MR. MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR. JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME  
There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people’s cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. ‘To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one’s hand, ain’t such a bad look-out,’ thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record.
But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague’s private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn’t have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle’s point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly.
It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend’s door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him.
‘Mr Montague at home?’
‘I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,’ said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. ‘Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?’
Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there.
‘The hold name, I suppose?’ said Bailey, with a grin.
Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation.
‘What, don’t you remember hold mother Todgers’s?’ said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. ‘Don’t you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg’lar scaly old shop, warn’t it? Times is changed ain’t they. I say how you’ve growed!’
Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink.
The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form.
‘My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?’
‘I think so,’ said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. ‘I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? That’s well!’
‘Mr Wolf,’ said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, ‘Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.’
Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit’s acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand:
‘Men of the world, my dear sir—men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf—literary character—you needn’t mention it—remarkably clever weekly paper—oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip—theatrical man—capital man to know—oh, capital man!’
‘Well!’ said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. ‘And what did Lord Nobley say to that?’
‘Why,’ returned Pip, with an oath. ‘He didn’t know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn’t as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!’
‘The best fellow in the world!’ cried Wolf. ‘It as only last week that Nobley said to me, “By Gad, Wolf, I’ve got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn’t have made a parson of you!”’
‘Just like him,’ said Pip with another oath. ‘And he’d have done it!’
‘Not a doubt of it,’ said Wolf. ‘But you were going to tell us—’
‘Oh, yes!’ cried Pip. ‘To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb—sewn up, dead, sir—but after a minute he said to the Duke, “Here’s Pip. Ask Pip. Pip’s our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows.” “Damme!” said the Duke, “I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!” “Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!” said I. “Ha, ha!” laughed the Duke. “To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you’re not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I’m in town, Pip.” And so I do, to this day.’
The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties.
It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him.
‘A glass of wine?’
‘Oh!’ said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. ‘As much of that as you like! It’s too good to refuse.’
‘Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!’ cried Wolf.
‘Tom Gag, upon my soul!’ said Pip.
‘Positively, you know, that’s—ha, ha, ha!’ observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell—‘that’s epigrammatic; quite!’
‘You’re tolerably comfortable, I hope?’ said Tigg, apart to Jonas.
‘Oh! You needn’t trouble your head about me,’ he replied, ‘Famous!’
‘I thought it best not to have a party,’ said Tigg. ‘You feel that?’
‘Why, what do you call this?’ retorted Jonas. ‘You don’t mean to say you do this every day, do you?’
‘My dear fellow,’ said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, ‘every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You’d have seen through it. “You’ll have a party?” said Crimple. “No, I won’t,” I said, “he shall take us in the rough!”
‘And pretty smooth, too, ecod!’ said Jonas, glancing round the table. ‘This don’t cost a trifle.’
‘Why, to be candid with you, it does not,’ returned the other. ‘But I like this sort of thing. It’s the way I spend my money.’
Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, ‘Was it?’
‘When you join us, you won’t get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?’ said Tigg.
‘Quite different,’ retorted Jonas.
‘Well, and you’re right,’ said Tigg, with friendly candour. ‘You needn’t. It’s not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that’s my department. You don’t mind dining expensively at another man’s expense, I hope?’
‘Not a bit,’ said Jonas.
‘Then I hope you’ll often dine with me?’
‘Ah!’ said Jonas, ‘I don’t mind. On the contrary.’
‘And I’ll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,’ said Tigg. ‘Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell ‘em that. They’re the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I’ve a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!’
Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas’s greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called ‘a warm complexion,’ were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point.
‘Men of the world, my dear sir,’ Jobling whispered to Jonas; ‘thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it’s quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It’s not only agreeable—and nothing can be more agreeable—but it’s philosophically improving. It’s character, my dear sir; character!’
It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections.
‘Mr Chuzzlewit didn’t know him, I’m afraid,’ said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence.
‘No,’ said Tigg. ‘But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.’
‘He was very fond of literature,’ observed Wolf.
‘Was he?’ said Tigg.
‘Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who’s a friend of mine—Pip knows him—“What’s the editor’s name, what’s the editor’s name?” “Wolf.” “Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says.” It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.’
‘But the Viscount’s the boy!’ cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. ‘The Viscount’s the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, “Where’s Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!”—“What’s the row, my lord?”—“Shakspeare’s an infernal humbug, Pip! What’s the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There’s a lot of feet in Shakspeare’s verse, but there an’t any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare’s plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of ‘em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they’re all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I’ll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I’d go to church. What’s the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I’ll stand by you, my buck!” and I am proud to say,’ added Pip, ‘that he did stand by me, handsomely.’
The conversation no............