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She had read voraciously, curled up in chairs or on rugs, and had waked now and then to his presence and a hot argument. "Why don't you like Dickens, Murray?" "Oh, his people, Anne clowns." "They're not!" "Boors; beggars." He made a gesture of distaste. "They're darlings Mark Tapley and Ruth Pinch. Murray, if I had a beefsteak I'd make a beefsteak pie."
There was more reason in this too, than in the roasting of eggs; for the first objects Mr Tapley recognized when he opened his eyes were his own heels looking down to him, as he afterwards observed, from a nearly perpendicular elevation. 'Well! said Mark, getting himself into a sitting posture, after various ineffectual struggles with the rolling of the ship.
'Oh! returned Mr Pecksniff. 'Thank you. Yes. Who's it from, my good young man? 'The gentleman it comes from wrote his name inside, sir, returned Mr Tapley with extreme politeness. 'I see him a-signing of it at the end, while I was a-waitin'. 'And he said he wanted an answer, did he? asked Mr Pecksniff in his most persuasive manner. Mark replied in the affirmative. 'He shall have an answer.
Nor could he help reverting to it, in his own mind, several times after Tom went away, which he did as soon as this conversation was ended, taking Mr Tapley with him, who, as he laughingly said, might accompany him as far as Fleet Street without injury. 'And what do you mean to do, Mark? asked Tom, as they walked on together. 'Mean to do, sir? returned Mr Tapley. 'Aye.
Among these sleeping voyagers were Martin and Mark Tapley, who, rocked into a heavy drowsiness by the unaccustomed motion, were as insensible to the foul air in which they lay, as to the uproar without. It was broad day when the latter awoke with a dim idea that he was dreaming of having gone to sleep in a four-post bedstead which had turned bottom upwards in the course of the night.
The extraordinary things Mr Tapley did with his own face when any of these detections occurred; the sudden occasions he had to rub his eyes or his nose or his chin; the look of wisdom with which he immediately plunged into the deepest thought, or became intensely interested in the habits and customs of the flies upon the ceiling, or the sparrows out of doors; or the overwhelming politeness with which he endeavoured to hide his confusion by handing the muffin; may not unreasonably be assumed to have exercised the utmost power of feature that even Martin Chuzzlewit the elder possessed.
Plymouth, on the map, appeared to be a place of some importance, but a closer inspection proved that in spite of its breezy name it would take the spirits of a Mark Tapley to withstand its discouraging surroundings. Plymouth is "living in hopes," an English syndicate having an option on certain mining properties in the vicinity; but Nashville is frankly "out of business."
'Then Mark Tapley had not only the great politeness to follow me to this house, but is waiting now, to see me home again. And for that attention, sir, added Mr Tigg, stroking his moustache, 'I can tell you, that Mark Tapley had better in his infancy have been fed to suffocation by Mrs Tapley, than preserved to this time.
'I did, sir, returned Mark; 'and you never see a gentleman more surprised in all your born days than he was. 'What more did you tell him? Mr Chuzzlewit inquired. 'Why, sir, said Mr Tapley, smiling, 'I should have liked to tell him a deal more, but not being able, sir, I didn't tell it him. 'You told him all you knew? 'But it was precious little, sir, retorted Mr Tapley.
He sat down on the chest with his hat on; and crossing his legs and looking up at Mark, said, without removing his pipe: 'Well, Mr Co.! and how do you git along, sir? It may be necessary to observe that Mr Tapley had gravely introduced himself to all strangers, by that name. 'Pretty well, sir; pretty well, said Mark.
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