Ten Thousand a-Year. Volume 1.

by Samuel Warren

"I—wish—you'd—let me—go out—I'm devilish ill"—said Titmouse, faintly. Gammon made a signal to Quirk, who instantly ceased his speech; and coming down to Titmouse, he and Gammon hastily led that gentleman out of the room and into the nearest bed-chamber, where he began to be very ill indeed, and so continued for several hours. Old Quirk, who was a long-headed man, was delighted by this occurrence; for he saw that if he insisted on Titmouse's being put to bed, and passing the night—and perhaps the next day—at Alibi House, it would enable Miss Quirk to bring her attractions to bear upon him effectively, by exhibiting those delicate and endearing attentions which are so soothing and indeed necessary to an invalid. Titmouse continued desperately indisposed during the whole of the night; and, early in the morning, it was thought advisable to send for a medical man, who pronounced Titmouse to be in danger of a bilious fever, and to require rest and care and medical attendance for some days to come. This was rather "too much of a good thing" for old Quirk; but there was no remedy. Foreseeing that Titmouse would be thrown constantly, for some little time to come, into Miss Quirk's company, her prudent parent enjoined upon Mrs. Alias, his sister, the necessity of impressing on his daughter's mind the great uncertainty which, after all, existed as to Titmouse's prospects; and the consequent necessity there was for her to regulate her conduct with a view to either failure or success—to keep her affections, as it were, in abeyance. But the fact was, that Miss Quirk had so often heard the subject of Titmouse's brilliant expectations talked of by her father, and knew so well his habitual prudence and caution, that she looked upon Titmouse's speedy possession of ten thousand a-year as a matter almost of certainty. She was a girl of some natural shrewdness, but of an early inclination to maudlin sentimentality. Had she been blest with the vigilant and affectionate care of a mother as she grew up, (that parent having died when Miss Quirk was but a child,) and been thrown among a set of people different from those who constantly visited at Alibi House—and of whom a very favorable specimen has been laid before the reader—Miss Quirk might really have become a very sensible and agreeable girl. As it was, her manners had contracted a certain coarseness, which at length overspread her whole character; and the selfish and mercenary motives by which she could not fail to perceive all her father's conduct regulated, gradually infected herself. She resolved, therefore, to be governed by the considerations so urgently pressed upon her by both her father and her aunt.

It was several days before Titmouse was allowed, by his medical man, to quit his bedroom; and it is impossible for any woman not to be touched by the sight of a sudden change effected in a man's appearance by severe indisposition and suffering, even be that man so poor a creature as Titmouse. He was very pale, and considerably reduced by the serious nature of the attack, and of the powerful treatment with which it had been encountered. When he made his first appearance before Miss Quirk, one afternoon, with somewhat feeble gait, and a languid air which mitigated, if it did not obliterate, the foolish and conceited expression of his features, she really regarded him with something akin to interest; and, though she might hardly have owned it even to herself, his expected good fortune invested him with a sort of subdued radiance. Ten thousand a-year!—Miss Quirk's heart fluttered! By the time that he was well enough to take his departure, she had, at his request, read over to him nearly half of that truly interesting work,—the Newgate Calendar; she had sung to him and played to him whatever he asked her; and, in short, she felt that if she could but be certain that he would gain his great lawsuit, and step into ten thousand a-year, she could love him. She insisted, on the day of his quitting Alibi House, that he should write in her album; and he very readily complied. It was nearly ten minutes before he could get a pen to suit him. At length he succeeded, and left the following interesting memento of himself in the very centre of a fresh page:—

"Tittlebat Titmouse Is My name,
England Is My Nation,
London Is My dwelling-Place,
And Christ Is My Salvation.
"Tittlebat Titmouse,
"halibi lodge."

Miss Quirk turned pale with astonishment and vexation on seeing this elegant and striking addition to her album. Titmouse, on the contrary, looked at it with no little pride; for having had a capital pen, and his heart being in his task, he had produced what he conceived to be a very superior specimen of penmanship: in fact, the signature was by far the best he had ever written. When he had gone, Miss Quirk was twenty times on the point of tearing out the leaf which had been so dismally disfigured; but on her father coming home in the evening, he laughed heartily—"and as to tearing it out," said he, "let us first see which way the verdict goes!"

Titmouse became, after this, a pretty frequent visitor at Alibi House; growing more and more attached to Miss Quirk, who, however, conducted herself towards him with much judgment. His inscription on her album had done a vast deal towards cooling down the ardor with which she had been disposed to regard even the future owner of ten thousand a-year. Poor Snap seemed to have lost all chance, being treated with greater coldness by Miss Quirk on every succeeding visit to Alibi House. At this he was sorely discomfited; for she would have whatever money her father might die possessed of, besides a commanding interest in the partnership business. 'T was a difficult thing for him to preserve his temper under such circumstances, in his close intimacy with Titmouse, who had so grievously interfered with his prospects.

The indisposition I have been mentioning, prevented Titmouse from paying his promised visit to Satin Lodge. On returning to his lodgings from Alibi House, he found that Tag-rag had either called or sent every day to inquire after him with the most affectionate anxiety; and one or two notes lying on his table apprised him of the lively distress which the ladies of Satin Lodge were enduring on his account, and implored him to lose not a moment in communicating the state of his health, and personally assuring them of his safety. Though the image of Miss Quirk was continually before his eyes, Titmouse, nevertheless, had cunning enough not to drop the slightest hint to the Tag-rags of the true state of his feelings. Whenever any inquiry, with ill-disguised anxiety, was made by Mrs. Tag-rag concerning Alibi House and its inmates, Titmouse would, to be sure, mention Miss Quirk, but in such a careless and slighting way as gave great consolation and encouragement to Tag-rag, his wife, and daughter. "Miss Quirk," he said, "was well enough—but devilish fat!"—When at Mr. Quirk's, he spoke somewhat unreservedly of the amiable inmates of Satin Lodge. These two mansions were almost the only private residences visited by Titmouse, who spent his time much in the way which I have already described. How he got through his days I can hardly tell. At his lodgings he got up very late, and went to bed very late. He never read anything excepting occasionally a song-book lent him by Snap, or a novel, or some such book as "Boxiana," from the circulating library, and the Sunday Flash. Dawdling over his dress and his breakfast, then whistling and humming and looking out of the window, took up so much of every day as he passed at his lodgings. The rest was spent in idling about the town, looking in at shop windows, and now and then going to some petty exhibition—as of sparring, cock-fighting, etc. When evening came, he was generally joined by Snap, when they would spend the night together in the manner I have already described. As often as he dared, he called at Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's office at Saffron Hill, worrying them not a little by inquiries concerning the state of his affairs, and the cause of the delay in commencing proceedings. As for Huckaback, by the way, Titmouse cut him entirely; saying that he was a devilish low fellow, and it was no use knowing him. He made many desperate efforts, both personally and by letter, to renew his acquaintance with Titmouse, but in vain. I may as well mention, by the way, that as soon as Snap got scent of the little money transaction between his friend and Huckaback, he called upon the latter, and tendering him twelve shillings, demanded up the document which he had extorted from Titmouse. Huckaback held out obstinately for some time—but Snap was too much for him, and talked in such a formidable strain about an indictment for a conspiracy (!) and fraud, that Huckaback at length consented, on receiving twelve shillings, to deliver up the document to Snap, on condition of Snap's destroying it on the spot. This was done, and so ended all intercourse—at least on this side of the grave—between Titmouse (as far, at least, as his intentions went) and Huckaback.

The sum allowed by Messrs. Quirk and Gammon to Titmouse, was amply sufficient to have kept him in comfort; but it never would have enabled him to lead the kind of life which I have described—and he would certainly have got very awkwardly involved, had it not been for the kindness of Snap in advancing him, from time to time, such sums as his exigencies required. In fact, matters went on as quietly and smoothly as possible for several months—till about the middle of November; when an event occurred which seemed to threaten the total demolition of all his hopes and expectations.

He had not seen or heard from Messrs. Quirk or Gammon for nearly a fortnight; Snap he had not seen for nearly a week. At length he ventured to make his appearance at Saffron Hill, and was received with a startling coldness—a stern abruptness of manner—which frightened him out of his wits. All the three partners were alike—as for Snap, the contrast between his present and his former manner, was perfectly shocking: he seemed quite another person. The fact was, that the full statement of Titmouse's claims had been laid before Mr. Subtle, the leading counsel retained in his behalf, for his opinion on the case generally, before actually commencing proceedings; and the partners were indeed thunderstruck on receiving that opinion; for Mr. Subtle pointed out a radical deficiency of proof in a matter which, as soon as their attention was thus pointedly called to it, Messrs. Quirk and Gammon were amazed at their having overlooked, and still more at its having escaped the notice of Mr. Tresayle, Mr. Mortmain, and Mr. Frankpledge. Mr. Quirk hurried with the opinion to the first two of these gentlemen; and after a long interview with each, they owned their fears that Mr. Subtle was right, and that the defect seemed incurable; but they easily satisfied their agitated clients, that they—the aforesaid Messrs. Tresayle and Mortmain—had been guilty of neither oversight nor ignorance, inasmuch as the matter in question was one of evidence only—one which a nisi prius lawyer, with a full detail of "proofs" before him, could hardly fail to light upon—but which, it would be found, had been assumed, and taken for granted, in the cases laid before conveyancers. They promised, however, to turn it over in their minds, and to let Messrs. Quirk and Gammon know if anything occurred to vary their impression. A week elapsed, however, and Mr. Tresayle and Mr. Mortmain preserved an ominous silence. As for Frankpledge, he had a knack, somehow or another, of always coming to the conclusion wished and hoped for by his clients; and, after prodigious pains, he wrote a very long opinion, to show that there was nothing in the objection. Neither Mr. Quirk nor Mr. Gammon could understand the process by which Mr. Frankpledge arrived at such a result; but, in despair, they laid his opinion before Mr. Subtle, in the shape of a further "Case for his Opinion." It was in a few days' time returned to them, with only a line or two—thus:—

"I see no reason whatever to depart from the view I have already taken of this case.—J. S."

Here was something like a dead lock, indeed!