Chapter 22 - Page 2

again,' said Mr Chivery, 'but could
you go round by Horsemonger Lane? Could you by any means find time
to look in at that address?' handing him a little card, printed for
circulation among the connection of Chivery and Co., Tobacconists,
Importers of pure Havannah Cigars, Bengal Cheroots, and fine-
flavoured Cubas, Dealers in Fancy Snuffs, &C. &C.

'(Private) It an't tobacco business,' said Mr Chivery. 'The truth
is, it's my wife. She's wishful to say a word to you, sir, upon a
point respecting--yes,' said Mr Chivery, answering Clennam's look
of apprehension with a nod, 'respecting her.'

'I will make a point of seeing your wife directly.'

'Thank you, sir. Much obliged. It an't above ten minutes out of
your way. Please to ask for Mrs Chivery!' These instructions, Mr
Chivery, who had already let him out, cautiously called through a
little slide in the outer door, which he could draw back from
within for the inspection of visitors when it pleased him.

Arthur Clennam, with the card in his hand, betook himself to the
address set forth upon it, and speedily arrived there. It was a
very small establishment, wherein a decent woman sat behind the
counter working at her needle. Little jars of tobacco, little
boxes of cigars, a little assortment of pipes, a little jar or two
of snuff, and a little instrument like a shoeing horn for serving
it out, composed the retail stock in trade.

Arthur mentioned his name, and his having promised to call, on the
solicitation of Mr Chivery. About something relating to Miss
Dorrit, he believed. Mrs Chivery at once laid aside her work, rose
up from her seat behind the counter, and deploringly shook her
head.

'You may see him now,' said she, 'if you'll condescend to take a
peep.'

With these mysterious words, she preceded the visitor into a little
parlour behind the shop, with a little window in it commanding a
very little dull back-yard. In this yard a wash of sheets and
table-cloths tried (in vain, for want of air) to get itself dried
on a line or two; and among those flapping articles was sitting in
a chair, like the last mariner left alive on the deck of a damp
ship without the power of furling the sails, a little woe-begone
young man.

'Our John,' said Mrs Chivery.

Not to be deficient in interest, Clennam asked what he might be
doing there?

'It's the only change he takes,' said Mrs Chivery, shaking her head
afresh. 'He won't go out, even in the back-yard, when there's no
linen; but when there's linen to keep the neighbours' eyes off,
he'll sit there, hours. Hours he will. Says he feels as if it was
groves!' Mrs Chivery shook her head again, put her apron in a
motherly way to her eyes, and reconducted