I went to Charley, and I told him there was nothing left
but me, poor me; and I lived with Charley, out there, several years. He
was a man of fifty, when he fell asleep in my arms. His face had changed
to be almost old and a little stern; but, it softened, and softened when
I laid it down that I might cry and pray beside it; and, when I looked at
it for the last time, it was my dear, untroubled, handsome, youthful
Charley of long ago.
—I was going on to tell that the loneliness of the House to Let brought
back all these recollections, and that they had quite pierced my heart
one evening, when Flobbins, opening the door, and looking very much as if
she wanted to laugh but thought better of it, said:
"Mr. Jabez Jarber, ma'am!"
Upon which Mr. Jarber ambled in, in his usual absurd way, saying:
"Sophonisba!"
Which I am obliged to confess is my name. A pretty one and proper one
enough when it was given to me: but, a good many years out of date now,
and always sounding particularly high-flown and comical from his lips. So
I said, sharply:
"Though it is Sophonisba, Jarber, you are not obliged to mention it, that
I see."
In reply to this observation, the ridiculous man put the tips of my five
right-hand fingers to his lips, and said again, with an aggravating
accent on the third syllable:
"Sophonisba!"
I don't burn lamps, because I can't abide the smell of oil, and wax
candles belonged to my day. I hope the convenient situation of one of my
tall old candlesticks on the table at my elbow will be my excuse for
saying, that if he did that again, I would chop his toes with it. (I am
sorry to add that when I told him so, I knew his toes to be tender.) But,
really, at my time of life and at Jarber's, it is too much of a good
thing. There is an orchestra still standing in the open air at the
Wells, before which, in the presence of a throng of fine company, I have
walked a minuet with Jarber. But, there is a house still standing, in
which I have worn a pinafore, and had a tooth drawn by fastening a thread
to the tooth and the door-handle, and toddling away from the door. And
how should I look now, at my years, in a pinafore, or having a door for
my dentist?
Besides, Jarber always was more or less an absurd man. He was sweetly
dressed, and beautifully perfumed, and many girls of my day would have
given their ears for him; though I am bound to add that he never cared a
fig for them, or their advances either, and that he was very constant to
me. For, he not only proposed to me before my love-happiness ended in
sorrow, but afterwards too: not once, nor yet twice: nor will we say how
many times. However many they were, or however few they were, the last
time he paid me that compliment was immediately after he had presented me
with a digestive dinner-pill stuck on the point of a pin. And I said on
that occasion, laughing heartily, "Now, Jarber, if you don't know that
two people whose united ages would make about a hundred and fifty, have
got to be old, I do; and I beg to swallow this nonsense in the form of
this pill" (which I took on the spot), "and I request to, hear no more of
it."
After that, he conducted himself pretty well. He was always a little
squeezed man, was Jarber, in little sprigged waistcoats; and he had
always little legs and a little smile, and a little voice, and little
round-about ways. As long as I can remember him he was always going
little errands for people, and carrying little gossip. At this present
time when he called me "Sophonisba!" he had a little old-fashioned
lodging in that new neighbourhood of mine. I had not seen him for two or
three years, but I had heard that he still went out with a little
perspective-glass and stood on door-steps in Saint James's Street, to see
the nobility go to Court; and went in his little cloak and goloshes
outside Willis's rooms to see them go to Almack's; and caught the
frightfullest colds, and got himself trodden upon by coachmen and
linkmen, until he went home to his landlady a mass of bruises, and had to
be nursed for a month.
Jarber took off his little fur-collared cloak, and sat down opposite me,
with his little cane and hat in his hand.
"Let us have no more Sophonisbaing, if you please, Jarber," I said.
"Call me Sarah. How do you do? I hope you are pretty well."
"Thank you. And you?" said Jarber.
"I am as well as an old woman can expect to be."
Jarber was beginning:
"Say, not old, Sophon—" but I looked at the candlestick, and he left
off; pretending not to have said anything.
"I am infirm, of course," I said, "and so are you. Let us both be
thankful it's no worse."
"Is it possible that you look worried?" said Jarber.
"It is very possible. I have no doubt it is the fact."
"And what has worried my Soph-, soft-hearted friend," said Jarber.
"Something not easy, I suppose, to comprehend. I am worried to death by
a House to Let, over the way."
Jarber went with his little tip-toe step to the window-curtains, peeped
out, and looked round at me.
"Yes," said I, in answer: "that house."
After peeping out again, Jarber came back to his chair with a tender air,
and asked: "How does it worry you, S-arah?"
"It is a mystery to me," said I. "Of course every house is a mystery,
more or less; but, something that I don't care to mention" (for truly the
Eye was so slight a thing to mention that I was more than half ashamed of
it), "has made that House so mysterious to me, and has so fixed it in my
mind, that I have had no peace for a month. I foresee that I shall have
no peace, either, until Trottle comes to me, next Monday."
I might have mentioned before, that there is a lone-standing jealousy
between Trottle and Jarber; and that there is never any love lost between
those two.
"Trottle," petulantly repeated Jarber, with a little flourish of his
cane; "how is Trottle to restore the lost peace of Sarah?"
"He will exert himself to find out something about the House. I have
fallen into that state about it, that I really must discover by some
means or other, good or bad, fair or foul, how and why it is that that
House remains To Let."
"And why Trottle? Why not," putting his little hat to his heart; "why
not, Jarber?
"To tell you the truth, I have never thought of Jarber in the matter. And
now I do think of Jarber, through your having the kindness to suggest
him—for which I am really and truly obliged to you—I don't think he
could do it."
"Sarah!"
"I think it would be too much for you, Jarber."
"Sarah!"
"There would be coming and going, and fetching and carrying, Jarber, and
you might catch cold."
"Sarah! What can be done by Trottle, can be done by me. I am on terms
of acquaintance with every person of responsibility in this parish.
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