| 151 | 152 | 153 | 154 | 155 |
| 1 | 133 | 265 | 398 | 530 |
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The dwarf eyed Richard with a sarcastic smile, but Richard, who had
been taking a rather strong lunch with a friend, observed him not,
and continued to deplore his fate with mournful and despondent
looks. Quilp plainly discerned that there was some secret reason for
this visit and his uncommon disappointment, and, in the hope that
there might be means of mischief lurking beneath it, resolved to worm
it out. He had no sooner adopted this resolution, than he conveyed as
much honesty into his face as it was capable of expressing, and
sympathised with Mr Swiveller exceedingly.
'
I am disappointed myself,' said Quilp, 'out of mere friendly feeling for
them; but you have real reasons, private reasons I have no doubt, for
your disappointment, and therefore it comes heavier than mine.'
'Why, of course it does,' Dick observed, testily.
'
Upon my word, I'm very sorry, very sorry. I'm rather cast down
myself. As we are companions in adversity, shall we be companions in
the surest way of forgetting it? If you had no particular business, now,
to lead you in another direction,' urged Quilp, plucking him by the
sleeve and looking slyly up into his face out of the corners of his eyes,
'
there is a house by the water-side where they have some of the
noblest Schiedam - reputed to be smuggled, but that's between
ourselves - that can be got in all the world. The landlord knows me.
There's a little summer-house overlooking the river, where we might
take a glass of this delicious liquor with a whiff of the best tobacco -
it's in this case, and of the rarest quality, to my certain knowledge -
and be perfectly snug and happy, could we possibly contrive it; or is
there any very particular engagement that peremptorily takes you
another way, Mr Swiveller, eh?'
As the dwarf spoke, Dick's face relaxed into a compliant smile, and his
brows slowly unbent. By the time he had finished, Dick was looking
down at Quilp in the same sly manner as Quilp was looking up at
him, and there remained nothing more to be done but to set out for
the house in question. This they did, straightway. The moment their
backs were turned, little Jacob thawed, and resumed his crying from
the point where Quilp had frozen him.
The summer-house of which Mr Quilp had spoken was a rugged
wooden box, rotten and bare to see, which overhung the river's mud,
and threatened to slide down into it. The tavern to which it belonged
was a crazy building, sapped and undermined by the rats, and only
upheld by great bars of wood which were reared against its walls, and
had propped it up so long that even they were decaying and yielding
with their load, and of a windy night might be heard to creak and
crack as if the whole fabric were about to come toppling down. The
house stood - if anything so old and feeble could be said to stand - on
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