the paper fluttered from his hand and dropped upon the floor, but he clasped his fingers, as if he held it still.
Suddenly, he started from his seat, and thrusting it all crumpled into his pocket, turned furiously to Newman Noggs, as though to ask him why he lingered. But Newman stood unmoved, with his back towards him, following up, with the worn and blackened stump of an old pen, some figures in an Interest-table which was pasted against the wall, and apparently quite abstracted from every other object.
Chapter 34.
Wherein Mr. Ralph Nickleby is visited by Persons with whom the Reader has been already made acquainted
‘What a demnition long time you have kept me ringing at this confounded old cracked tea-kettle of a bell, every tinkle of which is enough to throw a strong man into blue convulsions, upon my life and soul, oh demmit,’—said Mr. Mantalini to Newman Noggs, scraping his boots, as he spoke, on Ralph Nickleby’s scraper.
‘I didn’t hear the bell more than once,’ replied Newman.
‘Then you are most immensely and outr-i-geously deaf,’ said Mr. Mantalini, ‘as deaf as a demnition post.’
Mr. Mantalini had got by this time into the passage, and was making his way to the door of Ralph’s office with very little ceremony, when Newman interposed his body; and hinting that Mr. Nickleby was unwilling to be disturbed, inquired whether the client’s business was of a pressing nature.
‘It is most demnebly particular,’ said Mr. Mantalini. ‘It is to melt some scraps of dirty paper into bright, shining, chinking, tinkling, demd mint sauce.’
Newman uttered a significant grunt, and taking Mr. Mantalini’s proffered card, limped with it into his master’s office. As he thrust his head in at the door, he saw that Ralph had resumed the thoughtful posture into which he had fallen after perusing his nephew’s letter, and that he seemed to have been reading it again, as he once more held it open in his hand. The glance was but momentary, for Ralph, being disturbed, turned to demand the cause of the interruption.
As Newman stated it, the cause himself swaggered into the room, and grasping Ralph’s horny hand with uncommon affection, vowed that he had never seen him looking so well in all his life.
‘There is quite a bloom upon your demd countenance,’ said Mr. Mantalini, seating himself unbidden, and arranging his hair and whiskers. ‘You look quite juvenile and jolly, demmit!’
‘We are alone,’ returned Ralph, tartly. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘Good!’ cried Mr. Mantalini, displaying his teeth. ‘What did I want! Yes. Ha, ha! Very good. What did I want. Ha, ha. Oh dem!’
‘What do you want, man?’ demanded Ralph, sternly.
‘Demnition discount,’ returned Mr. Mantalini, with a grin, and shaking his head waggishly.
‘Money is scarce,’ said Ralph.
‘Demd scarce, or I shouldn’t want it,’ interrupted Mr. Mantalini.
‘The times are bad, and one scarcely knows whom to trust,’ continued Ralph. ‘I don’t want to do business just now, in fact I would rather not; but as you are a friend—how many bills have you there?’
‘Two,’ returned Mr. Mantalini.
‘What is the gross amount?’
‘Demd trifling—five-and-seventy.’
‘And the dates?’
‘Two months, and four.’
‘I’ll do them for you—mind, for you; I wouldn’t for many people—for five-and-twenty pounds,’ said Ralph, deliberately.
‘Oh demmit!’ cried Mr. Mantalini, whose face lengthened considerably at this handsome proposal.
‘Why, that leaves you fifty,’ retorted Ralph. ‘What would you have? Let me see the names.’
‘You are so demd hard, Nickleby,’ remonstrated Mr. Mantalini.
‘Let me see the names,’ replied Ralph, impatiently extending his hand for the bills. ‘Well! They are not sure, but they are safe enough. Do you consent to the terms, and will you take the money? I don’t want you to do so. I would rather you didn’t.’
‘Demmit, Nickleby, can’t you—’ began Mr. Mantalini.
‘No,’ replied Ralph, interrupting him. ‘I can’t. Will you take the money—down, mind; no delay, no going into the city and pretending to negotiate with some other party who has no existence, and never had. Is it a bargain, or is it not?’
Ralph pushed some papers from him as he spoke, and carelessly rattled his cash-box, as though by mere accident. The sound was too much for Mr Mantalini. He closed the bargain directly it reached his ears, and Ralph told the money out upon the table.
He had scarcely done so, and Mr. Mantalini had not yet gathered it all up, when a ring was heard at the bell, and immediately afterwards Newman ushered in no less a person than Madame Mantalini, at sight of whom Mr Mantalini evinced considerable discomposure, and swept the cash into his pocket with remarkable alacrity.
‘Oh, you are here,’ said Madame Mantalini, tossing her head.
‘Yes, my life and soul, I am,’ replied her husband, dropping on his knees, and pouncing with kitten-like playfulness upon a stray sovereign. ‘I am here, my soul’s delight, upon Tom Tiddler’s ground, picking up the demnition gold and silver.’
‘I am ashamed of you,’ said Madame Mantalini, with much indignation.
‘Ashamed—of me, my joy? It knows it is talking demd charming sweetness, but naughty fibs,’ returned Mr. Mantalini. ‘It knows it is not ashamed of its own popolorum tibby.’
Whatever were the circumstances which had led to such a result, it certainly appeared as though the popolorum tibby had rather miscalculated, for the nonce, the extent of his lady’s affection. Madame Mantalini only looked scornful in reply; and, turning to Ralph, begged him to excuse her intrusion.
‘Which is entirely attributable,’ said Madame, ‘to the gross misconduct and most improper behaviour of Mr. Mantalini.’
‘Of me, my essential juice of pineapple!’
‘Of you,’ returned his wife.