The Adelphi - FIVE: A treat to Traddles and Micawbers.

The love-lorn Trotwood lived mainly on Dora and coffee.  His walking exercises to have a glimpse of Dora had diminished because of its zero results.  

On the occasion of domestic party to Traddles and Micawbers, Trotwood did not repeat his former extensive preparations.  A pair of soles, a small leg of mutton, and a pigeon-pie, were his selection.  He bought a second-hand dumb-waiter in the place of handy young man, who stole his waistcoat during the previous occasion.  The young girl was re-engaged on the condition that she should only bring in the dishes, and then withdraw to the landing-place beyond the outer-door.  These arrangements did not please Mrs Crupp and she was cross with him for two weeks after the party.

At the appointed time the visitors arrived together.  Mr Micawber with larger than usual shirt collar, and a new ribbon to his eyeglass, Mrs Micawber with her cap in whitey-brown paper parcel; Traddles carrying the parcel, and supporting Mrs Micawber on his arm.  They were all delighted with Adelphi chambers.

'My dear Copperfield,' said Mr Micawber, 'this is luxurious.  This reminds me of the period when I was a bachelor, and Mrs Micawber was not solicited to the altar of wedding.'

'He means his own case, Mr Copperfield,' said Mrs Copperfield, 'he cannot answer for others.'

'My dear,' returned Mr Micawber, 'you were reserved for me by the fate.'

'And by the same fate I will never desert you,' said Emma.

Mr Micawber then embraced his wife and said that his domestic water supply had been cut off, because of default in payment.

[Water wheels and conduits were used to carry water from Thames and its tributaries by entrepreneurs against payment.] 

Trotwood diverted Mr Micawber to the preparation of punch, and his mood changed from one of melancholy to cheerfulness.

Trotwood found that the banquet was a failure. Mrs Crupp was taken ill after frying the soles.  The leg of mutton looked as if it had fallen into the fireplace.  The young gal had dropped it on all stairs, where it had remained.  The pigeon pie was full of lumps and bumps.

Mr Micawber took it lightly: accidents may occur anywhere.  Now we salvage it.

A grid iron was brought from the pantry.  Traddles cut the mutton into slices; Mr Micawber covered them with pepper, mustard, salt and cayenne; Trotwood put them on grid iron, turned them with fork, and took them off; Mrs Micawber heated, and continually stirred some mushroom ketchup in a little saucepan, and put the slices of mutton into it.

In the bustle of these preparations Trotwood saw Littimer, standing hat in his hand, before him.

'What's the matter?' asked Trotwood

'I beg your pardon, sir, I was directed to come in. Is my master not here, sir?'

'No,' 

'Have you not seen him, sir?'

'No; don't you come from him?'

'Not immediately so, sir.'

'Did he tell, you would find him here?'

'Not exactly so, sir.  But I should think he might be here tomorrow, as he has not been here.'

'Is he coming up from Oxford?'

'I beg, sir,' he returned, 'that you will be seated, and allow me to do this.'  With which he took the fork from Trotwood's hand, and bent over the gridiron, as if his whole attention were concentrated on it.

Mr Micawber hummed a tune to show that he was quite at ease, and sat on a chair, with the handle of a fork sticking out of the bosom of his coat, as if he had stabbed himself.  Mrs Micawber looked tired.  Traddles ran his greasy hands through his hair and stood it upright, and stared in confusion on the table-cloth.  Trotwood at the head of the table hardly ventured to look at Littimer.

Meanwhile he took a mutton out of gridiron and gravely handed it round. 

All the people took some, but the jolly mood of the dinner was broken. 

When the dinner was finished, the plates were pushed away, which Littimer noiselessly removed to dumb-waiter.  Then he gave everybody their wine-glasses, and wheeled the dumb-waiter to the pantry.

'Can I do anything more, sir?' said he.

'No. Would you take any dinner yourself?' said Trotwood.

'None, I am obliged to you, sir.'

'Is Mr Steerforth coming from Oxford?'

'I should imagine that he might be here tomorrow, sir.  I rather thought he might have been here today, sir.  The mistake is mine, sir.'

'If you should see him first -' said Trotwood.

'If you'll excuse me, sir, I don't think I shall see him first.'

'In case you do see him,' said Trotwood, 'pray say that I am sorry that he was not here today, as an old school fellow of his was here.'

'Indeed, sir!' and he divided a bow between Trotwood and Traddles, with a glance at the latter.

 

'Did you remain long at Yarmouth, that time?'

'Not particularly so.'

'You saw the boat completed?'

'Yes sir. I remained on purpose to see the boat completed.'

'Did Steerforth see it?'

'I really can't say. I wish you goodnight, sir.'

He bowed to everybody, and disappeared.  Mr Micawber received it with full condescension, but Trotwood was afraid that Littimer understood his mistrust of Steerforth.

After Littimer was gone the friends' talks went around the prospect of Mr Micawber's business.  Emma was of the view that corn business might not bring enough commission.  She further said that commission business was not suitable for Mr Micawber.  Brewing was good for him, and the profit was enormous.  But what was the use if Mr Micawber could not get an entry to reputed firms like Barclay and Perkins.  Mr Micawber's manners peculiarly qualify him for the banking business. But the banking houses refuse to avail the services of Mr Micawber.  Emma lamented that her family members do not choose to place their money in Micawber's hands. Thus they are no farther advanced than they were.

Both Tommy Traddles and Trotwood Copperfield agreed with Mrs Micawber.  And Mrs Micawber had a solution.  Advertise the talents and qualifications of Mr Micawber.

'This idea of Mrs Micawber,' said Mr Micawber, making his shirt collar meet in front of his chin, and glancing sideways at Trotwood, 'is, in fact, the Leap to which I alluded, when I last had the pleasure of seeing you.'

'Advertising is rather expensive,' said Trotwood.

'Exactly,' continued Emma.  'For that Mr Micawber should raise money on a bill.'

Mr Micawber, leaning back in his chair, cast his eyes up at the ceiling, observed Traddles, who was looking at the fire.

'If no member of my family,' said Emma, 'is willing to negotiate the bill, I think there is better business term to express what I mean -'

Mr Micawber, with his eyes still cast up at the ceiling suggested, 'Discount.' 

'Discount the bill,' said Emma, 'my opinion is that Mr Micawber should take that bill into the money market, and should dispose of it for what he can get.'

Both Trotwood and Traddles were not sure of its success.  Emma was of the opinion that Mr Micawber should assert himself.

Mr Micawber had no good opinion of Emma's family. They might go to the devil.  Then he praised Traddles enormously. Then he praised Traddles's girl enormously.  Then he praised Trotwood and his love, of which he knew nothing. 

After feeling very hot and uncomfortable, and after a good deal of blushing, stammering and denying, Trotwood with a glass in his hand, said 'Well!  I would give them to D.!'  Mr Micawber was much excited, and he ran with a glass of punch into Emma's bedroom, in order that she might drink Drink to D.

'Dear, dear Copperfield,' came the voice of Emma from the bedroom, 'hear hear Mr Copperfield, I am delighted.  Hear!' and tapping at the wall, by way of applause.

After this, Mr Micawber began to dwell on his life after getting the job as a result of advertisement.  Camden Town is inconvenient, so after getting job he would move to Oxford Street.  There would always be a room for Traddles in this house, and a knife and fork for Trotwood.

Mrs Micawber tapped against the wall to know if they were ready for tea.  While making the tea she asked Trotwood whether D was fair, which he liked very much.

After tea, Mrs Micawber sang 'The dashing white sergeant' and 'Little Tafflin' for which she was famous when she lived with her papa and mama.

It was between ten and eleven o'clock when Mrs Micawber rose to replace her cap in whitey-brown paper parcel, and put on her bonnet.  Mr Micawber took the opportunity of Traddles putting on his great-coat, to slip a letter into Trotwood's hand, and whispered to him that he should read it in leisure.  Trotwood held a candle over the banisters to light them down, and Mr Micawber went first, leading Mrs Micawber, and Traddles was following with the cap.  Trotwood detained Traddles for a moment on the top of the stairs.

'Traddles,' said his friend, 'Mr Micawber doesn't mean any harm, poor fellow, but if I were you, I wouldn't lend him anything.'

'My dear Copperfield,' said Traddles, 'I haven't got anything to lend.'

'You have got a name, you know,' said Trotwood.

'Oh, you call that, something to lend?' returned Traddles with a thoughtful look.

'Certainly.'

'Oh!' said Traddles, 'yes, to be sure! I am very much obliged to you, Copperfield; but I am afraid I have lent him that already.'

'For the bill that is to be a certain investment?' inquired Trotwood.

'No,' said Traddles.  Not that one.  This is the first I have heard of.  I think he will propose that one on the way home.' 

'I hope there will be nothing wrong about it,' said Trotwood 

'I hope not,' said Traddles.  'He told me the other day, that it was provided for.'

Traddles thanked him and descended.  But Trotwood was much afraid, that he would be carried to Money Market neck and heels.

Trotwood returned to his fireside, and musing, half gravely and half laughing, on the character of Mr Micawber and their old relations during Murdstone and Grinbys time, when he heard quick steps ascending the stairs.  At first he thought it was Traddles, coming back for something left behind; but as the steps approached, he knew it was Steerforth, and he felt his heart beat high, and the blood rush to his face.

When Steerforth came and stood before Trotwood, the darkness that had fallen on the former changed to light.  Trotwood felt ashamed of having doubted Steerforth.

'Why, Daisy, old boy dumb-founded!' laughed Steerforth shaking hands with Trotwood.  'Have I detect you in another feast? You sybarite!  These Doctors' Commons fellows are the happiest men in the town, and beat us Oxford people all to nothing!'

'I was so surprised first,' said Trotwood, after welcoming him cordially, 'that I hardly breath to greet you with Steerforth.' 

'Well!  The sight of me is good for sore eyes, as the Scotch say,' replied Steerforth, 'and so is the sight of you Daisy, in full bloom.  How are you, my Bacchanal?

'I am very well,' said Trotwood, and not at all Bacchanalian tonight, though I confess to another party of three.'

All of whom I met in the street, talking loud in your praise,' returned Steerforth.  'Who's our friend in the tights?'

Trotwood gave him a portrait of Mr Micawber, in few words.  He laughed heartily and said he was a man to know.

'But who do you suppose our other friend?'

'I don't know,' said Steerforth, 'but I thought he looked a little like one.'

'Traddles!' replied Trotwood.

'Who is he?'

'Traddles in our room at Salem House.'

'Oh! That fellow!' said Steerforth, beating a lump of coal on the open fire, with the poker.  'Is he as soft as ever? And where the deuce did you pick him up?'

Trotwood extolled him, as far as he could, because Steerforth rather slighted him.  Steerforth, dismissing the subject, with a light nod, and a smile, and a remark that he would be glad to see the old fellow too, inquired if Trotwood could give him anything to eat.

Trotwood got out the remains of pigeon-pie, while Steerforth had been beating the lump of coal with the poker.

'Why, Daisy, here's a supper for a king,' said Steerforth as he took his seat at the table.

'I shall do justice, for I have come from Yarmouth.'

'I thought you came from Oxford.'

'Not I,' said Steerforth, 'I have been seafaring - better employed.'

'Littimer was here today, to inquire for you,' Trotwood remarked.

'Littimer is a greater fool than I thought him, to have been inquiring me at all,' said Steerforth, jovially pouring out a glass of wine, and drinking to his friend.  'As to understanding him, you are a cleverer fellow than most of us, Daisy, if you can do that.'

'That's true indeed,' said Trotwood, moving his chair to the table.  'So, you have been at Yarmouth, Steerforth!' interested to know all about it.  'Have you been there long?'

'No,' he said, 'an escapade of a week or so.' 

'And how are they all?  Of course Little Emily is not married yet?'

'Not yet.  Going to be I believe - in so many weeks, or months, or something or other.  I have not seen much of them.  By the bye,' he laid down his knife and fork, which he had been using with great diligence, and began feeling in his pockets. 'I have a letter for you.' 

'From whom?'

'Why, from your old nurse,' he returned, taking some papers out of his breast pocket.  'It's about what is his name?  I believe.'

'Barkis, do you mean?'

'Yes!' still feeling in his pockets, and looking over their contents.  'It's all over with poor Barkis, I am afraid.  I saw an apothecary there - surgeon, or whatever he is.  He was mighty learned about the case, but the upshot of his opinion was, that the carrier was making his last journey rather fast - put your hand into the breast pocket of my great-coat on the chair yonder, and I think you will find the letter.  Is it there?'

'Here it is!' said Trotwood.

'That's right.' 

It was from Peggotty; something less legible than usual, and brief.  Her husband was in a hopeless state, and hinted at his being 'a little nearer than before, and more difficult to manage his own comfort.  It said nothing of her difficulties, but praised him highly.

'It's a bad job,' said Steerforth, after Trotwood completed his reading; 'and the sun sets every day, and people die every minute, and we mustn't be scared by common lot.  If we failed to hold our own, because that equal foot at all men's doors was heard knocking somewhere, every object in the world would slip from us.  No! Ride on!  Ride on over all obstacles, and win the race!'

'And win what race?' said Trotwood.

'The race one had started in,' said Steerforth.

Trotwood noticed the freshness of sea-wind on his face.  But there was traces of strain, as he was new to seafaring. But he was preoccupied by his concern to Peggotty, and said, 'I think I will go down and see my old nurse.  It is not that I can do her any good, or render her any real service, but she is so attached to me that my visit will be a comfort and support to her.

He sat thoughtfully for sometime, and said, 'Well! Go, no harm in it.'

'You have just come back,' said Trotwood, 'and it would be in vain to ask you to go with me.'

'Quite,' he returned.  'I am for the Highgate tonight.  I have not seen my mother this long time, and it lies upon my conscience, for it is something to be loved as she loves her prodigal son.  You mean to go tomorrow, I suppose?'

'Yes, I think so.'

'Well, then, don't go till next day.  I wanted you to come and stay a few days with us.  Here I am, on purpose to bid you, and you fly off to Yarmouth!'

'You are a nice fellow to talk of flying off, Steerforth, who are always running wild on some unknown expedition or other!'

He looked at his friend for a moment without speaking, and then rejoined, still holding him as before, and giving him a shake.

'Come! say the next day, and pass as much as you can with us!  Who knows when we may meet again, else?  Come!  Say the next day!  I want you to stand between Rosa Dartle and me and keep us asunder.'

'Would you love each other too much, without me?

'Yes; or hate,' laughed Steerforth, 'no matter which.  Come! Say the next day!'

Trotwood promised him the next day.  Steerforth put on his great-coat, lighted a cigar, and set off to walk home.  Trotwood accompanied him upto the road.  While returning home he thought of his words, 'Ride on over all obstacles, and win the race!'

Trotwood was undressing in his home, when Mr Micawber's letter tumbled on the floor.  The letter read as follows:

Sir - For I dare not say my dear Copperfield.

It is expedient to say that the undersigned is crushed.  The legal possession of the premise where I stay is now with another individual for non-payment of rent.  Not only the chattle belonging to me, but also of Mr Thomas Traddles, the lodger are under the possession of that other individual.  The acceptance of my bill by Traddles is due for payment, but not provided for.

Wilkins Micawber.

Trotwood thought that Micawber would overcome the situation easily.  But how Traddles would recover? Trotwood's sleep was distressed by this thought.

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