“Fred[11]!” said Mr. Swiveller, “We may be good and happy without riches, Fred. Say not another word.”
Mr. Swiveller was in a state of disorder which strongly induced the idea that he had gone to bed in it. It consisted of a brown body-coat[12] with a great many brass buttons up the front, and only one behind; a bright check neckerchief, a plaid waistcoat, soiled white trousers, and a very limp hat, worn with the wrong side foremost, to hide a hole in the brim. The breast of his coat was ornamented with an outside pocket from which there peeped forth the cleanest end of a very large handkerchief. He displayed no gloves, and carried a yellow cane. With all these Mr. Swiveller leaned back in his chair with his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The old man sat himself down in a chair, and, with folded hands, looked sometimes at his grandson and sometimes at his strange companion.
“Fred,” said Mr. Swiveller, speaking in the same audible whisper as before, “is the old man friendly?”
“What does it matter?” returned his friend peevishly.
“No, but is he?” said Dick.
“Yes, of course. What do I care whether he is or not?”
“It’s a devil of a thing, gentlemen,” said Mr. Swiveller, “when relations fall out and disagree. Why should a grandson and grandfather peg away at each other with mutual violence when all might be bliss and concord? Why not join hands and forget it?”
“Hold your tongue,” said his friend.
“Gentlemen,” replied Mr. Swiveller, “Here is a jolly old grandfather who says to his wild young grandson, ‘I have brought you up and educated you, Fred.’ The wild young grandson makes answer to this and says, ‘You’re as rich as rich can be; you’re saving up piles of money for my little sister that lives with you.’ Then the plain question is, isn’t it a pity that this state of things should continue, and how much better would it be for the old gentleman to hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all right and comfortable?”
“Why do you hunt and persecute me, God help me?” said the old man turning to his grandson. “Why do you bring your profligate companions here? How often am I to tell you that I am poor?”
“How often am I to tell you,” returned the other, looking coldly at him, “that I know better?”
“You have chosen your own path,” said the old man. “Follow it. Leave Nell and I to toil and work.”