and said nothing。 As often as Mr Blandois clinked glasses （which was
at every replenishment）； Mr Flintwinch stolidly did his part of the
clinking； and would have stolidly done his panion's part of the wine
as well as his own： being； except in the article of palate； a mere cask。
In short； Mr Blandois found that to pour port wine into the reticent
Flintwinch was； not to open him but to shut him up。 Moreover； he had
the appearance of a perfect ability to go on all night； or； if occasion
were； all next day and all next night； whereas Mr Blandois soon grew
indistinctly conscious of swaggering too fiercely and boastfully。 He
therefore terminated the entertainment at the end of the third bottle。
'You will draw upon us to…morrow； sir；' said Mr Flintwinch； with a
business…like face at parting。
'My Cabbage；' returned the other； taking him by the collar with both
hands； 'I'll draw upon you； have no fear。 Adieu； my Flintwinch。 Receive
at parting；' here he gave him a southern embrace； and kissed him soundly
on both cheeks； 'the word of a gentleman！ By a thousand Thunders； you
shall see me again！'
He did not present himself next day； though the letter of advice came
duly to hand。 Inquiring after him at night； Mr Flintwinch found； with
surprise； that he had paid his bill and gone back to the Continent by
way of Calais。 Nevertheless； Jeremiah scraped out of his cogitating
face a lively conviction that Mr Blandois would keep his word on this
occasion； and would be seen again。
CHAPTER 31。 Spirit
Anybody may pass； any day； in the thronged thoroughfares of the
metropolis； some meagre； wrinkled； yellow old man （who might be supposed
to have dropped from the stars； if there were any star in the Heavens
dull enough to be suspected of casting off so feeble a spark）； creeping
along with a scared air； as though bewildered and a little frightened
by the noise and bustle。 This old man is always a little old man。 If he
were ever a big old man； he has shrunk into a little old man； if he were
always a little old man； he has dwindled into a less old man。 His coat
is a colour； and cut； that never was the mode anywhere； at any period。
Clearly； it was not made for him； or for any individual mortal。 Some
wholesale contractor measured Fate for five thousand coats of such
quality； and Fate has lent this old coat to this old man； as one of a
long unfinished line of many old men。 It has always large dull metal
buttons； similar to no other buttons。 This old man wears a hat； a
thumbed and napless and yet an obdurate hat； which has never adapted
itself to the shape of his poor head。 His coarse shirt and his coarse
neckcloth have no more individuality than his coat and hat； they have
the same character of not being his……of not being anybody's。 Yet this
old man wears these clothes with a certain unaccustomed air of being
dressed and elaborated for the public ways； as though he passed the
greater part of his time in a nightcap and gown。 And so； like the
country mouse in the second year of a famine； e to see the town
mouse； and timidly threading his way to the town…mouse's lodging through
a city of cats； this old man passes in the streets。
Sometimes； on holidays towards evening； he will be seen to walk with a
slightly increased infirmity； and his old eyes will glimmer with a moist
and marshy light。 Then the little old man is drunk。 A very small
measure will overset him； he may be bowled off his unsteady legs with
a half…pint pot。 Some pitying acquaintance……chance acquaintance
very often……has warmed up his weakness with a treat of beer； and the
consequence will be the lapse of a longer time than usual before he
shall pass again。 For the little old man is going home to the Workhouse；
and on his good behaviour they do not let him out often （though methinks
they might； considering the few years he has before him to go out in；
under the sun）； and on his bad behaviour they shut him up closer than
ever in a grove of two score and nieen more old men； every one of
whom smells of all the others。
Mrs Plornish's father；……a poor little reedy piping old gentleman； like
a worn…out bird； who had been in what he called the music…binding
business； and met with great misfortunes； and who had seldom been able
to make his way； or to see it or to pay it； or to do anything at all
with it but find it no thoroughfare；……had retired of his own accord to
the Workhouse which was appointed by law to be the Good Samaritan of his
district （without the twopence； which was bad political economy）； on
the settlement of that execution which had carried Mr Plornish to the
Marshalsea College。 Previous to his son…in…law's difficulties ing to
that head； Old Nandy （he was always so called in his legal Retreat； but
he was Old Mr Nandy among the Bleeding Hearts） had sat in a corner of
the Plornish fireside； and taken his bite and sup out of the Plornish
cupboard。 He still hoped to resume that domestic position when Fortune
should smile upon his son…in…law； in the meantime； while she preserved
an immovable countenance； he was； and resolved to remain； one of these
little old men in a grove of little old men with a munity of flavour。
But no poverty in him； and no coat on him that never was the mode； and
no Old Men's Ward for his dwelling…place； could quench his daughter's
admiration。 Mrs Plornish was as proud of her father's talents as she
could possibly have been if they had made him Lord Chancellor。 She had
as firm a belief in the sweetness and propriety of his manners as she
could possibly have had if he had been Lord Chamberlain。 The poor little
old man knew some pale and vapid little songs； long out of date； about
Chloe； and Phyllis； and Strephon being wounded by the son of Venus；
and for Mrs Plornish there was no such music at the Opera as the small
internal flutterings and chirpings wherein he would discharge himself
of these ditties； like a weak； little； broken barrel…organ； ground by
a baby。 On his 'days out；' those flecks of light in his flat vista of
pollard old men；' it was at once Mrs Plornish's delight and sorrow；
when he was strong with meat； and had taken his full halfpenny…worth of
porter； to say； 'Sing us a song； Father。' Then he would give them Chloe；
and if he were in pretty good spirits； Phyllis also……Strephon he had
hardly been up to since he went into retirement……and then would Mrs
Plornish declare she did believe there never was such a singer as
Father； and wipe her eyes。
If he had e from Court on these occasions； nay； if he had been the
noble Refrigerator e home triumphantly from a foreign court to be
presented and promoted on his last tremendous failure； Mrs Plornish
could not have handed him with greater elevation about Bleeding Heart
Yard。 'Here's Father；' she would say； presenting him to a neighbour。
'Father will soon be home with us for good； now。 Ain't Father looking
well？ Father's a sweeter singer than ever； you'd never have forgotten
it； if you'd aheard him just now。'
As to Mr Plornish； he had married these articles of belief in marrying
Mr Nandy's daughter； and only wondered how it was that so gifted an
old gentleman had not made a fortune。 This he attributed； after much
reflection； to his musical genius not having been scientifically
developed in his youth。 'For why；' argued Mr Plornish； 'why go a…binding
music when you've got it in yourself？ That's where it is； I consider。'
Old Nandy had a patron： one patron。 He had a patron who in a certain
sumptuous way……an apologetic way； as if he constantly took an admiring
audience to witness that he really could not help being more free
with this old fellow than they might have expected； on account of his
simplicity and poverty……was mightily good to him。 Old Nandy had
been several times to the Marshalsea College； municating with his
son…in…law during his short durance there； and had happily acquired to
himself； and had by degrees and in course of time much improved； the
patronage of the Father of that national institution。
Mr Dorrit was in the habit of receiving this old man as if the old man
held of him in vassalage under some feudal tenure。 He made little treats
and teas for him； as if he came in with his homage from some outlying
district where the tenantry were in a primitive state。
It seemed as if there were moments when he could by no means have
sworn but that the old man was an ancient retainer of his； who had been
meritoriously faithful。 When he mentioned him； he spoke of him casually
as his old pensioner。 He had a wonderful satisfaction in seeing him； and
in menting on his decayed condition after he was gone。 It appeared
to him amazing that he could hold up his head at all； poor creature。 'In
the Workhouse； sir； the Union； no privacy； no visitors； no station； no
respect； no speciality。 Most deplorable！'
It was Old Nandy's birthday； and they let him out。 He said nothing about
its being his birthday； or they might have kept him in； for such old
men should not be born。 He passed along the streets as usual to Bleeding
Heart Yard； and had his dinner with his daughter and son…in…law； and
gave them Phyllis。 He had hardly concluded； when Little Dorrit looked in
to see how they all were。
'Miss Dorrit；' said Mrs Plornish； 'here's Father！ Ain't he looking nice？
And such voice he's in！'
Little Dorrit gave him her hand； and smilingly said she had not seen him
this long time。
'No； they're rather hard on poor Father；' said Mrs Plornish with a
lengthening face； 'and don't let him have half as much change and fresh
air as would benefit him。 But he'll soon be home for good； now。 Won't
you； Father？'
'Yes； my dear； I hope so。 In good time； please God。'
Here Mr Plornish delivered himself of an oration which he invariably
made； word for word the same； on all such opportunities。
It was couched in the following terms：
'John Edward Nandy。 Sir。 While there's a ounce of wittles or drink of
any sort in this present roof； you're fully wele to your share on
it。 While there's a handful of fire or a mouthful of bed in this present
roof； you're fully wele to your share on it。
If so be as there should be nothing in this present roof； you should be
as wele to your share on it as