Going into Society | Page 7

Charles Dickens
correct.)
I took the House as is the subject of present inquiries--though not the
honour of bein acquainted--and I run Magsman's Amusements in it
thirteen months--sometimes one thing, sometimes another, sometimes
nothin particular, but always all the canvasses outside. One night, when
we had played the last company out, which was a shy company,
through its raining Heavens hard, I was takin a pipe in the one pair back
along with the young man with the toes, which I had taken on for a
month (though he never drawed--except on paper), and I heard a kickin
at the street door. "Halloa!" I says to the young man, "what's up!" He
rubs his eyebrows with his toes, and he says, "I can't imagine, Mr.
Magsman"--which he never could imagine nothin, and was
monotonous company.
The noise not leavin off, I laid down my pipe, and I took up a candle,
and I went down and opened the door. I looked out into the street; but

nothin could I see, and nothin was I aware of, until I turned round quick,
because some creetur run between my legs into the passage. There was
Mr. Chops!
"Magsman," he says, "take me, on the old terms, and you've got me; if
it's done, say done!"
I was all of a maze, but I said, "Done, sir."
"Done to your done, and double done!" says he. "Have you got a bit of
supper in the house?"
Bearin in mind them sparklin warieties of foreign drains as we'd
guzzled away at in Pall Mall, I was ashamed to offer him cold sassages
and gin-and-water; but he took 'em both and took 'em free; havin a
chair for his table, and sittin down at it on a stool, like hold times. I, all
of a maze all the while.
It was arter he had made a clean sweep of the sassages (beef, and to the
best of my calculations two pound and a quarter), that the wisdom as
was in that little man began to come out of him like prespiration.
"Magsman," he says, "look upon me! You see afore you, One as has
both gone into Society and come out."
"O! You ARE out of it, Mr. Chops? How did you get out, sir?"
"SOLD OUT!" says he. You never saw the like of the wisdom as his Ed
expressed, when he made use of them two words.
"My friend Magsman, I'll impart to you a discovery I've made. It's
wallable; it's cost twelve thousand five hundred pound; it may do you
good in life--The secret of this matter is, that it ain't so much that a
person goes into Society, as that Society goes into a person."
Not exactly keepin up with his meanin, I shook my head, put on a deep
look, and said, "You're right there, Mr. Chops."
"Magsman," he says, twitchin me by the leg, "Society has gone into me,

to the tune of every penny of my property."
I felt that I went pale, and though nat'rally a bold speaker, I couldn't
hardly say, "Where's Normandy?"
"Bolted. With the plate," said Mr. Chops.
"And t'other one?" meaning him as formerly wore the bishop's mitre.
"Bolted. With the jewels," said Mr. Chops.
I sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at me.
"Magsman," he says, and he seemed to myself to get wiser as he got
hoarser; "Society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. At the court of St.
James's, they was all a doing my old business--all a goin three times
round the Cairawan, in the hold court-suits and properties. Elsewheres,
they was most of 'em ringin their little bells out of make-believes.
Everywheres, the sarser was a goin round. Magsman, the sarser is the
uniwersal Institution!"
I perceived, you understand, that he was soured by his misfortunes, and
I felt for Mr. Chops.
"As to Fat Ladies," he says, giving his head a tremendious one agin the
wall, "there's lots of THEM in Society, and worse than the original.
HERS was a outrage upon Taste--simply a outrage upon
Taste--awakenin contempt--carryin its own punishment in the form of a
Indian." Here he giv himself another tremendious one. "But THEIRS,
Magsman, THEIRS is mercenary outrages. Lay in Cashmeer shawls,
buy bracelets, strew 'em and a lot of 'andsome fans and things about
your rooms, let it be known that you give away like water to all as
come to admire, and the Fat Ladies that don't exhibit for so much down
upon the drum, will come from all the pints of the compass to flock
about you, whatever you are. They'll drill holes in your 'art, Magsman,
like a Cullender. And when you've no more left to give, they'll laugh at
you to your face, and leave you
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