Chapter: Captain Dobbin Proceeds on His Canvass

What is the secret mesmerism which friendship possesses, and under the
operation of which a person ordinarily sluggish, or cold, or timid,
becomes wise, active, and resolute, in another's behalf?  As Alexis,
after a few passes from Dr. Elliotson, despises pain, reads with the
back of his head, sees miles off, looks into next week, and performs
other wonders, of which, in his own private normal condition, he is
quite incapable; so you see, in the affairs of the world and under the
magnetism of friendships, the modest man becomes bold, the shy
confident, the lazy active, or the impetuous prudent and peaceful.
What is it, on the other hand, that makes the lawyer eschew his own
cause, and call in his learned brother as an adviser? And what causes
the doctor, when ailing, to send for his rival, and not sit down and
examine his own tongue in the chimney glass, or write his own
prescription at his study-table?  I throw out these queries for
intelligent readers to answer, who know, at once, how credulous we are,
and how sceptical, how soft and how obstinate, how firm for others and
how diffident about ourselves:  meanwhile, it is certain that our
friend William Dobbin, who was personally of so complying a disposition
that if his parents had pressed him much, it is probable he would have
stepped down into the kitchen and married the cook, and who, to further
his own interests, would have found the most insuperable difficulty in
walking across the street, found himself as busy and eager in the
conduct of George Osborne's affairs, as the most selfish tactician
could be in the pursuit of his own.

Whilst our friend George and his young wife were enjoying the first
blushing days of the honeymoon at Brighton, honest William was left as
George's plenipotentiary in London, to transact all the business part
of the marriage. His duty it was to call upon old Sedley and his wife,
and to keep the former in good humour:  to draw Jos and his
brother-in-law nearer together, so that Jos's position and dignity, as
collector of Boggley Wollah, might compensate for his father's loss of
station, and tend to reconcile old Osborne to the alliance:  and
finally, to communicate it to the latter in such a way as should least
irritate the old gentleman.

Now, before he faced the head of the Osborne house with the news which
it was his duty to tell, Dobbin bethought him that it would be politic
to make friends of the rest of the family, and, if possible, have the
ladies on his side. They can't be angry in their hearts, thought he.
No woman ever was really angry at a romantic marriage. A little crying
out, and they must come round to their brother; when the three of us
will lay siege to old Mr. Osborne.  So this Machiavellian captain of
infantry cast about him for some happy means or stratagem by which he
could gently and gradually bring the Misses Osborne to a knowledge of
their brother's secret.

By a little inquiry regarding his mother's engagements, he was pretty
soon able to find out by whom of her ladyship's friends parties were
given at that season; where he would be likely to meet Osborne's
sisters; and, though he had that abhorrence of routs and evening
parties which many sensible men, alas! entertain, he soon found one
where the Misses Osborne were to be present. Making his appearance at
the ball, where he danced a couple of sets with both of them, and was
prodigiously polite, he actually had the courage to ask Miss Osborne
for a few minutes' conversation at an early hour the next day, when he
had, he said, to communicate to her news of the very greatest interest.

What was it that made her start back, and gaze upon him for a moment,
and then on the ground at her feet, and make as if she would faint on
his arm, had he not by opportunely treading on her toes, brought the
young lady back to self-control?  Why was she so violently agitated at
Dobbin's request?  This can never be known. But when he came the next
day, Maria was not in the drawing-room with her sister, and Miss Wirt
went off for the purpose of fetching the latter, and the Captain and
Miss Osborne were left together. They were both so silent that the
ticktock of the Sacrifice of Iphigenia clock on the mantelpiece became
quite rudely audible.

"What a nice party it was last night," Miss Osborne at length began,
encouragingly; "and--and how you're improved in your dancing, Captain
Dobbin.  Surely somebody has taught you," she added, with amiable
archness.

"You should see me dance a reel with Mrs. Major O'Dowd of ours; and a
jig--did you ever see a jig?  But I think anybody could dance with you,
Miss Osborne, who dance so well."

"Is the Major's lady young and beautiful, Captain?" the fair questioner
continued.  "Ah, what a terrible thing it must be to be a soldier's
wife!  I wonder they have any spirits to dance, and in these dreadful
times of war, too! O Captain Dobbin, I tremble sometimes when I think
of our dearest George, and the dangers of the poor soldier. Are there
many married officers of the --th, Captain Dobbin?"

"Upon my word, she's playing her hand rather too openly," Miss Wirt
thought; but this observation is merely parenthetic, and was not heard
through the crevice of the door at which the governess uttered it.

"One of our young men is just married," Dobbin said, now coming to the
point.  "It was a very old attachment, and the young couple are as poor
as church mice." "O, how delightful! O, how romantic!" Miss Osborne
cried, as the Captain said "old attachment" and "poor." Her sympathy
encouraged him.

"The finest young fellow in the regiment," he continued. "Not a braver
or handsomer officer in the army; and such a charming wife! How you
would like her!  how you will like her when you know her, Miss
Osborne."  The young lady thought the actual moment had arrived, and
that Dobbin's nervousness which now came on and was visible in many
twitchings of his face, in his manner of beating the ground with his
great feet, in the rapid buttoning and unbuttoning of his frock-coat,
&c.--Miss Osborne, I say, thought that when he had given himself a
little air, he would unbosom himself entirely, and prepared eagerly to
listen.  And the clock, in the altar on which Iphigenia was situated,
beginning, after a preparatory convulsion, to toll twelve, the mere
tolling seemed as if it would last until one--so prolonged was the
knell to the anxious spinster.

"But it's not about marriage that I came to speak--that is that
marriage--that is--no, I mean--my dear Miss Osborne, it's about our
dear friend George," Dobbin said.

"About George?" she said in a tone so discomfited that Maria and Miss
Wirt laughed at the other side of the door, and even that abandoned
wretch of a Dobbin felt inclined to smile himself; for he was not
altogether unconscious of the state of affairs:  George having often
bantered him gracefully and said, "Hang it, Will, why don't you take
old Jane?  She'll have you if you ask her. I'll bet you five to two she
will."

"Yes, about George, then," he continued.  "There has been a difference
between him and Mr. Osborne.  And I regard him so much--for you know
we have been like brothers--that I hope and pray the quarrel may be
settled.  We must go abroad, Miss Osborne.  We may be ordered off at a
day's warning.  Who knows what may happen in the campaign?  Don't be
agitated, dear Miss Osborne; and those two at least should part
friends."

"There has been no quarrel, Captain Dobbin, except a little usual scene
with Papa," the lady said.  "We are expecting George back daily.  What
Papa wanted was only for his good.  He has but to come back, and I'm
sure all will be well; and dear Rhoda, who went away from here in sad
sad anger, I know will forgive him.  Woman forgives but too readily,
Captain."

"Such an angel as YOU I am sure would," Mr. Dobbin said, with atrocious
astuteness.  "And no man can pardon himself for giving a woman pain.
What would you feel, if a man were faithless to you?"

"I should perish--I should throw myself out of window--I should take
poison--I should pine and die.  I know I should," Miss cried, who had
nevertheless gone through one or two affairs of the heart without any
idea of suicide.

"And there are others," Dobbin continued, "as true and as kind-hearted
as yourself.  I'm not speaking about the West Indian heiress, Miss
Osborne, but about a poor girl whom George once loved, and who was bred
from her childhood to think of nobody but him. I've seen her in her
poverty uncomplaining, broken-hearted, without a fault.  It is of Miss
Sedley I speak.  Dear Miss Osborne, can your generous heart quarrel
with your brother for being faithful to her? Could his own conscience
ever forgive him if he deserted her?  Be her friend--she always loved
you--and--and I am come here charged by George to tell you that he
holds his engagement to her as the most sacred duty he has; and to
entreat you, at least, to be on his side."

When any strong emotion took possession of Mr. Dobbin, and after the
first word or two of hesitation, he could speak with perfect fluency,
and it was evident that his eloquence on this occasion made some
impression upon the lady whom he addressed.

"Well," said she, "this is--most surprising--most painful--most
extraordinary--what will Papa say?--that George should fling away such
a superb establishment as was offered to him but at any rate he has
found a very brave champion in you, Captain Dobbin.  It is of no use,
however," she continued, after a pause; "I feel for poor Miss Sedley,
most certainly--most sincerely, you know. We never thought the match a
good one, though we were always very kind to her here--very.  But Papa
will never consent, I am sure.  And a well brought up young woman, you
know--with a well-regulated mind, must--George must give her up, dear
Captain Dobbin, indeed he must."

"Ought a man to give up the woman he loved, just when misfortune befell
her?" Dobbin said, holding out his hand.  "Dear Miss Osborne, is this
the counsel I hear from you?  My dear young lady! you must befriend
her. He can't give her up.  He must not give her up.  Would a man,
think you, give YOU up if you were poor?"

This adroit question touched the heart of Miss Jane Osborne not a
little.  "I don't know whether we poor girls ought to believe what you
men say, Captain," she said. "There is that in woman's tenderness which
induces her to believe too easily.  I'm afraid you are cruel, cruel
deceivers,"--and Dobbin certainly thought he felt a pressure of the
hand which Miss Osborne had extended to him.

He dropped it in some alarm.  "Deceivers!" said he. "No, dear Miss
Osborne, all men are not; your brother is not; George has loved Amelia
Sedley ever since they were children; no wealth would make him marry
any but her.  Ought he to forsake her?  Would you counsel him to do so?"

What could Miss Jane say to such a question, and with her own peculiar
views?  She could not answer it, so she parried it by saying, "Well, if
you are not a deceiver, at least you are very romantic"; and Captain
William let this observation pass without challenge.

At length when, by the help of farther polite speeches, he deemed that
Miss Osborne was sufficiently prepared to receive the whole news, he
poured it into her ear. "George could not give up Amelia--George was
married to her"--and then he related the circumstances of the marriage
as we know them already:  how the poor girl would have died had not her
lover kept his faith:  how Old Sedley had refused all consent to the
match, and a licence had been got: and Jos Sedley had come from
Cheltenham to give away the bride: how they had gone to Brighton in
Jos's chariot-and-four to pass the honeymoon: and how George counted on
his dear kind sisters to befriend him with their father, as women--so
true and tender as they were--assuredly would do.  And so, asking
permission (readily granted) to see her again, and rightly conjecturing
that the news he had brought would be told in the next five minutes to
the other ladies, Captain Dobbin made his bow and took his leave.

He was scarcely out of the house, when Miss Maria and Miss Wirt rushed
in to Miss Osborne, and the whole wonderful secret was imparted to them
by that lady.  To do them justice, neither of the sisters was very much
displeased.  There is something about a runaway match with which few
ladies can be seriously angry, and Amelia rather rose in their
estimation, from the spirit which she had displayed in consenting to
the union.  As they debated the story, and prattled about it, and
wondered what Papa would do and say, came a loud knock, as of an
avenging thunder-clap, at the door, which made these conspirators
start.  It must be Papa, they thought. But it was not he.  It was only
Mr. Frederick Bullock, who had come from the City according to
appointment, to conduct the ladies to a flower-show.

This gentleman, as may be imagined, was not kept long in ignorance of
the secret.  But his face, when he heard it, showed an amazement which
was very different to that look of sentimental wonder which the
countenances of the sisters wore.  Mr. Bullock was a man of the world,
and a junior partner of a wealthy firm.  He knew what money was, and
the value of it: and a delightful throb of expectation lighted up his
little eyes, and caused him to smile on his Maria, as he thought that
by this piece of folly of Mr. George's she might be worth thirty
thousand pounds more than he had ever hoped to get with her.

"Gad!  Jane," said he, surveying even the elder sister with some
interest, "Eels will be sorry he cried off.  You may be a fifty
thousand pounder yet."

The sisters had never thought of the money question up to that moment,
but Fred Bullock bantered them with graceful gaiety about it during
their forenoon's excursion; and they had risen not a little in their
own esteem by the time when, the morning amusement over, they drove
back to dinner.  And do not let my respected reader exclaim against
this selfishness as unnatural.  It was but this present morning, as he
rode on the omnibus from Richmond; while it changed horses, this
present chronicler, being on the roof, marked three little children
playing in a puddle below, very dirty, and friendly, and happy.  To
these three presently came another little one. "POLLY," says she, "YOUR
SISTER'S GOT A PENNY."  At which the children got up from the puddle
instantly, and ran off to pay their court to Peggy.  And as the omnibus
drove off I saw Peggy with the infantine procession at her tail,
marching with great dignity towards the stall of a neighbouring
lollipop-woman.

 Like many people, Dobbin is shy on his own behalf, but when he is trying to be altruistic, he has all the energy in the world. While Amelia and George are on their honeymoon, Dobbin is in London trying to figure out the business side of their marriage. He has dealt with the Sedleys, and now the time has come to tell the Osbornes what George has done. Dobbin decides it's better to first tell George's sisters about it, since girls are always romantic and won't be as angry as his father is going to be. He hangs out with Jane Osborne, the older sister, at a party, and then asks to speak with her about something serious the next day. She kind of flips out a little because she is way into him and thinks he's about to propose. The next day there is a pretty comical scene of misunderstanding. Dobbin is beating around the bush trying to get to his point, and she is beating around the bush trying to encourage him to ask her to marry him. Finally he starts playing on her feelings about how romance and love are awesome, and also how men need to be honorable to the women who love them. When he puts it like this, she obviously can't disagree. So he tells her about George and Amelia's wedding, then he leaves. Jane Osborne is bummed about the lack of a proposal but is OK with the other news. She tells Maria and Fred Bullock about it. Fred points out that George is an idiot who will most likely be disinherited. If that happens, then Maria and Jane will each get a lot more money when Mr. Osborne dies.

