Chapter 54

CHAPTER 54

The Crisis of the Project and its Result

There are not many men who lie abed too late, or oversleep
themselves, on their wedding morning. A legend there is of somebody
remarkable for absence of mind, who opened his eyes upon the day
which was to give him a young wife, and forgetting all about the
matter, rated his servants for providing him with such fine clothes
as had been prepared for the festival. There is also a legend of a
young gentleman, who, not having before his eyes the fear of the
canons of the church for such cases made and provided, conceived a
passion for his grandmother. Both cases are of a singular and
special kind and it is very doubtful whether either can be
considered as a precedent likely to be extensively followed by
succeeding generations.

Arthur Gride had enrobed himself in his marriage garments of bottle-
green, a full hour before Mrs Sliderskew, shaking off her more heavy
slumbers, knocked at his chamber door; and he had hobbled downstairs
in full array and smacked his lips over a scanty taste of his
favourite cordial, ere that delicate piece of antiquity enlightened
the kitchen with her presence.

'Faugh!' said Peg, grubbing, in the discharge of her domestic
functions, among a scanty heap of ashes in the rusty grate.
'Wedding indeed! A precious wedding! He wants somebody better than
his old Peg to take care of him, does he? And what has he said to
me, many and many a time, to keep me content with short food, small
wages, and little fire? "My will, Peg! my will!" says he: "I'm a
bachelor--no friends--no relations, Peg." Lies! And now he's to
bring home a new mistress, a baby-faced chit of a girl! If he
wanted a wife, the fool, why couldn't he have one suitable to his
age, and that knew his ways? She won't come in MY way, he says.
No, that she won't, but you little think why, Arthur boy!'

While Mrs Sliderskew, influenced possibly by some lingering feelings
of disappointment and personal slight, occasioned by her old
master's preference for another, was giving loose to these
grumblings below stairs, Arthur Gride was cogitating in the parlour
upon what had taken place last night.

'I can't think how he can have picked up what he knows,' said
Arthur, 'unless I have committed myself--let something drop at
Bray's, for instance--which has been overheard. Perhaps I may. I
shouldn't be surprised if that was it. Mr Nickleby was often angry
at my talking to him before we got outside the door. I mustn't tell
him that part of the business, or he'll put me out of sorts, and
make me nervous for the day.'

Ralph was universally looked up to, and recognised among his fellows
as a superior genius, but upon Arthur Gride his stern