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NLP Research Group 9

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

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"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

miraculous

How many times the word 'miraculous' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

relating

How many times the word 'relating' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

forgive

How many times the word 'forgive' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

sacrifice

How many times the word 'sacrifice' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

when

How many times the word 'when' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

butter

How many times the word 'butter' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

suspected

How many times the word 'suspected' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

care

How many times the word 'care' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

palestine

How many times the word 'palestine' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

right

How many times the word 'right' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

hope

How many times the word 'hope' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

true

How many times the word 'true' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

allow

How many times the word 'allow' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

fetishists

How many times the word 'fetishists' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

serene

How many times the word 'serene' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

providence

How many times the word 'providence' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

offending

How many times the word 'offending' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

tone

How many times the word 'tone' appears in the text?

"against your bad Angel." "My dear Agnes," I began, "if you mean Steerforth--" "I do, Trotwood," she returned. "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad Angel, or anyone's! He, anything but a guide, a support, and a friend to me! My dear Agnes! Now, is it not unjust, and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the other night?" "I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other night," she quietly replied. "From what, then?" "From many things--trifles in themselves, but they do not seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your character, and the influence he has over you." There was always something in her modest voice that seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound alone. It was always earnest; but when it was very earnest, as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work; I sat seeming still to listen to her; and Steerforth, in spite of all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, "who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engendered, Trotwood,--in how true a remembrance of our having grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution you that you have made a dangerous friend." Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my heart, darkened. "I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, resuming her usual tone, after a little while, "that you will, or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has become a conviction to you; least of all a sentiment that is rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me--I mean" with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt her, and she knew why "as often as you think of me--to think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this?" "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." "Not until then?" said Agnes. I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this mention of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. "And when, Agnes," said I, "will you forgive me the other night?" "When I recall it," said Agnes. She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was unable to take care of myself. "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, "that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?" "No one, Agnes." "Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding up her finger. "No, Agnes, upon my word! There is a lady, certainly, at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I like to talk to--Miss Dartle--but I don't adore her." Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. "Uriah Heep?" said I. "No. Is he in London?" "He comes to the office down-stairs, every day," returned Agnes. "He was in London a week before me. I am afraid on disagreeable business, Trotwood." "On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," said I. "What can that be?" Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those beautiful soft eyes of hers: "I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." "What? Uriah? That mean, fawning fellow, worm himself into such promotion?" I cried, indignantly. "Have you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes? Consider what a connexion it is likely to be. You must speak out. You must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth: and then replied: "You remember our last conversation about papa? It was not long after that--not more than two or three days--when he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." "Forced upon him, Agnes! Who forces it upon him?" "Uriah," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watchful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and taken advantage of them, until--to say all that I mean in a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." There was more that she might have said; more that she knew, or that she suspected; I clearly saw. I could not give her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld it from me, to spare her father. It had long been going on to this, I was sensible: yes, I could not but feel, on the least reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I remained silent. "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. He professes humility and gratitude--with truth, perhaps: I hope so--but his position is really one of power, and I fear he makes a hard use of his power." I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great satisfaction to me. "At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to me," pursued Agnes, "he had told papa that he was going away; that he was very sorry, and unwilling to leave, but that he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the partnership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and ashamed of it." "And how did you receive it, Agnes?" "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said it would lighten the load of his life--I hope it will!--and that it would give me increased opportunities of being his companion. Oh, Trotwood!" cried Agnes, putting her hands before her face, as her tears started on it, "I almost feel as if I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what a multitude of things he has shut out for my sake, and how his anxious thoughts of me have shadowed his life, and weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always upon one idea. If I could ever set this right! If I could ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the cause of his decline!" I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her eyes when I had brought new honours home from school, and I had seen them there when we last spoke about her father, and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took leave of one another; but I had never seen her grieve like this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear sister!" But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed from a serene sky. "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, think first of papa and me!" Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, and Mrs. Waterbrook, who was a large lady--or who wore a large dress: I don't exactly know which, for I don't know which was dress and which was lady--came sailing in. I had a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had seen her in a pale magic lantern; but she appeared to remember me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of intoxication. Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into society. On my replying to both these questions in the negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good opinion; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my leave; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and leaving a card for him in his absence. When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door being opened, plunged into a vapour-bath of haunch of mutton, I divined that I was not the only guest; for I immediately identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before; but well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience made cowards of us both. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he was happy to have the honour of making my acquaintance; and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's--say his aunt. Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name; and her husband was there too: so cold a man, that his head, instead of being grey, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense deference was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female; which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or which, remotely connected with the Treasury. I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his gratitude all the rest of the evening; and whenever I said a word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadaverous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. [Illustration: Uriah persists in hovering near us, at the dinner party.] There were other guests--all iced for the occasion, as it struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him announced as Mr. Traddles! My mind flew back to Salem House; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw the skeletons! I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open; and he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortunate Tommy. I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. "Indeed?" said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. "You are too young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker?" "Oh, I don't mean him!" I returned. "I mean the gentleman named Traddles." "Oh! Aye, aye! Indeed!" said my host, with much diminished interest. "Possibly." "If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were together, and he was an excellent fellow." "Oh yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, nodding his head with an air of toleration. "Traddles is quite a good fellow." "It's a curious coincidence," said I. "It is really," returned my host, "quite a coincidence, that Traddles should be here at all: as Traddles was only invited this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering that I knew nothing at all about him; and I inquired what Mr. Traddles was by profession. "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow--nobody's enemy but his own." "Is he his own enemy?" said I, sorry to hear this. "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his mouth, and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was recommended to me, by a professional friend. Oh yes. Yes. He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's way, in the course of the year; something--for him--considerable. Oh yes. Yes." I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and a patron, on the people down in the trenches. My reflections on this theme were still in progress when dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have been since it gave me an opportunity of making myself known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great fervor: while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over the bannisters. Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in two remote corners: he in the glare of a red velvet lady; I, in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, and the conversation was about the Aristocracy--and Blood. Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weakness, it was Blood. It occurred to me several times that we should have got on better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so exceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had) with the law business of the Bank; and what with the Bank, and what with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were few enough, to be sure; but as we always fell back upon Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her nephew himself. We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation assumed such a sanguine complexion. "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. "Other things are all very well in their way, but give me Blood!" "Oh! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, "so satisfactory to one! There is nothing that is so much one's _beau-ideal_ of--of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, but there are _some_) that would prefer to do what _I_ should call bow down before idols. Positively Idols! Before services, intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with it in a chin, and we say, 'There it is! That's Blood!' It is an actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. "Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking round the board with an imbecile smile, "we can't forego Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, perhaps, in point of education and behaviour, and may go a little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people into a variety of fixes--and all that--but deuce take it, it's delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em! Myself, I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't!" This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentleman into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. "That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Gulpidge," said Mr. Henry Spiker. "Do you mean the D. of A.'s?" said Mr. Spiker. "The C. of B.'s?" said Mr. Gulpidge. Mr. Spiker raised his eye-brows, and looked much concerned. "When the question was referred to Lord--I needn't name him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself-- "I understand," said Mr. Spiker, "N." Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded--"was referred to him, his answer was, 'Money, or no release.'" "Lord bless my soul!" cried Mr. Spiker. "'Money, or no release,'" repeated Mr. Gulpidge firmly. "The next in reversion--you understand me?" "K." said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. "--K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do it." Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. "So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, throwing himself back in his chair. "Our friend Waterbrook will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on account of the magnitude of the interests involved." Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a confidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence of his own; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge's turn to be surprised, and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous interests involved in the conversation; and our host regarded us with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. I was very glad indeed to get up-stairs to Agnes, and to talk with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much conversation with him as I could have wished; but we exchanged addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very slightly shook her head when only I observed her. As she was not among people with whom I believed she could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that she was going away within a few days, though I was sorry at the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night; but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more than ever, that she was my better Angel; and if I thought of her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought no harm. I have said that the company were all gone; but I ought to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denomination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He was close behind me when I went down-stairs. He was close beside me, when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remembrance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined,--"I beg your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so natural,--I don't like that you should put a constraint upon yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." "There is no constraint in the case," said I. "Will you come?" "I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. "Well, then, come along!" said I. I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without conversing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, and seemed to have made no advance in that labour, when we got to my place. I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so like a frog in mine, that I was tempted to drop it and run away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I conducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to him; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block-tin vessel, in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. "Oh, really, Master Copperfield,--I mean Mister Copperfield," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I never could have expected! But, one way and another, so many things happen to me which I never could have expected, I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--_I_ should say, Mister Copperfield?" As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless red eyes, which looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to disguise what I so strongly felt. "You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my expectations, Master Copperfield,--I should say, Mister Copperfield?" observed Uriah. "Yes," said I, "something." "Ah! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it!" he quietly returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, thank you, Master--Mister Copperfield!" I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of anything concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only drank my coffee. "What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copperfield!" pursued Uriah. "Dear me, what a prophet you have proved yourself to be! Don't you remember saying to me once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep! _You_ may not recollect it; but when a person is umble, Master Copperfield, a person treasures such things up!" "I recollect talking about it," said I, "though I certainly did not think it very likely then." "Oh! who _would_ have thought it likely, Mister Copperfield!" returned Uriah, enthusiastically, "I am sure I didn't myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the fire, as I looked at him. "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he presently resumed, "may be the instruments of good. I am glad to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, and that I may be more so. Oh what a worthy man he is, Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been!" "I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, rather pointedly, "on all accounts." "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all! You don't remember your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but _I_ remember how you said one day that everybody must admire her, and how I thanked you for it! You have forgot that, I have no doubt, Master Copperfield?" "No," said I, drily. "Oh how glad I am, you have not!" exclaimed Uriah. "To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of ambition

partnership

How many times the word 'partnership' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

oil

How many times the word 'oil' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

joints

How many times the word 'joints' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

grave

How many times the word 'grave' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

appeared

How many times the word 'appeared' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

mourning

How many times the word 'mourning' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

esquire

How many times the word 'esquire' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

lighted

How many times the word 'lighted' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

david

How many times the word 'david' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

golden

How many times the word 'golden' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

every

How many times the word 'every' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

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How many times the word 'authorized' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

loan

How many times the word 'loan' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

ivory

How many times the word 'ivory' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

dripping

How many times the word 'dripping' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

chatelet

How many times the word 'chatelet' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

quantity

How many times the word 'quantity' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

erratic

How many times the word 'erratic' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

coat

How many times the word 'coat' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

profession

How many times the word 'profession' appears in the text?

'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription; always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house! Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully proves to you that any connection on your part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence and stability. This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman, room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room; the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg. 'Sir!' replied the porter. 'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to see him.' Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By your leave there! By your leave!' He soon returned with the gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber. 'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am glad to see you.' 'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr Montague.' The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do you know!' 'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell. 'Sir!' 'Lunch.' 'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll very soon come under my hands. Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr Crimple's leg--' The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the doctor, in the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 'In Mr Crimple's leg, you'll observe,' pursued the doctor, turning back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, 'where Mr Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is--that is to say, between the bone and the socket--a certain quantity of animal oil.' 'What do you pick MY leg out for?' said Mr Crimple, looking with something of an anxious expression at his limb. 'It's the same with other legs, ain't it?' 'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.' 'But I do mind,' said David. 'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man!' The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and looked triumphantly at the chairman. 'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr Crimple's stomach is?' Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately below his waistcoat. 'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.' 'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said Crimple. 'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.S.,"--who was so overcome by the idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality of this important organ, that when I assured him on my professional reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and said, "Jobling, God bless you!" Immediately afterwards he became speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.' 'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave! Refreshment for the Board-room!' 'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, Mr Montague. The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr Crimple?' The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance of the porter and under-porter with a tray covered with a snow-white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but go on, go on.' As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for description. His female patients could never praise him too highly; and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life!' Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, after this manner: 'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.' ('Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) 'If you put any question to me, my dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics of a medical man.' ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.) 'Very good, my dear sir, so the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it. A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are perfection. In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such a constitution as his!' ('Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life,' thinks the patient; 'and upon my word and honour, I'll consider of it!') 'Commission to you, doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this morning, eh?' said Crimple, looking, when they had finished lunch, over some papers brought in by the porter. 'Well done!' 'Jobling, my dear friend,' said Tigg, 'long life to you.' 'No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the commission,' said the doctor, 'I haven't really. It's picking your pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing else. Caution is my weak side, that's the truth; and always was from a boy. That is,' said the doctor, filling his glass, 'caution in behalf of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years--that's quite another question.' He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it; but feeling that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the wine. 'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a funeral. You have not seen anything of--of THAT party, Mr Montague, have you?' handing him a card. 'He is not buried, I hope?' said Tigg, as he took it. 'The honour of his company is not requested if he is.' 'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably connected with that very occasion though.' 'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.' The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a card to the Medical Officer. 'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising. 'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg. 'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.' 'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.' 'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling. 'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand and smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit. My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile; 'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.' Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye. But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good-bye!' With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and proceeded in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee; by feeling their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them in the chest, and so forth; though, if he didn't well know beforehand that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friend considered him; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation. Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--' 'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting. 'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his lookout. I don't stand committed by that.' Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence. 'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, you know,' said Jonas. 'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it.' It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit rejoined: 'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to set about it, I WILL say.' 'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I hope.' Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 'The truth is--' 'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's so like humbug.' Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 'The long and the short of it is--' 'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!' '--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high for my taste.' As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in his pleasantest manner: 'Take a glass of wine.' 'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but it wouldn't do for me.' 'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;' And then resumed, jocosely: 'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.' 'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that she's going to die directly.' 'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!' 'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the Company's going on. That's the--' 'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't use that Sunday School expression, please!' 'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short of it is, what's the security?' 'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--' 'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas. 'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short. 'I should hope so.' He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in his ear: 'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!' It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better opportunity. 'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect? You've seen me before?' 'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?' 'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg 'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 'You don't mean when--' 'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted.' 'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help for it.' 'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead! You're very like him.' Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace, perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. 'Do you find me at all changed since that time?' he asked. 'Speak plainly.' Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels; and said 'Rather, ecod!' 'Was I at all seedy in those days?' asked Montague.

see

How many times the word 'see' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

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How many times the word 'lucien' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

spectacles

How many times the word 'spectacles' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

lived

How many times the word 'lived' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

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How many times the word 'total' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

bond

How many times the word 'bond' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

thirdly

How many times the word 'thirdly' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

died

How many times the word 'died' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

cheap

How many times the word 'cheap' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

shutting

How many times the word 'shutting' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

time

How many times the word 'time' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

policies

How many times the word 'policies' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

whose

How many times the word 'whose' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

eight

How many times the word 'eight' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

assure

How many times the word 'assure' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

week

How many times the word 'week' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

anyone

How many times the word 'anyone' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

its

How many times the word 'its' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

sufferings

How many times the word 'sufferings' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

shoulder

How many times the word 'shoulder' appears in the text?

'Precious seedy,' said Jonas. Mr Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the cab were in attendance. 'Neat; perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is?' 'No.' 'Mine. Do you like this room?' 'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas. 'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums, instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join us!' Jonas stared at him in amazement. 'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to the multitude without. 'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards looking at him again. 'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here; knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha! Join us. You shall come in cheap.' Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint; yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast; 'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!' 'I will' said Jonas. 'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author, any common thing you like.' 'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!' 'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?' 'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really do it?' 'Do it!' repeated the chairman. 'B's hard up, my good fellow, and will do anything. Don't you see? It's my idea.' 'It does you honour. I'm blest if it don't,' said Jonas. 'I think it does,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--' 'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas. 'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet, 'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!' Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his peculiar vein of humour. 'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!' 'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful. 'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment! Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you know; repeated every year; capital fun!' 'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die--that's what I am thinking of.' 'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that brought us down to a grand piano.' 'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas. 'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.' 'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?' 'At what time?' asked Jonas. 'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join us!' 'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be looked into first.' 'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!' Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!' Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then said, raising his voice: 'Is Nadgett in the office there?' 'Here he is, sir.' And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.' Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laureled conqueror on record. But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-deceit by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas was too sharp for him; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed him in that, instantly. It was with a faltering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when the appointed hour arrived. Mr Bailey quickly answered to the summons. He was not proud and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas; but Jonas had forgotten him. 'Mr Montague at home?' 'I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your hat up along with you, or leave it here?' Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there. 'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation. 'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!' Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I believe?' 'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!' 'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.' Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart, and whispered behind his hand: 'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--capital man to know--oh, capital man!' 'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord Nobley say to that?' 'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say. Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a good fellow Nobley is!' 'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow, and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"' 'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done it!' 'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--' 'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke, "Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He knows." "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip. Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!" "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is. Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in town, Pip." And so I do, to this day.' The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor. The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed him. 'A glass of wine?' 'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that as you like! It's too good to refuse.' 'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf. 'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip. 'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!' 'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas. 'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!' 'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?' 'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you do this every day, do you?' 'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said, "he shall take us in the rough!" 'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the table. 'This don't cost a trifle.' 'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.' Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?' 'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in the same way?' said Tigg. 'Quite different,' retorted Jonas. 'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope?' 'Not a bit,' said Jonas. 'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?' 'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.' 'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!' Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth; and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas; 'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!' It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections. 'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured in a reminiscence. 'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort of fellows.' 'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf. 'Was he?' said Tigg. 'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount, who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name, what's the editor's name?" "Wolf." "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf. We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says." It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.' 'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug, Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs? Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he DID stand by me, handsomely.' The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified. Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost; and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness. Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly, after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most friendly manner that the advantages of their respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said 'Be one of us!' And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them, and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood treat,' there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr Jonas upon one of the sofas. As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps. Has Nadgett been here to-night?' 'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.' 'Why did he do that?' 'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were out of bed.' 'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!' They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, had been already removed and was travelling downstairs. To obtain a foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr Bailey skipped back to the door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. It was the merry one herself. But sadly, strangely altered! So careworn and dejected, so faltering and full of fear; so fallen, humbled, broken; that to have seen her quiet in her coffin would have been a less surprise. She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, when she opened it. 'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you? What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?' In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing in her poor dim eyes. 'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter. I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little swipey, you know.' Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling. 'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin, to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-coming to see us?' 'No,' she said, faintly. 'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come out, a-catching cold

dirigibles

How many times the word 'dirigibles' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

nikko

How many times the word 'nikko' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

here

How many times the word 'here' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

lion

How many times the word 'lion' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

locked

How many times the word 'locked' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

keeping

How many times the word 'keeping' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

seize

How many times the word 'seize' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

utmost

How many times the word 'utmost' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

alcalde

How many times the word 'alcalde' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

ty

How many times the word 'ty' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

toward

How many times the word 'toward' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

cloud

How many times the word 'cloud' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

arms

How many times the word 'arms' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

horrible

How many times the word 'horrible' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

series

How many times the word 'series' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

yells

How many times the word 'yells' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

concentrates

How many times the word 'concentrates' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

hall

How many times the word 'hall' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

she

How many times the word 'she' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

outside

How many times the word 'outside' appears in the text?

(CONTINUED) 101. CONTINUED: CU -- Hour glass -- CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy sobbing against the Witch's throne -- she cries out -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the crystal -- Auntie Em's image appears as she calls for Dorothy -- Dorothy reacts, looks into the crystal -- Auntie Em fades out and the Witch fades in -- she mocks Dorothy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward to CU of Witch, then UP TO LEFT to Dorothy as she draws away from the crystal -- sobs -- DOROTHY I'm frightened, I'm frightened, Auntie Em -- I'm frightened! AUNTIE EM Dorothy -- Dorothy -- where are you? It's me -- it's Auntie Em. We're trying to find you. Where are you? DOROTHY I -- I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em. I'm locked up in the Witch's castle....and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em! Oh, Auntie Em, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back! WITCH Auntie Em -- Auntie Em -- come back! I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty! (laughs) LAP DISSOLVE TO: MS -- Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion moving along among the rocks -- they stop -- CAMERA STARTS forward -- CU -- Toto barks -- MCS -- Scarecrow quiets Toto -- then CAMERA PANS up over the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man as three Winkie Guards appear over the rocks in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS back as they start forward toward the three, who are whispering together -- SCARECROW Sssh -- Toto -- be quiet -- (etc.) MCS -- Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man whispering together -- the Lion looks around, sees the Winkies in back of them -- CAMERA BOOMS back as the Lion tries to speak -- but is speechless with fright -- the Guards jump forward, seize the three and they disappear behind the rocks -- legs and arms seen as they fight -- CU -- Hour Glass -- MLS- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy trying to open one of the doors -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow and Lion enter up from behind the rocks -- all are dressed in Winkie Guard uniforms - they speak - (CONTINUED) 102. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW Whew! That wasn't my plan - but something happened, didn't it? TIN MAN You put up a great fight, Lion. SCARECROW Yeah -- TIN MAN I don't know what we'd have done without you. LION Hah. I - I must have bitten you a couple of times. MLS -- Winkie Guards marching about in the Castle courtyard -- MCS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow watching from the rocks -- they speak -- come forward behind the rocks as the CAMERA TRUCKS back with them -- SCARECROW Come on -- I've got another idea. LION Do -- do you think it'll be polite -- dropping in like this? TIN MAN Come on -- come on. LS -- The Winkies marching into the castle -- the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow join the end of the line, the Lion in the rear -- as they march toward the castle, the Lion has trouble keeping his tail under the uniform -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they enter the castle, Toto following -- the drawbridge is pulled up -- LS - Int. Entrance Hall of Castle - camera shooting down from high set-up as the Winkies march into the hall - CAMERA BOOMS down on the file to Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Lion, who are at the end of the file CU - Hour Glass - MCS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy seated on steps near the crystal - she sobs - Int. Hallway -- LS -- The Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man duck back into a recess in the wall -- the rest of the Winkies continue on to exit -- TIN MAN Where do we go now? LION Yeah. (CONTINUED) 103. CONTINUED: (3) CS -- Toto barking on steps -- he turns, starts up them CS -- Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow -- Scarecrow points o.s., speaks - - he exits -- SCARECROW There! LS -- Toto runs up the stairs from the hall as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man run forward from b.g. and start up the stairs after Toto -- Upper Hallway -- LS -- Toto runs in from left -- CAMERA PANS right slightly as he runs to door and starts to scratch at it -- the three rescuers enter -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as they speak -- SCARECROW Wait! We'd better make sure. Dorothy, are you in there? MS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy standing by window -- she reacts to hearing Lion o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, TRUCKS with her as she runs to the door -- yells -- LION o.s. It's us! DOROTHY Yes, it's me! She's locked me in! MCS - Dorothy at door - she speaks to the others o.s. - DOROTHY Oh, I knew you'd get here in time! MCS -- Int. Hallway -- The Lion speaks to Scarecrow and Tin Man as they move excitedly about -- LION Listen, fellows. It's her. We gotta get her out! Open this door! CS - Int. Tower Room - Dorothy standing by door - she reacts as she hears the three outside the door - LION o.s. Open the door! Open.... MCS - The three outside the door push about madly - then stop their efforts at the door as the Scarecrow and Tie Man bawl out the Lion - he pouts - LION ...the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! Open the door! TIN MAN Don't push! SCARECROW Stop pushing! (CONTINUED) 104. CONTINUED: (4) LION Oh - I was only trying to help. Ohhh! CS -- Int. Tower Room -- Dorothy at door -- she pleads to the three on the outside -- looks o.s. to hour glass -- DOROTHY Oh, hurry -- please hurry! CU -- Hour Glass -- very little sand left in the top -- DOROTHY o.s. The hour glass is almost emp-.... CS -- Dorothy at door -- She speaks to those on other side -- DOROTHY ...ty! TIN MAN o.s. Stand back! MS - Int. Hallway - The Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow remove their Winkie outfits - Tin Man starts to chop in the door - CS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy steps back from the door as it is chopped in -- CAMERA PANS right -- MS -- Int. Hallway -- The Tin Man chopping the door down MCS - - Int. Room -- Dorothy anxiously watching -- she looks at the hour glass o.s. -- CU -- Hour glass -- not much sand remaining -- MCS -- Dorothy reacts -- MLS - Int. Hallway - Scarecrow and Lion in f.g. watch as the Tin Man breaks the door in - MCS -- Int. Room -- Dorothy reacts, rushes to left - - CAMERA PANS -- MLS -- Int. Hallway -- Dorothy rushes out the door of room -- greets the Tin Man, Lion, Scarecrow and Toto -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- they rush out to left -- PAN left -- DOROTHY Oh -- Oh -- Oh! Toto -- Toto! LION Did they hurtcha? DOROTHY Lion, darling -- I knew you'd come! TIN MAN Dorothy! DOROTHY I knew you would! SCARECROW Hurry -- we've got no time to lose! (CONTINUED) 105. CONTINUED: (5) Int. Entrance Hall -- camera shooting up from side of stairs - - LS -- Dorothy, Lion, Tin Man, and Scarecrow enter at top of stairs -- CAMERA PANS with them as they run down the stairs -- they rush toward the entrance, but the huge doors swing shut in front of them -- MS -- The Four hammer at the door -- then react, turn and look up to right f.g. as the Witch speaks o.s. -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward -- DOROTHY Oh! WITCH o.s. Going so soon? I wouldn't.... CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- WITCH ...hear of it. Why, my little par-.... MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and the Lion by the door -- WITCH o.s. ...ty's just beginning! MLS -- Witch and Nikko at top of stairs -- she laughs -- CAMERA PANS down to reveal the Winkies rushing into the entrance hall -- MCS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Dorothy and Lion huddled by door -- the Lion speaks - - LION Trapped! Trapped like mice -- er -- rats! MLS - The Winkies advancing - MCS - The Four huddled by door - Tin Man speaks to Lion, who tries to roar - TIN MAN Go ahead - do something! Roar! Roar! MCS - The Winkie Guards advance with a menacing roar - MCS - The Four huddled against door - the Lion reacts, speaks - LION What good'll it do us? ELS -- Shooting down from the top of the hall, past the Witch on landing in f.g. to the Winkies advancing to the four huddled against the door -- the Winkies roar -- CS -- Witch and Nikko looking down from the top of stairs -- she yells down to her Winkies -- WITCH That's right. Don't hurt them right away. We'll let.... MCU - Dorothy backed against the door - Toto in her arms - tears flowing down her cheeks - WITCH o.s. ...them think about it a little, first! (CONTINUED) 106. CONTINUED: (6) MS -- The Winkies growl as they shove out their spears CU -- Toto in Dorothy's arms -- he growls at the Winkies o.s. -- CU -- Scarecrow looks up o.s. -- WITCH o.s. How does it feel.... MS -- What the Scarecrow sees: CAMERA PANS up along the rope that holds the huge candelabra up over the hall -- WITCH o.s. ...my little visitor? CU -- Scarecrow looking about up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS, PULLS back as he steps over to where the rope is fastened to the wall -- WITCH o.s. Can you imagine what I'm going to do to you? MCS -- The Witch picks up the hour glass - - hurls it down o.s. as she laughs -- ELS -- Full shot of the entrance hall as the hour glass crashes to the floor below -- bursts into a cloud of flame and smoke -- LION o.s. Here we go, boys! MCS- The Scarecrow seizes the Tin Man's axe and chops the candelabra rope with it -- DOROTHY Oh! ELS -- High angle from above the candelabra as the huge chandelier crashes down on the Winkies below -- DOROTHY Oh! CS -- The Witch screams down to her Winkies -- WITCH Seize.... MLS -- Shooting past the Winkies in the f.g. as they struggle under the candelabra to the Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man and Dorothy as they run out of hall -- CAMERA PANS left -- WITCH o.s. ...them! Stop them, you fools! MLS -- The Witch rushes forward down the stairs -- yells at her Winkies -- CAMERA PANS her down the stairs, then she leads the Winkies out of the hall -- WITCH They've gotten away! Stop them! Stop them! Int. Corridor -- as the Witch and Winkies pass out of shot, Dorothy and her friends peer out from behind a recess, then run back into the hall as they exit left LS - The four rush back into the hall - CAMERA TRUCKS back to left - they look about - the Scarecrow speaks - SCARECROW It's no use trying the doors again! Which room is it? (CONTINUED) 107. CONTINUED: (7) MLS - The Winkies running back through the corridor - MLS - Dorothy, Scarecrow, Lion, Tin Man react as they hear the Winkies approaching - CAMERA PANS left as they start up the stairs - LION They're coming back! DOROTHY Ohhh! SCARECROW Oh - upstairs, quickly! TIN MAN Go on! MLS -- The Witch comes running back into the hall -- her Winkies right behind her -- she gives them orders -- the Guards separate -- WITCH There they go! Ah -- now we've got them! Half you go that way -- half you go that way! ELS -- camera shooting up to the Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow just disappearing at the top of stairs -- WITCH o.s. Hurry! Hurry! Go! MLS - The Witch hits her Guards with her broomstick in an effort to speed them up - CAMERA PANS left slightly as they rush up the stairs - WITCH Go! Go! (etc.) ELS -- Ext. Battlements -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man run down the steps from the tower in the b.g. -- they run along the battlement to exit left -- LS -- The Foursome running forward along battlement -- they stop -- yell -- then CAMERA BOOMS right with them as they run along toward second tower -- they stop, Dorothy screams -- LION Where -- where do we go now? SCARECROW This way! Come on! ELS -- A Group of Winkies coming out of the tower at the head of steps in b.g. (CONTINUED) 108. CONTINUED: (8) -- they roar menacingly -- LS -- Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion and Dorothy run along battlement to left as CAMERA BOOMS with them -- LS -- The other group of Winkies appears in the other tower -- they mumble -- charge forward -- LS -- One Group of Winkies charges down the steps in the f.g. as we see the other group come forward along the battlement in b.g. -- CAMERA BOOMS to left -- LS -- In. Hall -- Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion rush down the hall to b.g. -- are confronted by Winkies -- Dorothy screams -- more Winkies rush in from left f.g., trapping the four -- MCS -- The Four -- they react as they look o.s. to f.g. -- Dorothy screams -- they turn, run back -- LS -- In. Tower -- The Four run to left as Winkies pour in from right -- to other Winkies enter from left -- Dorothy screams as they are captured -- CAMERA PANS right as they back up against the table in f.g. -- Winkies surround them -- MLS -- The Witch enters in b.g. -- comes forward to her Winkies in f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back as she comes up to Scarecrow, Dorothy and the Tin Man -- she speaks to them -- WITCH Well -- ring around the rosy -- a pocket full of spears! Thought you'd be pretty foxy, didn't you? Well, I'm going to start in on you right here - one after the other! CS -- Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- Lion hiding behind the Tin Man -- all tremble with fear -- WITCH o.s. And the last to go will see the first three go before her! And your mangy little dog, too! MCU -- Witch smiles as she looks up o.s. -- CAMERA PANS up as she holds her broom up to the torch on wall -- CS -- The Four react with fear -- MCU -- The broomstick catches fire -- CAMERA PANS down to the Witch as she lowers it -- speaks -- WITCH How about a little fire, Scarecrow? CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow -- all react as the broom is thrust into the scene and catches the Scarecrow's arm on fire -- he shouts, Dorothy screams -- Dorothy picks up a bucket as the CAMERA PULLS back, throws the water on Scarecrow -- SCARECROW No -- No -- No -- No! DOROTHY Ohh! OHH! OHH! SCARECROW Help! I'm burning! I'm burning! I'm burning! Help! Help! Help! (CONTINUED) 109. CONTINUED: (9) MS -- Dorothy throwing water at Scarecrow -- some of it hits the Witch in the face -- Tin Man standing at left with the Lion -- SCARECROW Help! MCU -- The water hits the Witch in the face -- MS -- The Witch screams as the water hits her -- Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow look at her -- MLS -- The Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow watch the Witch as she screams and melts away -- camera shooting past Winkies in the f.g. -- the Witch curses as she disappears, finally only her cloak and hat remain on the floor -- her voice fades away -- WITCH Ohhh -- you cursed brat! Look what you've done! I'm melting! Melting! Oh - - what a world -- what a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness!? Ohhh! Look out! Look out! I'm going. Ohhhh! Ohhhhhh.... CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow looking down o.s. amazed -- CS -- Shooting down to the Witch's cloak and hat smoldering on the floor -- Toto enters from left and sniffs at them -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as Nikko enters, growls -- CS -- Leader of Winkies speaks to the Four o.s. in f.g. -- other Winkies in b.g. -- LEADER She's....she's....dead! You've killed her! CS -- Lion, Tin Man, Dorothy and Scarecrow react -- Dorothy speaks, points to the Scarecrow -- DOROTHY I -- I didn't mean to kill her....really I didn't! It's...it's just that he was on fire! MLS -- The Four standing in front of the Winkies -- the Leader turns to the others and speaks -- the Winkies kneel as they hail Dorothy -- LEADER Hail to Dorothy! The Wicked Witch is dead! (CONTINUED) 110. CONTINUED: (10) WINKIES Hail! Hail to Dorothy -- The Wicked Witch is dead! CS - Dorothy, with Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow in back of her - she speaks - DOROTHY You mean, you're...you're all happy about it? CS - The Leader raises up his head - speaks to Dorothy o.s. in f.g. - other Winkies in back of him - LEADER Very happy - now she won't be able to hit us with a broom.... CS - Dorothy, with Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow in back of her - Dorothy turns to the Tin Man - LEADER o.s. ...anymore! DOROTHY The broom! MLS -- The Leader gives the broom to Dorothy as the Scarecrow, Lion and Tin Man react with joy -- CAMERA TRUCKS forward as Dorothy speaks to them -- the Winkies speak -- they sing - Dorothy and her friends dance about, then exit out to b.g. - DOROTHY May we have it? LEADER Please! And take it with you! DOROTHY Oh -- thank you so much! Now we can go back to the Wizard and tell him the Wicked Witch is dead! LEADER The Wicked Witch is dead! ALL The Wicked Witch is dead! The Wicked Witch is dead! Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead. Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch. Hail - Hail - the Wicked Witch is dead. (CONTINUED) 111. CONTINUED: (11) Hail - Hail - the Witch is dead Which old Witch? - the Wicked Witch.... LAP DISSOLVE TO: ELS - In Emerald City - Streets are thronged with people - the procession enters from b.g., led by a band - ALL (sing) Hail - hail - the Wicked Witch is dead! MLS - The Band marching along the crowded streets - they turn, exit out to left f.g. - ALL (sing) Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - The Procession comes forward through the crowded streets - surrounded by flower girls are Dorothy, the Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow - the Scarecrow is carrying the Witch's broomstick - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head Rub your eyes Get out of bed Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead! MS - CAMERA TRUCKS back with the Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and the Scarecrow as they come forward through the singing crowds - they wave, smile, etc. - ALL (sing) She's gone where the Goblins go Below -- below -- below! Yo ho, let's open.... LS - The Procession passes girls lined up in front of the palace - the four pass along in front of them at left - all wave greetings - ALL (sing) ...up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry-oh Sing it high Sing it.... ELS - Full shot of the area in front of Palace - the Procession files around in it to the right - ALL (sing) ...low. (CONTINUED) 112. CONTINUED: (12) Let them know The Wicked Witch is dead! Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old.... ELS - CAMERA BOOMS back to left with the Procession as it comes forward - ALL (sing) ...witch? The Wicked Witch Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead! ELS - CAMERA PANS right with the Procession as it marches toward the palace - CAMERA BOOMS around to one of the huge crystals as the Tin Man, Dorothy, Scarecrow and Lion enter through the palace gates - ALL (sing) Wake up, you sleepy head. Rub your eyes - Get out of bed. Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the Goblins go - Below - below - below. No ho, let's open up and sing And ring the bells out. Ding Dong! The merry- oh Sing it high -- LAP DISSOLVE TO: Int. Throne room -- LS -- Throne -- Oz's voice booms out as the CAMERA PULLS back to reveal the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Lion and Tin Man standing in front of it -- OZ'S VOICE Can I believe my eyes? Why.... MLS -- The Four trembling with fear -- CAMERA PULLS back as Dorothy comes forward with the broomstick and places it on the steps to throne -- she speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...have you come back? DOROTHY Please, sir. We've done what you told us. We've brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West. We melted her. OZ'S VOICE Oh .... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...you liquidated her, eh? Very.... (CONTINUED) 113. CONTINUED: (13) MS -- Dorothy smiling, with the Tin Man, Lion and the Scarecrow in back of her also looking pleased -- she speaks -- they react as Oz speaks -- OZ'S VOICE ...resourceful! DOROTHY Yes, sir. So we'd like you to keep your promise to us, if you please, sir. OZ'S VOICE Not so fast! Not.... MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE ...so fast! I'll have to give the matter a little thought. Go away and come back tomorrow! MS -- Dorothy, with her three friends behind her -- she reacts, speaks -- the Tin Man and the Lion put in a word for her -- DOROTHY Tomorrow? Oh, but I want to go home now. TIN MAN You've had plenty of time already! LION Yeah! MLS -- Throne -- OZ'S VOICE Do not arouse the wrath.... MCU -- Toto at Dorothy's feet -- CAMERA PANS right with him as he runs to a curtain that hangs near the throne steps -- OZ'S VOICE ...of the Great and Powerful Oz! I said - - come back tomorrow! MS -- The Four -- Dorothy speaks as she looks o.s. to right f.g. -- CAMERA PULLS back to right to enter the curtain where Toto ran in the b.g. -- it shakes as Toto starts to pull it back -- DOROTHY If you were really great and powerful, you'd keep your promises! (CONTINUED) 114. CONTINUED: (14) OZ'S VOICE Do you presume to criticize the.... MLS -- Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- his back to the camera OZ'S VOICE ...Great Oz? You ungrateful creatures! MLS -- The Four react with fear -- Scarecrow looks o.s. to right -- points for Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE Think yourselves lucky that I'm.... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard at the controls of the throne apparatus -- the Four react as they see him after Dorothy calls their attention to him -- OZ'S VOICE ...giving you audience tomorrow, instead of.... MS -- The Wizard at the controls -- his back to camera -- he speaks into the microphone -- he turns, looks o.s. to f.g. and sees that the curtain is gone -- reacts and turns back to the controls -- OZ'S VOICE ...twenty years from now. Oh -- oh oh! The Great Oz has spoken! Oh -- Oh --- .... LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Wizard as he pulls back the curtain -- OZ'S VOICE ... Oh .... Oh .... MS - The Wizard peers out from behind the curtain - MS - Tin Man, Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow react as they look at the Wizard o.s. to right - Dorothy speaks DOROTHY Who are you? MCU - The Wizard peering out from curtain - he ducks back out of sight and his voice booms out again - OZ'S VOICE Oh - I - Pay no.... (CONTINUED) 115. CONTINUED: (15) LS -- Shooting past the Four at left to the Curtain in b.g. -- Dorothy goes over to it and starts to pull it aside -- OZ'S VOICE ...attention to that man behind the curtain. Go - before I lose my temper! The Great and Powerful ---.... MCS -- Dorothy pulls back the curtain to reveal the Wizard at the controls -- he reacts as he sees Dorothy -- Dorothy questions him -- the Wizard starts to speak into the microphone -- then turns weakly back to Dorothy -- CAMERA PULLS back slightly as the Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man enter and stand behind Dorothy -- OZ'S VOICE ... -- Oz -- has spoken! DOROTHY Who are you? OZ'S VOICE Well, I -- I -- I am the Great and Powerful -- Wizard of Oz. DOROTHY You are? WIZARD Uhhhh -- yes... DOROTHY I don't believe you! WIZARD No, I'm afraid it's true. There's no other Wizard except me. MCS -- Dorothy and her three friends react -- Camera shooting past the Wizard at left -- the Scarecrow and Lion speak angrily -- SCARECROW You humbug! LION Yeah! CS -- Wizard -- shooting past Dorothy, the Lion and Scarecrow -- the Wizard speaks -- (CONTINUED) 116. CONTINUED: (16) WIZARD Yes-s-s -- that...that's exactly so. I'm a humbug! DOROTHY Oh .... MCU -- Dorothy -- Tin Man and Scarecrow behind her -- DOROTHY ...you're a very bad man! MCU -- The Wizard reacts, speaks humbly -- WIZARD Oh, no, my dear -- I'm -- I'm a very good man. I'm just a very bad Wizard. MCU - Scarecrow and Dorothy - Scarecrow threatens the Wizard o.s. - SCARECROW You'd better be good enough to send Dorothy back to Kansas! CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Uh - now, please don't be angry with me. I'll - I'll do anything you say, only... only if you don't shout at me. It makes me nervous! SCARECROW It makes you nervous? WIZARD Yes. MCS -- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion -- shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. SCARECROW What about us? WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW What about the heart that you promised Tin Man --? (CONTINUED) 117. CONTINUED: (17) WIZARD Well, I -- SCARECROW -- And the courage that you promised Cowardly Lion? WIZARD Well, I -- TIN MAN AND LION And Scarecrow's brain? CS - Wizard - shooting past Lion, Dorothy and Scarecrow in f.g. - WIZARD Well, I-- but you've got them. You've had them all the... MCS- Tin Man, Scarecrow, Dorothy and Lion - shooting past the Wizard in left f.g. - the four react, speak together - the Scarecrow moves around to the Wizard - WIZARD ...time! ALL TOGETHER Oh, no we haven't! TIN MAN You don't get around us that easy! LION Not nohow! WIZARD Well -- SCARECROW You promised us real things -- a real... CS - Wizard - shooting past the Scarecrow at right - the Wizard reacts to their demands - starts to speak - SCARECROW ...brain! TIN MAN o.s. A real heart! LION Real courage. That's what we want. (CONTINUED) 118. CONTINUED: WIZARD You do? boys, you're aiming low. You not only surprise, but you grieve me. MS -- The Wizard speaks to Tin Man, Dorothy, Lion and the Scarecrow -- the Wizard becomes eloquent -- steps closer to the Scarecrow -- WIZARD Why, anybody can have a brain. That's a very mediocre commodity. Every pusillanimous creature that crawls on the earth -- or slinks through slimy seas has a brain! MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD From the rock-bound coast of Maine to the Sun.... oh - oh, no -- -- ah - Well, be that as it may. Back where I come from we have universities, seats of great learning -- where men go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts -- and with no more brains than you have.... But! They have one thing you haven't got! A diploma! MS -- The Wizard reaches back and obtains several diplomas -- selecting one and presents it to the Scarecrow as Dorothy, Tin Man and the Lion look on -- WIZARD Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Universitatus Committeeatum e plurbis unum, I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D. SCARECROW Th.D.? MCU -- Wizard -- shooting past the Scarecrow at right -- WIZARD Yeah -- that...that's Dr. of Thinkology! CU -- The Scarecrow recites the Pythagoras Theorem -- reacts with joy -- (CONTINUED) 119. CONTINUED: (2) SCARECROW The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy, rapture! I've got a brain! MCS -- Wizard, Scarecrow, Dorothy, Tin Man and Lion -- the Scarecrow thanks the Wizard -- Wizard takes the Lion and leads him forward -- CAMERA TRUCKS

cheeks

How many times the word 'cheeks' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

street

How many times the word 'street' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

met

How many times the word 'met' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

adjoining

How many times the word 'adjoining' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

request

How many times the word 'request' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

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How many times the word 'parts' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

asked

How many times the word 'asked' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

zeal

How many times the word 'zeal' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

ahead

How many times the word 'ahead' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

took

How many times the word 'took' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

whatever

How many times the word 'whatever' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

sleeps

How many times the word 'sleeps' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

mayhap

How many times the word 'mayhap' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

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(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

pothouse

How many times the word 'pothouse' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

tumbling

How many times the word 'tumbling' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

admit

How many times the word 'admit' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

regarded

How many times the word 'regarded' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

ticket

How many times the word 'ticket' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

will

How many times the word 'will' appears in the text?

(I won't be so distant as to call you Mr. Fawley),--I send to-day a newspaper, from which useful document you will learn that I was married over again to Cartlett last Tuesday. So that business is settled right and tight at last. But what I write about more particular is that private affair I wanted to speak to you on when I came down to Aldbrickham. I couldn't very well tell it to your lady friend, and should much have liked to let you know it by word of mouth, as I could have explained better than by letter. The fact is, Jude, that, though I have never informed you before, there was a boy born of our marriage, eight months after I left you, when I was at Sydney, living with my father and mother. All that is easily provable. As I had separated from you before I thought such a thing was going to happen, and I was over there, and our quarrel had been sharp, I did not think it convenient to write about the birth. I was then looking out for a good situation, so my parents took the child, and he has been with them ever since. That was why I did not mention it when I met you in Christminster, nor at the law proceedings. He is now of an intelligent age, of course, and my mother and father have lately written to say that, as they have rather a hard struggle over there, and I am settled comfortably here, they don't see why they should be encumbered with the child any longer, his parents being alive. I would have him with me here in a moment, but he is not old enough to be of any use in the bar nor will be for years and years, and naturally Cartlett might think him in the way. They have, however, packed him off to me in charge of some friends who happened to be coming home, and I must ask you to take him when he arrives, for I don't know what to do with him. He is lawfully yours, that I solemnly swear. If anybody says he isn't, call them brimstone liars, for my sake. Whatever I may have done before or afterwards, I was honest to you from the time we were married till I went away, and I remain, yours, &c., ARABELLA CARTLETT. Sue's look was one of dismay. "What will you do, dear?" she asked faintly. Jude did not reply, and Sue watched him anxiously, with heavy breaths. "It hits me hard!" said he in an under-voice. "It MAY be true! I can't make it out. Certainly, if his birth was exactly when she says, he's mine. I cannot think why she didn't tell me when I met her at Christminster, and came on here that evening with her! ... Ah--I do remember now that she said something about having a thing on her mind that she would like me to know, if ever we lived together again." "The poor child seems to be wanted by nobody!" Sue replied, and her eyes filled. Jude had by this time come to himself. "What a view of life he must have, mine or not mine!" he said. "I must say that, if I were better off, I should not stop for a moment to think whose he might be. I would take him and bring him up. The beggarly question of parentage--what is it, after all? What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own-soul-ism, and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom." Sue jumped up and kissed Jude with passionate devotion. "Yes--so it is, dearest! And we'll have him here! And if he isn't yours it makes it all the better. I do hope he isn't--though perhaps I ought not to feel quite that! If he isn't, I should like so much for us to have him as an adopted child!" "Well, you must assume about him what is most pleasing to you, my curious little comrade!" he said. "I feel that, anyhow, I don't like to leave the unfortunate little fellow to neglect. Just think of his life in a Lambeth pothouse, and all its evil influences, with a parent who doesn't want him, and has, indeed, hardly seen him, and a stepfather who doesn't know him. 'Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived!' That's what the boy--MY boy, perhaps, will find himself saying before long!" "Oh no!" "As I was the petitioner, I am really entitled to his custody, I suppose." "Whether or no, we must have him. I see that. I'll do the best I can to be a mother to him, and we can afford to keep him somehow. I'll work harder. I wonder when he'll arrive?" "In the course of a few weeks, I suppose." "I wish--When shall we have courage to marry, Jude?" "Whenever you have it, I think I shall. It remains with you entirely, dear. Only say the word, and it's done." "Before the boy comes?" "Certainly." "It would make a more natural home for him, perhaps," she murmured. Jude thereupon wrote in purely formal terms to request that the boy should be sent on to them as soon as he arrived, making no remark whatever on the surprising nature of Arabella's information, nor vouchsafing a single word of opinion on the boy's paternity, nor on whether, had he known all this, his conduct towards her would have been quite the same. In the down-train that was timed to reach Aldbrickham station about ten o'clock the next evening, a small, pale child's face could be seen in the gloom of a third-class carriage. He had large, frightened eyes, and wore a white woollen cravat, over which a key was suspended round his neck by a piece of common string: the key attracting attention by its occasional shine in the lamplight. In the band of his hat his half-ticket was stuck. His eyes remained mostly fixed on the back of the seat opposite, and never turned to the window even when a station was reached and called. On the other seat were two or three passengers, one of them a working woman who held a basket on her lap, in which was a tabby kitten. The woman opened the cover now and then, whereupon the kitten would put out its head, and indulge in playful antics. At these the fellow-passengers laughed, except the solitary boy bearing the key and ticket, who, regarding the kitten with his saucer eyes, seemed mutely to say: "All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at, there is no laughable thing under the sun." Occasionally, at a stoppage, the guard would look into the compartment and say to the boy, "All right, my man. Your box is safe in the van." The boy would say, "Yes," without animation, would try to smile, and fail. He was Age masquerading as Juvenility, and doing it so badly that his real self showed through crevices. A ground-swell from ancient years of night seemed now and then to lift the child in this his morning-life, when his face took a back view over some great Atlantic of Time, and appeared not to care about what it saw. When the other travellers closed their eyes, which they did one by one--even the kitten curling itself up in the basket, weary of its too circumscribed play--the boy remained just as before. He then seemed to be doubly awake, like an enslaved and dwarfed divinity, sitting passive and regarding his companions as if he saw their whole rounded lives rather than their immediate figures. This was Arabella's boy. With her usual carelessness, she had postponed writing to Jude about him till the eve of his landing, when she could absolutely postpone no longer, though she had known for weeks of his approaching arrival, and had, as she truly said, visited Aldbrickham mainly to reveal the boy's existence and his near home-coming to Jude. This very day on which she had received her former husband's answer at some time in the afternoon, the child reached the London Docks, and the family in whose charge he had come, having put him into a cab for Lambeth and directed the cabman to his mother's house, bade him good-bye, and went their way. On his arrival at the Three Horns, Arabella had looked him over with an expression that was as good as saying, "You are very much what I expected you to be," had given him a good meal, a little money, and, late as it was getting, dispatched him to Jude by the next train, wishing her husband Cartlett, who was out, not to see him. The train reached Aldbrickham, and the boy was deposited on the lonely platform beside his box. The collector took his ticket, and, with a meditative sense of the unfitness of things, asked him where he was going by himself at that time of night. "Going to Spring Street," said the little one impassively. "Why, that's a long way from here; a'most out in the country; and the folks will be gone to bed." "I've got to go there." "You must have a fly for your box." "No. I must walk." "Oh well: you'd better leave your box here and send for it. There's a 'bus goes half-way, but you'll have to walk the rest." "I am not afraid." "Why didn't your friends come to meet 'ee?" "I suppose they didn't know I was coming." "Who is your friends?" "Mother didn't wish me to say." "All I can do, then, is to take charge of this. Now walk as fast as you can." Saying nothing further the boy came out into the street, looking round to see that nobody followed or observed him. When he had walked some little distance he asked for the street of his destination. He was told to go straight on quite into the outskirts of the place. The child fell into a steady mechanical creep which had in it an impersonal quality--the movement of the wave, or of the breeze, or of the cloud. He followed his directions literally, without an inquiring gaze at anything. It could have been seen that the boy's ideas of life were different from those of the local boys. Children begin with detail, and learn up to the general; they begin with the contiguous, and gradually comprehend the universal. The boy seemed to have begun with the generals of life, and never to have concerned himself with the particulars. To him the houses, the willows, the obscure fields beyond, were apparently regarded not as brick residences, pollards, meadows; but as human dwellings in the abstract, vegetation, and the wide dark world. He found the way to the little lane, and knocked at the door of Jude's house. Jude had just retired to bed, and Sue was about to enter her chamber adjoining when she heard the knock and came down. "Is this where Father lives?" asked the child. "Who?" "Mr. Fawley, that's his name." Sue ran up to Jude's room and told him, and he hurried down as soon as he could, though to her impatience he seemed long. "What--is it he--so soon?" she asked as Jude came. She scrutinized the child's features, and suddenly went away into the little sitting-room adjoining. Jude lifted the boy to a level with himself, keenly regarded him with gloomy tenderness, and telling him he would have been met if they had known of his coming so soon, set him provisionally in a chair whilst he went to look for Sue, whose supersensitiveness was disturbed, as he knew. He found her in the dark, bending over an arm-chair. He enclosed her with his arm, and putting his face by hers, whispered, "What's the matter?" "What Arabella says is true--true! I see you in him!" "Well: that's one thing in my life as it should be, at any rate." "But the other half of him is--SHE! And that's what I can't bear! But I ought to--I'll try to get used to it; yes, I ought!" "Jealous little Sue! I withdraw all remarks about your sexlessness. Never mind! Time may right things... And Sue, darling; I have an idea! We'll educate and train him with a view to the university. What I couldn't accomplish in my own person perhaps I can carry out through him? They are making it easier for poor students now, you know." "Oh you dreamer!" said she, and holding his hand returned to the child with him. The boy looked at her as she had looked at him. "Is it you who's my REAL mother at last?" he inquired. "Why? Do I look like your father's wife?" "Well, yes; 'cept he seems fond of you, and you of him. Can I call you Mother?" Then a yearning look came over the child and he began to cry. Sue thereupon could not refrain from instantly doing likewise, being a harp which the least wind of emotion from another's heart could make to vibrate as readily as a radical stir in her own. "You may call me Mother, if you wish to, my poor dear!" she said, bending her cheek against his to hide her tears. "What's this round your neck?" asked Jude with affected calmness. "The key of my box that's at the station." They bustled about and got him some supper, and made him up a temporary bed, where he soon fell asleep. Both went and looked at him as he lay. "He called you Mother two or three times before he dropped off," murmured Jude. "Wasn't it odd that he should have wanted to!" "Well--it was significant," said Sue. "There's more for us to think about in that one little hungry heart than in all the stars of the sky... I suppose, dear, we must pluck up courage, and get that ceremony over? It is no use struggling against the current, and I feel myself getting intertwined with my kind. Oh Jude, you'll love me dearly, won't you, afterwards? I do want to be kind to this child, and to be a mother to him; and our adding the legal form to our marriage might make it easier for me." IV Their next and second attempt thereat was more deliberately made, though it was begun on the morning following the singular child's arrival at their home. Him they found to be in the habit of sitting silent, his quaint and weird face set, and his eyes resting on things they did not see in the substantial world. "His face is like the tragic mask of Melpomene," said Sue. "What is your name, dear? Did you tell us?" "Little Father Time is what they always called me. It is a nickname; because I look so aged, they say." "And you talk so, too," said Sue tenderly. "It is strange, Jude, that these preternaturally old boys almost always come from new countries. But what were you christened?" "I never was." "Why was that?" "Because, if I died in damnation, 'twould save the expense of a Christian funeral." "Oh--your name is not Jude, then?" said his father with some disappointment. The boy shook his head. "Never heerd on it." "Of course not," said Sue quickly; "since she was hating you all the time!" "We'll have him christened," said Jude; and privately to Sue: "The day we are married." Yet the advent of the child disturbed him. Their position lent them shyness, and having an impression that a marriage at a superintendent registrar's office was more private than an ecclesiastical one, they decided to avoid a church this time. Both Sue and Jude together went to the office of the district to give notice: they had become such companions that they could hardly do anything of importance except in each other's company. Jude Fawley signed the form of notice, Sue looking over his shoulder and watching his hand as it traced the words. As she read the four-square undertaking, never before seen by her, into which her own and Jude's names were inserted, and by which that very volatile essence, their love for each other, was supposed to be made permanent, her face seemed to grow painfully apprehensive. "Names and Surnames of the Parties"--(they were to be parties now, not lovers, she thought). "Condition"--(a horrid idea)--"Rank or Occupation"--"Age"--"Dwelling at"--"Length of Residence"--"Church or Building in which the Marriage is to be solemnized"--"District and County in which the Parties respectively dwell." "It spoils the sentiment, doesn't it!" she said on their way home. "It seems making a more sordid business of it even than signing the contract in a vestry. There is a little poetry in a church. But we'll try to get through with it, dearest, now." "We will. 'For what man is he that hath betrothed a wife and hath not taken her? Let him go and return unto his house, lest he die in the battle, and another man take her.' So said the Jewish law-giver." "How you know the Scriptures, Jude! You really ought to have been a parson. I can only quote profane writers!" During the interval before the issuing of the certificate, Sue, in her housekeeping errands, sometimes walked past the office, and furtively glancing in saw affixed to the wall the notice of the purposed clinch to their union. She could not bear its aspect. Coming after her previous experience of matrimony, all the romance of their attachment seemed to be starved away by placing her present case in the same category. She was usually leading little Father Time by the hand, and fancied that people thought him hers, and regarded the intended ceremony as the patching up of an old error. Meanwhile Jude decided to link his present with his past in some slight degree by inviting to the wedding the only person remaining on earth who was associated with his early life at Marygreen--the aged widow Mrs. Edlin, who had been his great-aunt's friend and nurse in her last illness. He hardly expected that she would come; but she did, bringing singular presents, in the form of apples, jam, brass snuffers, an ancient pewter dish, a warming-pan, and an enormous bag of goose feathers towards a bed. She was allotted the spare room in Jude's house, whither she retired early, and where they could hear her through the ceiling below, honestly saying the Lord's Prayer in a loud voice, as the Rubric directed. As, however, she could not sleep, and discovered that Sue and Jude were still sitting up--it being in fact only ten o'clock--she dressed herself again and came down, and they all sat by the fire till a late hour--Father Time included; though, as he never spoke, they were hardly conscious of him. "Well, I bain't set against marrying as your great-aunt was," said the widow. "And I hope 'twill be a jocund wedding for ye in all respects this time. Nobody can hope it more, knowing what I do of your families, which is more, I suppose, than anybody else now living. For they have been unlucky that way, God knows." Sue breathed uneasily. "They was always good-hearted people, too--wouldn't kill a fly if they knowed it," continued the wedding guest. "But things happened to thwart 'em, and if everything wasn't vitty they were upset. No doubt that's how he that the tale is told of came to do what 'a did--if he WERE one of your family." "What was that?" said Jude. "Well--that tale, ye know; he that was gibbeted just on the brow of the hill by the Brown House--not far from the milestone between Marygreen and Alfredston, where the other road branches off. But Lord, 'twas in my grandfather's time; and it medn' have been one of your folk at all." "I know where the gibbet is said to have stood, very well," murmured Jude. "But I never heard of this. What--did this man--my ancestor and Sue's--kill his wife?" "'Twer not that exactly. She ran away from him, with their child, to her friends; and while she was there the child died. He wanted the body, to bury it where his people lay, but she wouldn't give it up. Her husband then came in the night with a cart, and broke into the house to steal the coffin away; but he was catched, and being obstinate, wouldn't tell what he broke in for. They brought it in burglary, and that's why he was hanged and gibbeted on Brown House Hill. His wife went mad after he was dead. But it medn't be true that he belonged to ye more than to me." A small slow voice rose from the shade of the fireside, as if out of the earth: "If I was you, Mother, I wouldn't marry Father!" It came from little Time, and they started, for they had forgotten him. "Oh, it is only a tale," said Sue cheeringly. After this exhilarating tradition from the widow on the eve of the solemnization they rose, and, wishing their guest good-night, retired. The next morning Sue, whose nervousness intensified with the hours, took Jude privately into the sitting-room before starting. "Jude, I want you to kiss me, as a lover, incorporeally," she said, tremulously nestling up to him, with damp lashes. "It won't be ever like this any more, will it? I wish we hadn't begun the business. But I suppose we must go on. How horrid that story was last night! It spoilt my thoughts of to-day. It makes me feel as if a tragic doom overhung our family, as it did the house of Atreus." "Or the house of Jeroboam," said the quondam theologian. "Yes. And it seems awful temerity in us two to go marrying! I am going to vow to you in the same words I vowed in to my other husband, and you to me in the same as you used to your other wife; regardless of the deterrent lesson we were taught by those experiments!" "If you are uneasy I am made unhappy," said he. "I had hoped you would feel quite joyful. But if you don't, you don't. It is no use pretending. It is a dismal business to you, and that makes it so to me!" "It is unpleasantly like that other morning--that's all," she murmured. "Let us go on now." They started arm in arm for the office aforesaid, no witness accompanying them except the Widow Edlin. The day was chilly and dull, and a clammy fog blew through the town from "Royal-tower'd Thame." On the steps of the office there were the muddy foot-marks of people who had entered, and in the entry were damp umbrellas. Within the office several persons were gathered, and our couple perceived that a marriage between a soldier and a young woman was just in progress. Sue, Jude, and the widow stood in the background while this was going on, Sue reading the notices of marriage on the wall. The room was a dreary place to two of their temperament, though to its usual frequenters it doubtless seemed ordinary enough. Law-books in musty calf covered one wall, and elsewhere were post-office directories, and other books of reference. Papers in packets tied with red tape were pigeon-holed around, and some iron safes filled a recess, while the bare wood floor was, like the door-step, stained by previous visitors. The soldier was sullen and reluctant: the bride sad and timid; she was soon, obviously, to become a mother, and she had a black eye. Their little business was soon done, and the twain and their friends straggled out, one of the witnesses saying casually to Jude and Sue in passing, as if he had known them before: "See the couple just come in? Ha, ha! That fellow is just out of gaol this morning. She met him at the gaol gates, and brought him straight here. She's paying for everything." Sue turned her head and saw an ill-favoured man, closely cropped, with a broad-faced, pock-marked woman on his arm, ruddy with liquor and the satisfaction of being on the brink of a gratified desire. They jocosely saluted the outgoing couple, and went forward in front of Jude and Sue, whose diffidence was increasing. The latter drew back and turned to her lover, her mouth shaping itself like that of a child about to give way to grief: "Jude--I don't like it here! I wish we hadn't come! The place gives me the horrors: it seems so unnatural as the climax of our love! I wish it had been at church, if it had to be at all. It is not so vulgar there!" "Dear little girl," said Jude. "How troubled and pale you look!" "It must be performed here now, I suppose?" "No--perhaps not necessarily." He spoke to the clerk, and came back. "No--we need not marry here or anywhere, unless we like, even now," he said. "We can be married in a church, if not with the same certificate with another he'll give us, I think. Anyhow, let us go out till you are calmer, dear, and I too, and talk it over." They went out stealthily and guiltily, as if they had committed a misdemeanour, closing the door without noise, and telling the widow, who had remained in the entry, to go home and await them; that they would call in any casual passers as witnesses, if necessary. When in the street they turned into an unfrequented side alley where they walked up and down as they had done long ago in the market-house at Melchester. "Now, darling, what shall we do? We are making a mess of it, it strikes me. Still, ANYTHING that pleases you will please me." "But Jude, dearest, I am worrying you! You wanted it to be there, didn't you?" "Well, to tell the truth, when I got inside I felt as if I didn't care much about it. The place depressed me almost as much as it did you--it was ugly. And then I thought of what you had said this morning as to whether we ought." They walked on vaguely, till she paused, and her little voice began anew: "It seems so weak, too, to vacillate like this! And yet how much better than to act rashly a second time... How terrible that scene was to me! The expression in that flabby woman's face, leading her on to give herself to that gaol-bird, not for a few hours, as she would, but for a lifetime, as she must. And the other poor soul--to escape a nominal shame which was owing to the weakness of her character, degrading herself to the real shame of bondage to a tyrant who scorned her--a man whom to avoid for ever was her only chance of salvation... This is our parish church, isn't it? This is where it would have to be, if we did it in the usual way? A service or something seems to be going on." Jude went up and looked in at the door. "Why--it is a wedding here too," he said. "Everybody seems to be on our tack to-day." Sue said she supposed it was because Lent was just over, when there was always a crowd of marriages. "Let us listen," she said, "and find how it feels to us when performed in a church." They stepped in, and entered a back seat, and watched the proceedings at the altar. The contracting couple appeared to belong to the well-to-do middle class, and the wedding altogether was of ordinary prettiness and interest. They could see the flowers tremble in the bride's hand, even at that distance, and could hear her mechanical murmur of words whose meaning her brain seemed to gather not at all under the pressure of her self-consciousness. Sue and Jude listened, and severally saw themselves in time past going through the same form of self-committal. "It is not the same to her, poor thing, as it would be to me doing it over again with my present knowledge," Sue whispered. "You see, they are fresh to it, and take the proceedings as a matter of course. But having been awakened to its awful solemnity as we have, or at least as I have, by experience, and to my own too squeamish feelings perhaps sometimes, it really does seem immoral in me to go and undertake the same thing again with open eyes. Coming in here and seeing this has frightened me from a church wedding as much as the other did from a registry one... We are a weak, tremulous pair, Jude, and what others may feel confident in I feel doubts of--my being proof against the sordid conditions of a business contract again!" Then they tried to laugh, and went on debating in whispers the object-lesson before them. And Jude said he also thought they were both too thin-skinned--that they ought never to have been born--much less have come together for the most preposterous of all joint ventures for THEM--matrimony. His betrothed shuddered; and asked him earnestly if he indeed felt that they ought not to go in cold blood and sign that life-undertaking again? "It is awful if you think we have found ourselves not strong enough for it, and knowing this, are proposing to perjure ourselves," she said. "I fancy I do think it--since you ask me," said Jude. "Remember I'll do it if you wish, own darling." While she hesitated

question

How many times the word 'question' appears in the text?