The Project of Mr Ralph Nickleby and his Friendapproaching a successful Issue, becomesunexpectedly known to another Party, not admittedinto their Confidence.

　　In an old house, dismal dark and dusty, which seemed to havewithered, like himself, and to have grown yellow andshrivelled in hoarding him from the light of day, as he had inhoarding his money, lived Arthur Gride. Meagre old chairs andtables, of spare and bony make, and hard and cold as misers’

　　hearts, were ranged, in grim array, against the gloomy walls;attenuated presses, grown lank and lantern-jawed in guarding thetreasures they enclosed, and tottering, as though from constantfear and dread of thieves, shrunk up in dark corners, whence theycast no shadows on the ground, and seemed to hide and cowerfrom observation. A tall grim clock upon the stairs, with long leanhands and famished face, ticked in cautious whispers; and when itstruck the time, in thin and piping sounds, like an old man’s voice,rattled, as if it were pinched with hunger.

　　No fireside couch was there, to invite repose and comfort.

　　Elbow-chairs there were, but they looked uneasy in their minds,cocked their arms suspiciously and timidly, and kept upon theirguard. Others, were fantastically grim and gaunt, as having drawnthemselves up to their utmost height, and put on their fiercestlooks to stare all comers out of countenance. Others, again,knocked up against their neighbours, or leant for support against the wall—somewhat ostentatiously, as if to call all men to witnessthat they were not worth the taking. The dark square lumberingbedsteads seemed built for restless dreams; the musty hangingsseemed to creep in scanty folds together, whispering amongthemselves, when rustled by the wind, their trembling knowledgeof the tempting wares that lurked within the dark and tight-lockedclosets.

　　From out the most spare and hungry room in all this spare andhungry house there came, one morning, the tremulous tones of oldGride’s voice, as it feebly chirruped forth the fag end of someforgotten song, of which the burden ran:

　　Ta—ran—tan—too,Throw the old shoe,And may the wedding be lucky!

　　which he repeated, in the same shrill quavering notes, again andagain, until a violent fit of coughing obliged him to desist, and topursue in silence, the occupation upon which he was engaged.

　　This occupation was, to take down from the shelves of a worm-eaten wardrobe a quantity of frowsy garments, one by one; tosubject each to a careful and minute inspection by holding it upagainst the light, and after folding it with great exactness, to lay iton one or other of two little heaps beside him. He never took twoarticles of clothing out together, but always brought them forth,singly, and never failed to shut the wardrobe door, and turn thekey, between each visit to its shelves.

　　‘The snuff-coloured suit,’ said Arthur Gride, surveying athreadbare coat. ‘Did I look well in snuff-colour? Let me think.’

　　 The result of his cogitations appeared to be unfavourable, forhe folded the garment once more, laid it aside, and mounted on achair to get down another, chirping while he did so:

　　Young, loving, and fair,Oh what happiness there!

　　The wedding is sure to be lucky!

　　‘They always put in “young,”’ said old Arthur, ‘but songs areonly written for the sake of rhyme, and this is a silly one that thepoor country-people sang, when I was a little boy. Though stop—young is quite right too—it means the bride—yes. He, he, he! Itmeans the bride. Oh dear, that’s good. That’s very good. And truebesides, quite true!’

　　In the satisfaction of this discovery, he went over the verseagain, with increased expression, and a shake or two here andthere. He then resumed his employment.

　　‘The bottle-green,’ said old Arthur; ‘the bottle-green was afamous suit to wear, and I bought it very cheap at a pawnbroker’s,and there was—he, he, he!—a tarnished shilling in the waistcoatpocket. To think that the pawnbroker shouldn’t have known therewas a shilling in it! I knew it! I felt it when I was examining thequality. Oh, what a dull dog of a pawnbroker! It was a lucky suittoo, this bottle-green. The very day I put it on first, old LordMallowford was burnt to death in his bed, and all the post-obitsfell in. I’ll be married in the bottle-green. Peg. Peg Sliderskew—I’llwear the bottle-green!’

　　This call, loudly repeated twice or thrice at the room-door,brought into the apartment a short, thin, weasen, blear-eyed old woman, palsy-stricken and hideously ugly, who, wiping hershrivelled face upon her dirty apron, inquired, in that subduedtone in which deaf people commonly speak:

　　‘Was that you a calling, or only the clock a striking? My hearinggets so bad, I never know which is which; but when I hear a noise,I know it must be one of you, because nothing else never stirs inthe house.’

　　‘Me, Peg, me,’ said Arthur Gride, tapping himself on the breastto render the reply more intelligible.

　　‘You, eh?’ returned Peg. ‘And what do you want?’

　　‘I’ll be married in the bottle-green,’ cried Arthur Gride.

　　‘It’s a deal too good to be married in, master,’ rejoined Peg,after a short inspection of the suit. ‘Haven’t you got anythingworse than this?’

　　‘Nothing that’ll do,’ replied old Arthur.

　　‘Why not do?’ retorted Peg. ‘Why don’t you wear your everyday clothes, like a man—eh?’

　　‘They an’t becoming enough, Peg,’ returned her master.

　　‘Not what enough?’ said Peg.

　　‘Becoming.’

　　‘Becoming what?’ said Peg, sharply. ‘Not becoming too old towear?’

　　Arthur Gride muttered an imprecation on his housekeeper’sdeafness, as he roared in her ear:

　　‘Not smart enough! I want to look as well as I can.’

　　‘Look?’ cried Peg. ‘If she’s as handsome as you say she is, shewon’t look much at you, master, take your oath of that; and as tohow you look yourself—pepper-and-salt, bottle-green, sky-blue, ortartan-plaid will make no difference in you.’

　　 With which consolatory assurance, Peg Sliderskew gathered upthe chosen suit, and folding her skinny arms upon the bundle,stood, mouthing, and grinning, and blinking her watery eyes, likean uncouth figure in some monstrous piece of carving.

　　‘You’re in a funny humour, an’t you, Peg?’ said Arthur, with notthe best possible grace.

　　‘Why, isn’t it enough to make me?’ rejoined the old woman. ‘Ishall, soon enough, be put out, though, if anybody tries todomineer it over me: and so I give you notice, master. Nobodyshall be put over Peg Sliderskew’s head, after so many years; youknow that, and so I needn’t tell you! That won’t do for me—no, no,nor for you. Try that once, and come to ruin—ruin—ruin!’

　　‘Oh dear, dear, I shall never try it,’ said Arthur Gride, appalledby the mention of the word, ‘not for the world. It would be veryeasy to ruin me; we must be very careful; more saving than ever,with another mouth to feed. Only we—we mustn’t let her lose hergood looks, Peg, because I like to see ’em.’

　　‘Take care you don’t find good looks come expensive,’ returnedPeg, shaking her forefinger.

　　‘But she can earn money herself, Peg,’ said Arthur Gride,eagerly watching what effect his communication produced uponthe old woman’s countenance: ‘she can draw, paint, work allmanner of pretty things for ornamenting stools and chairs:

　　slippers, Peg, watch-guards, hair-chains, and a thousand littledainty trifles that I couldn’t give you half the names of. Then shecan play the piano, (and, what’s more, she’s got one), and sing likea little bird. She’ll be very cheap to dress and keep, Peg; don’t youthink she will?’

　　‘If you don’t let her make a fool of you, she may,’ returned Peg.

　　 ‘A fool of me!’ exclaimed Arthur. ‘Trust your old master not tobe fooled by pretty faces, Peg; no, no, no—nor by ugly onesneither, Mrs Sliderskew,’ he softly added by way of soliloquy.

　　‘You’re a saying something you don’t want me to hear,’ saidPeg; ‘I know you are.’

　　‘Oh dear! the devil’s in this woman,’ muttered Arthur; addingwith an ugly leer, ‘I said I trusted everything to you, Peg. That wasall.’

　　‘You do that, master, and all your cares are over,’ said Pegapprovingly.

　　‘When I do that, Peg Sliderskew,’ thought Arthur Gride, ‘theywill be.’

　　Although he thought this very distinctly, he durst not move hislips lest the old woman should detect him. He even seemed halfafraid that she might have read his thoughts; for he leeredcoaxingly upon her, as he said aloud:

　　‘Take up all loose stitches in the bottle-green with the bestblack silk. Have a skein of the best, and some new buttons for thecoat, and—this is a good idea, Peg, and one you’ll like, I know—asI have never given her anything yet, and girls like such attentions,you shall polish up a sparking necklace that I have got upstairs,and I’ll give it her upon the wedding morning—clasp it round hercharming little neck myself—and take it away again next day. He,he, he! I’ll lock it up for her, Peg, and lose it. Who’ll be made thefool of there, I wonder, to begin with—eh, Peg?’

　　Mrs Sliderskew appeared to approve highly of this ingeniousscheme, and expressed her satisfaction by various rackings andtwitchings of her head and body, which by no means enhanced hercharms. These she prolonged until she had hobbled to the door, when she exchanged them for a sour malignant look, and twistingher under-jaw from side to side, muttered hearty curses upon thefuture Mrs Gride, as she crept slowly down the stairs, and pausedfor breath at nearly every one.

　　‘She’s half a witch, I think,’ said Arthur Gride, when he foundhimself again alone. ‘But she’s very frugal, and she’s very deaf.

　　Her living costs me next to nothing; and it’s no use her listening atkeyholes; for she can’t hear. She’s a charming woman—for thepurpose; a most discreet old housekeeper, and worth her weightin—copper.’

　　Having extolled the merits of his domestic in these high terms,old Arthur went back to the burden of his song. The suit destinedto grace his approaching nuptials being now selected, he replacedthe others with no less care than he had displayed in drawingthem from the musty nooks where they had silently reposed formany years.

　　Startled by a ring at the door, he hastily concluded thisoperation, and locked the press; but there was no need for anyparticular hurry, as the discreet Peg seldom knew the bell wasrung unless she happened to cast her dim eyes upwards, and tosee it shaking against the kitchen ceiling. After a short delay,however, Peg tottered in, followed by Newman Noggs.

　　‘Ah! Mr Noggs!’ cried Arthur Gride, rubbing his hands. ‘Mygood friend, Mr Noggs, what news do you bring for me?’

　　Newman, with a steadfast and immovable aspect, and his fixedeye very fixed indeed, replied, suiting the action to the word, ‘Aletter. From Mr Nickleby. Bearer waits.’

　　‘Won’t you take a—a—’

　　Newman looked up, and smacked his lips.

　　 ‘—A chair?’ said Arthur Gride.

　　‘No,’ replied Newman. ‘Thankee.’

　　Arthur opened the letter with trembling hands, and devouredits contents with the utmost greediness; chuckling rapturouslyover it, and reading it several times, before he could take it frombefore his eyes. So many times did he peruse and re-peruse it, thatNewman considered it expedient to remind him of his presence.

　　‘Answer,’ said Newman. ‘Bearer waits.’

　　‘True,’ replied old Arthur. ‘Yes—yes; I almost forgot, I dodeclare.’

　　‘I thought you were forgetting,’ said Newman.

　　‘Quite right to remind me, Mr Noggs. Oh, very right indeed,’

　　said Arthur. ‘Yes. I’ll write a line. I’m—I’m—rather flurried, MrNoggs. The news is—’

　　‘Bad?’ interrupted Newman.

　　‘No, Mr Noggs, thank you; good, good. The very best of news.

　　Sit down. I’ll get the pen and ink, and write a line in answer. I’llnot detain you long. I know you’re a treasure to your master, MrNoggs. He speaks of you in such terms, sometimes, that, oh dear!

　　you’d be astonished. I may say that I do too, and always did. Ialways say the same of you.’

　　‘That’s “Curse Mr Noggs with all my heart!” then, if you do,’

　　thought Newman, as Gride hurried out.

　　The letter had fallen on the ground. Looking carefully abouthim for an instant, Newman, impelled by curiosity to know theresult of the design he had overheard from his office closet, caughtit up and rapidly read as follows:

　　‘Gride.

　　 ‘I saw Bray again this morning, and proposed the day aftertomorrow (as you suggested) for the marriage. There is noobjection on his part, and all days are alike to his daughter. Wewill go together, and you must be with me by seven in themorning. I need not tell you to be punctual.

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