'How could I be so cruel! cruel!' cried the dwarf. 'Because I was in the

humour. I'm in the humour now. I shall be cruel when I like. I'm going

away again.'

'Not again!'

'Yes, again. I'm going away now. I'm off directly. I mean to go and live

wherever the fancy seizes me - at the wharf - at the counting-house -

and be a jolly bachelor. You were a widow in anticipation. Damme,'

screamed the dwarf, 'I'll be a bachelor in earnest.'

You can't be serious, Quilp,' sobbed his wife.

I tell you,' said the dwarf, exulting in his project, 'that I'll be a

bachelor, a devil-may-care bachelor; and I'll have my bachelor's hall at

the counting-house, and at such times come near it if you dare. And

mind too that I don't pounce in upon you at unseasonable hours

again, for I'll be a spy upon you, and come and go like a mole or a

weazel. Tom Scott - where's Tom Scott?'

Here I am, master,' cried the voice of the boy, as Quilp threw up the

window.

Wait there, you dog,' returned the dwarf, 'to carry a bachelor's

portmanteau. Pack it up, Mrs Quilp. Knock up the dear old lady to

help; knock her up. Halloa there! Halloa!'

With these exclamations, Mr Quilp caught up the poker, and hurrying

to the door of the good lady's sleeping-closet, beat upon it therewith

until she awoke in inexpressible terror, thinking that her amiable son-

in-law surely intended to murder her in justification of the legs she

had slandered. Impressed with this idea, she was no sooner fairly

awake than she screamed violently, and would have quickly

precipitated herself out of the window and through a neighbouring

skylight, if her daughter had not hastened in to undeceive her, and

implore her assistance. Somewhat reassured by her account of the

service she was required to render, Mrs Jiniwin made her appearance

in a flannel dressing-gown; and both mother and daughter, trembling

with terror and cold - for the night was now far advanced - obeyed Mr

Quilp's directions in submissive silence. Prolonging his preparations

as much as possible, for their greater comfort, that eccentric

gentleman superintended the packing of his wardrobe, and having

added to it with his own hands, a plate, knife and fork, spoon, teacup

and saucer, and other small household matters of that nature,

strapped up the portmanteau, took it on his shoulders, and actually

marched off without another word, and with the case-bottle (which he

had never once put down) still tightly clasped under his arm.

Consigning his heavier burden to the care of Tom Scott when he

The Old Curiosity Shop