Our Mutual Friend | Page 8

the rear, with his hand to his
forehead. Boots and Brewer, thinking him indisposed, whisper, 'Man faint. Had no lunch.'
But he is only stunned by the unvanquishable difficulty of his existence.
Revived by soup, Twemlow discourses mildly of the Court Circular with Boots and
Brewer. Is appealed to, at the fish stage of the banquet, by Veneering, on the disputed
question whether his cousin Lord Snigsworth is in or out of town? Gives it that his cousin
is out of town. 'At Snigsworthy Park?' Veneering inquires. 'At Snigsworthy,' Twemlow
rejoins. Boots and Brewer regard this as a man to be cultivated; and Veneering is clear
that he is a renumerative article. Meantime the retainer goes round, like a gloomy
Analytical Chemist: always seeming to say, after 'Chablis, sir?'--'You wouldn't if you
knew what it's made of.'
The great looking-glass above the sideboard, reflects the table and the company. Reflects
the new Veneering crest, in gold and eke in silver, frosted and also thawed, a camel of all
work. The Heralds' College found out a Crusading ancestor for Veneering who bore a
camel on his shield (or might have done it if he had thought of it), and a caravan of
camels take charge of the fruits and flowers and candles, and kneel down be loaded with
the salt. Reflects Veneering; forty, wavy-haired, dark, tending to corpulence, sly,
mysterious, filmy--a kind of sufficiently well-looking veiled- prophet, not prophesying.
Reflects Mrs Veneering; fair, aquiline- nosed and fingered, not so much light hair as she
might have, gorgeous in raiment and jewels, enthusiastic, propitiatory, conscious that a
corner of her husband's veil is over herself. Reflects Podsnap; prosperously feeding, two
little light-coloured wiry wings, one on either side of his else bald head, looking as like
his hairbrushes as his hair, dissolving view of red beads on his forehead, large allowance
of crumpled shirt-collar up behind. Reflects Mrs Podsnap; fine woman for Professor
Owen, quantity of bone, neck and nostrils like a rocking-horse, hard features, majestic
head-dress in which Podsnap has hung golden offerings. Reflects Twemlow; grey, dry,
polite, susceptible to east wind, First-Gentleman-in-Europe collar and cravat, cheeks

drawn in as if he had made a great effort to retire into himself some years ago, and had
got so far and had never got any farther. Reflects mature young lady; raven locks, and
complexion that lights up well when well powdered--as it is--carrying on considerably in
the captivation of mature young gentleman; with too much nose in his face, too much
ginger in his whiskers, too much torso in his waistcoat, too much sparkle in his studs, his
eyes, his buttons, his talk, and his teeth. Reflects charming old Lady Tippins on
Veneering's right; with an immense obtuse drab oblong face, like a face in a tablespoon,
and a dyed Long Walk up the top of her head, as a convenient public approach to the
bunch of false hair behind, pleased to patronize Mrs Veneering opposite, who is pleased
to be patronized. Reflects a certain 'Mortimer', another of Veneering's oldest friends; who
never was in the house before, and appears not to want to come again, who sits
disconsolate on Mrs Veneering's left, and who was inveigled by Lady Tippins (a friend of
his boyhood) to come to these people's and talk, and who won't talk. Reflects Eugene,
friend of Mortimer; buried alive in the back of his chair, behind a shoulder--with a
powder-epaulette on it--of the mature young lady, and gloomily resorting to the
champagne chalice whenever proffered by the Analytical Chemist. Lastly, the
looking-glass reflects Boots and Brewer, and two other stuffed Buffers interposed
between the rest of the company and possible accidents.
The Veneering dinners are excellent dinners--or new people wouldn't come--and all goes
well. Notably, Lady Tippins has made a series of experiments on her digestive functions,
so extremely complicated and daring, that if they could be published with their results it
might benefit the human race. Having taken in provisions from all parts of the world, this
hardy old cruiser has last touched at the North Pole, when, as the ice-plates are being
removed, the following words fall from her:
'I assure you, my dear Veneering--'
(Poor Twemlow's hand approaches his forehead, for it would seem now, that Lady
Tippins is going to be the oldest friend.)
'I assure you, my dear Veneering, that it is the oddest affair! Like the advertising people, I
don't ask you to trust me, without offering a respectable reference. Mortimer there, is my
reference, and knows all about it.'
Mortimer raises his drooping eyelids, and slightly opens his mouth. But a faint smile,
expressive of 'What's the use!' passes over his face, and he drops his eyelids and shuts his
mouth.
'Now, Mortimer,' says Lady Tippins, rapping the sticks of her closed