He forgot nobody. He thought of everybody’s claims and strivings, but his own.
‘Em’ly,’ he continued, ‘will keep along with me—poor child, she’s sore in need of peace and rest!—until such time as we goes upon our voyage. She’ll work at them clothes, as must be made; and I hope her troubles will begin to seem longer ago than they was, wen she finds herself once more by her rough but loving uncle.’
My aunt nodded confirmation of this hope, and imparted great satisfaction to Mr. Peggotty.
‘Theer’s one thing furder, Mas’r Davy,’ said he, putting his hand in his breast-pocket, and gravely taking out the little paper bundle I had seen before, which he unrolled on the table. ‘Theer’s these here banknotes—fifty pound, and ten. To them I wish to add the money as she come away with. I’ve asked her about that (but not saying why), and have added of it up. I an’t a scholar. Would you be so kind as see how ‘tis?’
He handed me, apologetically for his scholarship, a piece of paper, and observed me while I looked it over. It was quite right.
‘Thankee, sir,’ he said, taking it back. ‘This money, if you doen’t see objections, Mas’r Davy, I shall put up jest afore I go, in a cover directed to him; and put that up in another, directed to his mother. I shall tell her, in no more wureds than I speak to you, what it’s the price on; and that I’m gone, and past receiving of it back.’
I told him that I thought it would be right to do so—that I was thoroughly convinced it would be, since he felt it to be right.
‘I said that theer was on’y one thing furder,’ he proceeded with a grave smile, when he had made up his little bundle again, and put it in his pocket; ‘but theer was two. I warn’t sure in my mind, wen I come out this morning, as I could go and break to Ham, of my own self, what had so thankfully happened. So I writ a letter while I was out, and put it in the post-office, telling of ‘em how all was as ‘tis; and that I should come down tomorrow to unload my mind of what little needs a-doing of down theer, and, most-like, take my farewell leave of Yarmouth.’
‘And do you wish me to go with you?’ said I, seeing that he left something unsaid.
‘If you could do me that kind favour, Mas’r Davy,’ he replied. ‘I know the sight on you would cheer ‘em up a bit.’
My little Dora being in good spirits, and very desirous that I should go—as I found on talking it over with her—I readily pledged myself to accompany him in accordance with his wish. Next morning, consequently, we were on the Yarmouth coach, and again travelling over the old ground.
As we passed along the familiar street at night—Mr. Peggotty, in despite of all my remonstrances, carrying my bag—I glanced into Omer and Joram’s shop, and saw my old friend Mr. Omer there, smoking his pipe. I felt reluctant to be present, when Mr. Peggotty first met his sister and Ham; and made Mr. Omer my excuse for lingering behind.
‘How is Mr. Omer, after this long time?’ said I, going in.
He fanned away the smoke of his pipe, that he might get a better view of me, and soon recognized me with great delight.
‘I should get up, sir, to acknowledge such an honour as this visit,’ said he, ‘only my limbs are rather out of sorts, and I am wheeled about. With the exception of my limbs and my breath, howsoever, I am as hearty as a man can be, I’m thankful to say.’
I congratulated him on his contented looks and his good spirits, and saw, now, that his easy-chair went on wheels.
‘It’s an ingenious thing, ain’t it?’ he inquired, following the direction of my glance, and polishing the elbow with his arm. ‘It runs as light as a feather, and tracks as true as a mail-coach. Bless you, my little Minnie—my grand-daughter you know, Minnie’s child—puts her little strength against the back, gives it a shove, and away we go, as clever and merry as ever you see anything! And I tell you what—it’s a most uncommon chair to smoke a pipe in.’
I never saw such a good old fellow to make the best of a thing, and find out the enjoyment of it, as Mr. Omer. He was as radiant, as if his chair, his asthma, and the failure of his limbs, were the various branches of a great invention for enhancing the luxury of a pipe.
‘I see more of the world, I can assure you,’ said Mr. Omer, ‘in this chair, than ever I see out of it. You’d be surprised at the number of people that looks in of a day to have a chat. You really would! There’s twice as much in the newspaper, since I’ve taken to this chair, as there used to be. As to general reading, dear me, what a lot of it I do get through! That’s what I feel so strong, you know! If it had been my eyes, what should I have done? If it had been my ears, what should I have done? Being my limbs, what does it signify? Why, my limbs only made my breath shorter when I used ‘em. And now, if I want to go out into the street or down to the sands, I’ve only got to call Dick, Joram’s youngest ‘prentice, and away I go in my own carriage, like the Lord Mayor of London.’
He half suffocated himself with laughing here.
‘Lord bless you!’ said Mr. Omer, resuming his pipe, ‘a man must take the fat with the lean; that’s what he must make up his mind to, in this life. Joram does a fine business. Ex-cellent business!’
‘I am very glad to hear it,’ said I.
‘I knew you would be,’ said Mr. Omer. ‘And Joram and Minnie are like Valentines. What more can a man expect? What’s his limbs to that!’
His supreme contempt for his own limbs, as he sat smoking, was one of the pleasantest oddities I have ever encountered.
‘And since I’ve took to general reading, you’ve took to general writing, eh, sir?’ said Mr. Omer, surveying me admiringly. ‘What a lovely work that was of yours! What expressions in it! I read it every word—every word. And as to feeling sleepy! Not at all!’
I laughingly expressed my satisfaction, but I must confess that I thought this association of ideas significant.
‘I give you my word and honour, sir,’ said Mr. Omer, ‘that when I lay that book upon the table, and look at it outside; compact in three separate and indiwidual wollumes—one, two, three; I am as proud as Punch to think that I once had the honour of being connected with your family. And dear me, it’s a long time ago, now, ain’t it? Over at Blunderstone. With a pretty little party laid along with the other party. And you quite a small party then, yourself. Dear, dear!’
I changed the subject by referring to Emily. After assuring him that I did not forget how interested he had always been in her, and how kindly he had always treated her, I gave him a general account of her restoration to her uncle by the aid of Martha; which I knew would please the old man. He listened with the utmost attention, and said, feelingly, when I had done:
‘I am rejoiced at it, sir! It’s the best news I have heard for many a day. Dear, dear, dear! And what’s going to be undertook for that unfortunate young woman, Martha, now?’
‘You touch a point that my thoughts have been dwelling on since yesterday,’ said I, ‘but on which I can give you no information yet, Mr. Omer. Mr. Peggotty has not alluded to it, and I have a delicacy in doing so. I am sure he has not forgotten it. He forgets nothing that is disinterested and good.’
‘Because you know,’ said Mr. Omer, taking himself up, where he had left off, ‘whatever is done, I should wish to be a member of. Put me down for anything you may consider right, and let me know. I never could think the girl all bad, and I am glad to find she’s not. So will my daughter Minnie be. Young women are contradictory creatures in some things—her mother was just the same as her—but their hearts are soft and kind. It’s all show with Minnie, about Martha. Why she should consider it necessary to make any show, I don’t undertake to tell you. But it’s all show, bless you. She’d do her any kindness in private. So, put me down for whatever you may consider right, will you be so good? and drop me a line where to forward it. Dear me!’ said Mr. Omer, ‘when a man is drawing on to a time of life, where the two ends of life meet;