Chapter: The famous name of Merdle became, every day, more famous in the land.
Nobody knew that the Merdle of such high renown had ever done any good
to any one, alive or dead, or to any earthly thing; nobody knew that he
had any capacity or utterance of any sort in him, which had ever thrown,
    for any creature, the feeblest farthing-candle ray of light on any path
    of duty or diversion, pain or pleasure, toil or rest, fact or fancy,
    among the multiplicity of paths in the labyrinth trodden by the sons
    of Adam; nobody had the smallest reason for supposing the clay of which
    this object of worship was made, to be other than the commonest clay,
    with as clogged a wick smouldering inside of it as ever kept an image of
humanity from tumbling to pieces. All people knew (or thought they knew)
    that he had made himself immensely rich; and, for that reason alone,
    prostrated themselves before him, more degradedly and less excusably
    than the darkest savage creeps out of his hole in the ground to
    propitiate, in some log or reptile, the Deity of his benighted soul.

    Nay, the high priests of this worship had the man before them as
    a protest against their meanness. The multitude worshipped on
    trust--though always distinctly knowing why--but the officiators at the
    altar had the man habitually in their view. They sat at his feasts, and
    he sat at theirs. There was a spectre always attendant on him, saying to
    these high priests, 'Are such the signs you trust, and love to honour;
    this head, these eyes, this mode of speech, the tone and manner of this
    man? You are the levers of the Circumlocution Office, and the rulers of
    men. When half-a-dozen of you fall out by the ears, it seems that mother
    earth can give birth to no other rulers. Does your qualification lie in
    the superior knowledge of men which accepts, courts, and puffs this man?
    Or, if you are competent to judge aright the signs I never fail to
    show you when he appears among you, is your superior honesty your
    qualification?' Two rather ugly questions these, always going about
    town with Mr Merdle; and there was a tacit agreement that they must be
    stifled.

    In Mrs Merdle's absence abroad, Mr Merdle still kept the great house
    open for the passage through it of a stream Of visitors. A few of these
    took affable possession of the establishment. Three or four ladies of
    distinction and liveliness used to say to one another, 'Let us dine at
    our dear Merdle's next Thursday. Whom shall we have?' Our dear Merdle
    would then receive his instructions; and would sit heavily among the
    company at table and wander lumpishly about his drawing-rooms
    afterwards, only remarkable for appearing to have nothing to do with the
    entertainment beyond being in its way.

    The Chief Butler, the Avenging Spirit of this great man's life, relaxed
    nothing of his severity. He looked on at these dinners when the bosom
    was not there, as he looked on at other dinners when the bosom was
    there; and his eye was a basilisk to Mr Merdle. He was a hard man, and
    would never bate an ounce of plate or a bottle of wine. He would not
    allow a dinner to be given, unless it was up to his mark. He set forth
    the table for his own dignity. If the guests chose to partake of what
    was served, he saw no objection; but it was served for the maintenance
    of his rank. As he stood by the sideboard he seemed to announce, 'I have
    accepted office to look at this which is now before me, and to look at
    nothing less than this.' If he missed the presiding bosom, it was as a
    part of his own state of which he was, from unavoidable circumstances,
    temporarily deprived, just as he might have missed a centre-piece, or a
    choice wine-cooler, which had been sent to the Banker's.

    Mr Merdle issued invitations for a Barnacle dinner. Lord Decimus was to
    be there, Mr Tite Barnacle was to be there, the pleasant young Barnacle
    was to be there; and the Chorus of Parliamentary Barnacles who went
    about the provinces when the House was up, warbling the praises of their
    Chief, were to be represented there. It was understood to be a great
    occasion. Mr Merdle was going to take up the Barnacles. Some delicate
    little negotiations had occurred between him and the noble Decimus--the
    young Barnacle of engaging manners acting as negotiator--and Mr Merdle
    had decided to cast the weight of his great probity and great riches
    into the Barnacle scale. Jobbery was suspected by the malicious; perhaps
    because it was indisputable that if the adherence of the immortal Enemy
    of Mankind could have been secured by a job, the Barnacles would have
    jobbed him--for the good of the country, for the good of the country.

    Mrs Merdle had written to this magnificent spouse of hers, whom it was
    heresy to regard as anything less than all the British Merchants since
    the days of Whittington rolled into one, and gilded three feet deep all
    over--had written to this spouse of hers, several letters from Rome, in
    quick succession, urging upon him with importunity that now or never was
    the time to provide for Edmund Sparkler. Mrs Merdle had shown him that
    the case of Edmund was urgent, and that infinite advantages might result
    from his having some good thing directly. In the grammar of Mrs
    Merdle's verbs on this momentous subject, there was only one mood, the
    Imperative; and that Mood had only one Tense, the Present. Mrs Merdle's
    verbs were so pressingly presented to Mr Merdle to conjugate, that his
    sluggish blood and his long coat-cuffs became quite agitated.

    In which state of agitation, Mr Merdle, evasively rolling his eyes
    round the Chief Butler's shoes without raising them to the index of that
    stupendous creature's thoughts, had signified to him his intention of
    giving a special dinner: not a very large dinner, but a very special
    dinner. The Chief Butler had signified, in return, that he had no
    objection to look on at the most expensive thing in that way that could
    be done; and the day of the dinner was now come.

    Mr Merdle stood in one of his drawing-rooms, with his back to the fire,
    waiting for the arrival of his important guests. He seldom or never took
    the liberty of standing with his back to the fire unless he was quite
    alone. In the presence of the Chief Butler, he could not have done such
    a deed. He would have clasped himself by the wrists in that constabulary
    manner of his, and have paced up and down the hearthrug, or gone
    creeping about among the rich objects of furniture, if his oppressive
    retainer had appeared in the room at that very moment. The sly shadows
    which seemed to dart out of hiding when the fire rose, and to dart back
    into it when the fire fell, were sufficient witnesses of his making
    himself so easy. They were even more than sufficient, if his
    uncomfortable glances at them might be taken to mean anything.

    Mr Merdle's right hand was filled with the evening paper, and the
    evening paper was full of Mr Merdle. His wonderful enterprise, his
    wonderful wealth, his wonderful Bank, were the fattening food of the
    evening paper that night. The wonderful Bank, of which he was the chief
    projector, establisher, and manager, was the latest of the many Merdle
    wonders. So modest was Mr Merdle withal, in the midst of these splendid
    achievements, that he looked far more like a man in possession of his
    house under a distraint, than a commercial Colossus bestriding his own
    hearthrug, while the little ships were sailing into dinner.

    Behold the vessels coming into port! The engaging young Barnacle was the
    first arrival; but Bar overtook him on the staircase. Bar, strengthened
    as usual with his double eye-glass and his little jury droop, was
    overjoyed to see the engaging young Barnacle; and opined that we were
    going to sit in Banco, as we lawyers called it, to take a special
    argument?

    'Indeed,' said the sprightly young Barnacle, whose name was Ferdinand;
    'how so?'

    'Nay,' smiled Bar. 'If you don't know, how can I know? You are in the
    innermost sanctuary of the temple; I am one of the admiring concourse on
    the plain without.'

    Bar could be light in hand, or heavy in hand, according to the customer
    he had to deal with. With Ferdinand Barnacle he was gossamer. Bar was
    likewise always modest and self-depreciatory--in his way. Bar was a man
    of great variety; but one leading thread ran through the woof of all his
    patterns. Every man with whom he had to do was in his eyes a jury-man;
    and he must get that jury-man over, if he could.

    'Our illustrious host and friend,' said Bar; 'our shining mercantile
    star;--going into politics?'

    'Going? He has been in Parliament some time, you know,' returned the
    engaging young Barnacle.

    'True,' said Bar, with his light-comedy laugh for special jury-men,
    which was a very different thing from his low-comedy laugh for comic
    tradesmen on common juries: 'he has been in Parliament for some time.
    Yet hitherto our star has been a vacillating and wavering star? Humph?'

    An average witness would have been seduced by the Humph? into an
    affirmative answer, But Ferdinand Barnacle looked knowingly at Bar as he
    strolled up-stairs, and gave him no answer at all.

    'Just so, just so,' said Bar, nodding his head, for he was not to be put
    off in that way, 'and therefore I spoke of our sitting _in Banco_ to take
    a special argument--meaning this to be a high and solemn occasion, when,
    as Captain Macheath says, "the judges are met: a terrible show!" We
    lawyers are sufficiently liberal, you see, to quote the Captain, though
    the Captain is severe upon us. Nevertheless, I think I could put in
    evidence an admission of the Captain's,' said Bar, with a little jocose
    roll of his head; for, in his legal current of speech, he always assumed
    the air of rallying himself with the best grace in the world; 'an
    admission of the Captain's that Law, in the gross, is at least
    intended to be impartial. For what says the Captain, if I quote
    him correctly--and if not,' with a light-comedy touch of his double
    eye-glass on his companion's shoulder, 'my learned friend will set me
    right:


    "Since laws were made for every degree,
    To curb vice in others as well as in me,
    I wonder we ha'n't better company
    Upon Tyburn Tree!"'


    These words brought them to the drawing-room, where Mr Merdle stood
    before the fire. So immensely astounded was Mr Merdle by the entrance
    of Bar with such a reference in his mouth, that Bar explained himself
    to have been quoting Gay. 'Assuredly not one of our Westminster Hall
    authorities,' said he, 'but still no despicable one to a man possessing
    the largely-practical Mr Merdle's knowledge of the world.'

    Mr Merdle looked as if he thought he would say something, but
    subsequently looked as if he thought he wouldn't. The interval afforded
    time for Bishop to be announced.

    Bishop came in with meekness, and yet with a strong and rapid step as if
    he wanted to get his seven-league dress-shoes on, and go round the world
    to see that everybody was in a satisfactory state. Bishop had no idea
    that there was anything significant in the occasion. That was the most
    remarkable trait in his demeanour. He was crisp, fresh, cheerful,
    affable, bland; but so surprisingly innocent.

    Bar sidled up to prefer his politest inquiries in reference to the
    health of Mrs Bishop. Mrs Bishop had been a little unfortunate in the
    article of taking cold at a Confirmation, but otherwise was well. Young
    Mr Bishop was also well. He was down, with his young wife and little
    family, at his Cure of Souls.

    The representatives of the Barnacle Chorus dropped in next, and Mr
    Merdle's physician dropped in next. Bar, who had a bit of one eye and a
    bit of his double eye-glass for every one who came in at the door, no
    matter with whom he was conversing or what he was talking about, got
    among them all by some skilful means, without being seen to get at them,
    and touched each individual gentleman of the jury on his own individual
    favourite spot. With some of the Chorus, he laughed about the sleepy
    member who had gone out into the lobby the other night, and voted the
    wrong way: with others, he deplored that innovating spirit in the time
    which could not even be prevented from taking an unnatural interest in
    the public service and the public money: with the physician he had a
    word to say about the general health; he had also a little information
    to ask him for, concerning a professional man of unquestioned erudition
    and polished manners--but those credentials in their highest development
    he believed were the possession of other professors of the healing art
    (jury droop)--whom he had happened to have in the witness-box the day
    before yesterday, and from whom he had elicited in cross-examination
    that he claimed to be one of the exponents of this new mode of treatment
    which appeared to Bar to--eh?--well, Bar thought so; Bar had thought,
    and hoped, Physician would tell him so. Without presuming to decide
    where doctors disagreed, it did appear to Bar, viewing it as a question
    of common sense and not of so-called legal penetration, that this new
    system was--might be, in the presence of so great an authority--say,
    Humbug? Ah! Fortified by such encouragement, he could venture to say
    Humbug; and now Bar's mind was relieved.

    Mr Tite Barnacle, who, like Dr Johnson's celebrated acquaintance, had
    only one idea in his head and that was a wrong one, had appeared by this
    time. This eminent gentleman and Mr Merdle, seated diverse ways and with
    ruminating aspects on a yellow ottoman in the light of the fire,
    holding no verbal communication with each other, bore a strong general
    resemblance to the two cows in the Cuyp picture over against them.

    But now, Lord Decimus arrived. The Chief Butler, who up to this time
    had limited himself to a branch of his usual function by looking at the
    company as they entered (and that, with more of defiance than favour),
    put himself so far out of his way as to come up-stairs with him and
    announce him. Lord Decimus being an overpowering peer, a bashful young
    member of the Lower House who was the last fish but one caught by the
    Barnacles, and who had been invited on this occasion to commemorate his
    capture, shut his eyes when his Lordship came in.

    Lord Decimus, nevertheless, was glad to see the Member. He was also
    glad to see Mr Merdle, glad to see Bishop, glad to see Bar, glad to see
    Physician, glad to see Tite Barnacle, glad to see Chorus, glad to
    see Ferdinand his private secretary. Lord Decimus, though one of the
    greatest of the earth, was not remarkable for ingratiatory manners, and
    Ferdinand had coached him up to the point of noticing all the fellows
    he might find there, and saying he was glad to see them. When he had
    achieved this rush of vivacity and condescension, his Lordship composed
    himself into the picture after Cuyp, and made a third cow in the group.

    Bar, who felt that he had got all the rest of the jury and must now lay
    hold of the Foreman, soon came sidling up, double eye-glass in hand. Bar
    tendered the weather, as a subject neatly aloof from official reserve,
    for the Foreman's consideration. Bar said that he was told (as everybody
            always is told, though who tells them, and why, will ever remain a
            mystery), that there was to be no wall-fruit this year. Lord Decimus
    had not heard anything amiss of his peaches, but rather believed, if his
    people were correct, he was to have no apples. No apples? Bar was lost
    in astonishment and concern. It would have been all one to him, in
    reality, if there had not been a pippin on the surface of the earth, but
    his show of interest in this apple question was positively painful.
    Now, to what, Lord Decimus--for we troublesome lawyers loved to gather
    information, and could never tell how useful it might prove to us--to
    what, Lord Decimus, was this to be attributed? Lord Decimus could not
    undertake to propound any theory about it. This might have stopped
    another man; but Bar, sticking to him fresh as ever, said, 'As to pears,
    now?'

    Long after Bar got made Attorney-General, this was told of him as
    a master-stroke. Lord Decimus had a reminiscence about a pear-tree
    formerly growing in a garden near the back of his dame's house at Eton,
    upon which pear-tree the only joke of his life perennially bloomed. It
    was a joke of a compact and portable nature, turning on the difference
    between Eton pears and Parliamentary pairs; but it was a joke, a refined
    relish of which would seem to have appeared to Lord Decimus impossible
    to be had without a thorough and intimate acquaintance with the tree.
    Therefore, the story at first had no idea of such a tree, sir, then
    gradually found it in winter, carried it through the changing season,
    saw it bud, saw it blossom, saw it bear fruit, saw the fruit ripen; in
    short, cultivated the tree in that diligent and minute manner before it
    got out of the bed-room window to steal the fruit, that many thanks had
    been offered up by belated listeners for the trees having been planted
    and grafted prior to Lord Decimus's time. Bar's interest in apples was
    so overtopped by the wrapt suspense in which he pursued the changes
    of these pears, from the moment when Lord Decimus solemnly opened with
    'Your mentioning pears recalls to my remembrance a pear-tree,' down to
    the rich conclusion, 'And so we pass, through the various changes
    of life, from Eton pears to Parliamentary pairs,' that he had to go
    down-stairs with Lord Decimus, and even then to be seated next to him
    at table in order that he might hear the anecdote out. By that time, Bar
    felt that he had secured the Foreman, and might go to dinner with a good
    appetite.

    It was a dinner to provoke an appetite, though he had not had one. The
    rarest dishes, sumptuously cooked and sumptuously served; the choicest
    fruits; the most exquisite wines; marvels of workmanship in gold and
    silver, china and glass; innumerable things delicious to the senses of
    taste, smell, and sight, were insinuated into its composition. O, what
    a wonderful man this Merdle, what a great man, what a master man, how
    blessedly and enviably endowed--in one word, what a rich man!

    He took his usual poor eighteenpennyworth of food in his usual
    indigestive way, and had as little to say for himself as ever a
    wonderful man had. Fortunately Lord Decimus was one of those sublimities
    who have no occasion to be talked to, for they can be at any time
    sufficiently occupied with the contemplation of their own greatness.
    This enabled the bashful young Member to keep his eyes open long enough
    at a time to see his dinner. But, whenever Lord Decimus spoke, he shut
    them again.

    The agreeable young Barnacle, and Bar, were the talkers of the party.
    Bishop would have been exceedingly agreeable also, but that his
    innocence stood in his way. He was so soon left behind. When there was
    any little hint of anything being in the wind, he got lost directly.
    Worldly affairs were too much for him; he couldn't make them out at all.

    This was observable when Bar said, incidentally, that he was happy to
    have heard that we were soon to have the advantage of enlisting on
    the good side, the sound and plain sagacity--not demonstrative or
    ostentatious, but thoroughly sound and practical--of our friend Mr
    Sparkler.

    Ferdinand Barnacle laughed, and said oh yes, he believed so. A vote was
    a vote, and always acceptable.

    Bar was sorry to miss our good friend Mr Sparkler to-day, Mr Merdle.

    'He is away with Mrs Merdle,' returned that gentleman, slowly coming
    out of a long abstraction, in the course of which he had been fitting a
    tablespoon up his sleeve. 'It is not indispensable for him to be on the
    spot.'

    'The magic name of Merdle,' said Bar, with the jury droop, 'no doubt
    will suffice for all.'

    'Why--yes--I believe so,' assented Mr Merdle, putting the spoon aside,
    and clumsily hiding each of his hands in the coat-cuff of the other
    hand. 'I believe the people in my interest down there will not make any
    difficulty.'

    'Model people!' said Bar.

    'I am glad you approve of them,' said Mr Merdle.

    'And the people of those other two places, now,' pursued Bar, with a
    bright twinkle in his keen eye, as it slightly turned in the direction
    of his magnificent neighbour; 'we lawyers are always curious, always
    inquisitive, always picking up odds and ends for our patchwork minds,
    since there is no knowing when and where they may fit into some
    corner;--the people of those other two places now? Do they yield so
    laudably to the vast and cumulative influence of such enterprise and
    such renown; do those little rills become absorbed so quietly
    and easily, and, as it were by the influence of natural laws, so
    beautifully, in the swoop of the majestic stream as it flows upon its
    wondrous way enriching the surrounding lands; that their course is
    perfectly to be calculated, and distinctly to be predicated?'

    Mr Merdle, a little troubled by Bar's eloquence, looked fitfully about
    the nearest salt-cellar for some moments, and then said hesitating:

    'They are perfectly aware, sir, of their duty to Society. They will
    return anybody I send to them for that purpose.'

    'Cheering to know,' said Bar. 'Cheering to know.'

    The three places in question were three little rotten holes in this
    Island, containing three little ignorant, drunken, guzzling, dirty,
    out-of-the-way constituencies, that had reeled into Mr Merdle's pocket.
    Ferdinand Barnacle laughed in his easy way, and airily said they were
    a nice set of fellows. Bishop, mentally perambulating among paths of
    peace, was altogether swallowed up in absence of mind.

    'Pray,' asked Lord Decimus, casting his eyes around the table, 'what
    is this story I have heard of a gentleman long confined in a debtors'
    prison proving to be of a wealthy family, and having come into the
    inheritance of a large sum of money? I have met with a variety of
    allusions to it. Do you know anything of it, Ferdinand?'

    'I only know this much,' said Ferdinand, 'that he has given the
    Department with which I have the honour to be associated;' this
    sparkling young Barnacle threw off the phrase sportively, as who should
    say, We know all about these forms of speech, but we must keep it up,
    we must keep the game alive; 'no end of trouble, and has put us into
    innumerable fixes.'

    'Fixes?' repeated Lord Decimus, with a majestic pausing and pondering
    on the word that made the bashful Member shut his eyes quite tight.
    'Fixes?'

    'A very perplexing business indeed,' observed Mr Tite Barnacle, with an
    air of grave resentment.

    'What,' said Lord Decimus, 'was the character of his business; what was
    the nature of these--a--Fixes, Ferdinand?'

    'Oh, it's a good story, as a story,' returned that gentleman; 'as good
    a thing of its kind as need be. This Mr Dorrit (his name is Dorrit) had
    incurred a responsibility to us, ages before the fairy came out of
    the Bank and gave him his fortune, under a bond he had signed for the
    performance of a contract which was not at all performed. He was a
    partner in a house in some large way--spirits, or buttons, or wine, or
    blacking, or oatmeal, or woollen, or pork, or hooks and eyes, or iron,
    or treacle, or shoes, or something or other that was wanted for troops,
    or seamen, or somebody--and the house burst, and we being among
    the creditors, detainees were lodged on the part of the Crown in a
    scientific manner, and all the rest of it. When the fairy had appeared
    and he wanted to pay us off, Egad we had got into such an exemplary
    state of checking and counter-checking, signing and counter-signing,
    that it was six months before we knew how to take the money, or how to
    give a receipt for it. It was a triumph of public business,' said this
    handsome young Barnacle, laughing heartily, 'You never saw such a lot of
    forms in your life. "Why," the attorney said to me one day, "if I wanted
    this office to give me two or three thousand pounds instead of take it,
    I couldn't have more trouble about it." "You are right, old fellow,"
    I told him, "and in future you'll know that we have something to do
    here."' The pleasant young Barnacle finished by once more laughing
    heartily. He was a very easy, pleasant fellow indeed, and his manners
    were exceedingly winning.

    Mr Tite Barnacle's view of the business was of a less airy character. He
    took it ill that Mr Dorrit had troubled the Department by wanting to
    pay the money, and considered it a grossly informal thing to do after so
    many years. But Mr Tite Barnacle was a buttoned-up man, and consequently
    a weighty one. All buttoned-up men are weighty. All buttoned-up men are
    believed in. Whether or no the reserved and never-exercised power of
    unbuttoning, fascinates mankind; whether or no wisdom is supposed to
    condense and augment when buttoned up, and to evaporate when unbuttoned;
    it is certain that the man to whom importance is accorded is the
    buttoned-up man. Mr Tite Barnacle never would have passed for half his
    current value, unless his coat had been always buttoned-up to his white
    cravat.

    'May I ask,' said Lord Decimus, 'if Mr Darrit--or Dorrit--has any
    family?'

    Nobody else replying, the host said, 'He has two daughters, my lord.'

    'Oh! you are acquainted with him?' asked Lord Decimus.

    'Mrs Merdle is. Mr Sparkler is, too. In fact,' said Mr Merdle, 'I rather
    believe that one of the young ladies has made an impression on Edmund
    Sparkler. He is susceptible, and--I--think--the conquest--' Here Mr
    Merdle stopped, and looked at the table-cloth, as he usually did when he
    found himself observed or listened to.

    Bar was uncommonly pleased to find that the Merdle family, and this
    family, had already been brought into contact. He submitted, in a low
    voice across the table to Bishop, that it was a kind of analogical
    illustration of those physical laws, in virtue of which Like flies to
    Like. He regarded this power of attraction in wealth to draw wealth
    to it, as something remarkably interesting and curious--something
    indefinably allied to the loadstone and gravitation. Bishop, who
    had ambled back to earth again when the present theme was broached,
    acquiesced. He said it was indeed highly important to Society that one
    in the trying situation of unexpectedly finding himself invested with a
    power for good or for evil in Society, should become, as it were, merged
    in the superior power of a more legitimate and more gigantic growth, the
influence of which (as in the case of our friend at whose board we sat)
    was habitually exercised in harmony with the best interests of Society.
    Thus, instead of two rival and contending flames, a larger and a lesser,
    each burning with a lurid and uncertain glare, we had a blended and a
    softened light whose genial ray diffused an equable warmth throughout
    the land. Bishop seemed to like his own way of putting the case very
    much, and rather dwelt upon it; Bar, meanwhile (not to throw away a
            jury-man), making a show of sitting at his feet and feeding on his
    precepts.

    The dinner and dessert being three hours long, the bashful Member cooled
    in the shadow of Lord Decimus faster than he warmed with food and drink,
    and had but a chilly time of it. Lord Decimus, like a tall tower in a
    flat country, seemed to project himself across the table-cloth, hide the
    light from the honourable Member, cool the honourable Member's marrow,
    and give him a woeful idea of distance. When he asked this unfortunate
    traveller to take wine, he encompassed his faltering steps with the
    gloomiest of shades; and when he said, 'Your health sir!' all around him
    was barrenness and desolation.

    At length Lord Decimus, with a coffee-cup in his hand, began to hover
    about among the pictures, and to cause an interesting speculation to
    arise in all minds as to the probabilities of his ceasing to hover, and
    enabling the smaller birds to flutter up-stairs; which could not be
    done until he had urged his noble pinions in that direction. After some
    delay, and several stretches of his wings which came to nothing, he
    soared to the drawing-rooms.

    And here a difficulty arose, which always does arise when two people
    are specially brought together at a dinner to confer with one another.
    Everybody (except Bishop, who had no suspicion of it) knew perfectly
    well that this dinner had been eaten and drunk, specifically to the end
    that Lord Decimus and Mr Merdle should have five minutes' conversation
    together. The opportunity so elaborately prepared was now arrived, and
    it seemed from that moment that no mere human ingenuity could so much as
    get the two chieftains into the same room. Mr Merdle and his noble guest
    persisted in prowling about at opposite ends of the perspective. It was
    in vain for the engaging Ferdinand to bring Lord Decimus to look at the
    bronze horses near Mr Merdle. Then Mr Merdle evaded, and wandered away.
    It was in vain for him to bring Mr Merdle to Lord Decimus to tell him
    the history of the unique Dresden vases. Then Lord Decimus evaded and
    wandered away, while he was getting his man up to the mark.

    'Did you ever see such a thing as this?' said Ferdinand to Bar when he
    had been baffled twenty times.

    'Often,' returned Bar.

    'Unless I butt one of them into an appointed corner, and you butt the
    other,' said Ferdinand,'it will not come off after all.'

    'Very good,' said Bar. 'I'll butt Merdle, if you like; but not my lord.'

    Ferdinand laughed, in the midst of his vexation. 'Confound them both!'
    said he, looking at his watch. 'I want to get away. Why the deuce can't
    they come together! They both know what they want and mean to do. Look
    at them!'

    They were still looming at opposite ends of the perspective, each with
    an absurd pretence of not having the other on his mind, which could not
    have been more transparently ridiculous though his real mind had been
    chalked on his back. Bishop, who had just now made a third with Bar and
    Ferdinand, but whose innocence had again cut him out of the subject and
    washed him in sweet oil, was seen to approach Lord Decimus and glide
    into conversation.

    'I must get Merdle's doctor to catch and secure him, I suppose,' said
    Ferdinand; 'and then I must lay hold of my illustrious kinsman, and
    decoy him if I can--drag him if I can't--to the conference.'

    'Since you do me the honour,' said Bar, with his slyest smile, to ask
    for my poor aid, it shall be yours with the greatest pleasure. I don't
    think this is to be done by one man. But if you will undertake to pen
    my lord into that furthest drawing-room where he is now so profoundly
    engaged, I will undertake to bring our dear Merdle into the presence,
    without the possibility of getting away.'

    'Done!' said Ferdinand. 'Done!' said Bar.

    Bar was a sight wondrous to behold, and full of matter, when, jauntily
    waving his double eye-glass by its ribbon, and jauntily drooping to an
    Universe of Jurymen, he, in the most accidental manner ever seen,
    found himself at Mr Merdle's shoulder, and embraced that opportunity of
    mentioning a little point to him, on which he particularly wished to
    be guided by the light of his practical knowledge. (Here he took Mr
            Merdle's arm and walked him gently away.) A banker, whom we would call
    A. B., advanced a considerable sum of money, which we would call fifteen
    thousand pounds, to a client or customer of his, whom he would call P.
    Q. (Here, as they were getting towards Lord Decimus, he held Mr Merdle
            tight.) As a security for the repayment of this advance to P. Q. whom
    we would call a widow lady, there were placed in A. B.'s hands the
    title-deeds of a freehold estate, which we would call Blinkiter Doddles.
    Now, the point was this. A limited right of felling and lopping in
    the woods of Blinkiter Doddles, lay in the son of P. Q. then past his
    majority, and whom we would call X. Y.--but really this was too bad! In
    the presence of Lord Decimus, to detain the host with chopping our dry
    chaff of law, was really too bad! Another time! Bar was truly repentant,
    and would not say another syllable. Would Bishop favour him with
    half-a-dozen words? (He had now set Mr Merdle down on a couch, side by
            side with Lord Decimus, and to it they must go, now or never.)

    And now the rest of the company, highly excited and interested, always
    excepting Bishop, who had not the slightest idea that anything was going
    on, formed in one group round the fire in the next drawing-room, and
    pretended to be chatting easily on the infinite variety of small topics,
    while everybody's thoughts and eyes were secretly straying towards the
    secluded pair. The Chorus were excessively nervous, perhaps as labouring
    under the dreadful apprehension that some good thing was going to
    be diverted from them! Bishop alone talked steadily and evenly. He
    conversed with the great Physician on that relaxation of the throat with
    which young curates were too frequently afflicted, and on the means
    of lessening the great prevalence of that disorder in the church.
    Physician, as a general rule, was of opinion that the best way to avoid
    it was to know how to read, before you made a profession of reading.
    Bishop said dubiously, did he really think so? And Physician said,
    decidedly, yes he did.

    Ferdinand, meanwhile, was the only one of the party who skirmished on
    the outside of the circle; he kept about mid-way between it and the
    two, as if some sort of surgical operation were being performed by Lord
    Decimus on Mr Merdle, or by Mr Merdle on Lord Decimus, and his services
    might at any moment be required as Dresser. In fact, within a quarter
    of an hour Lord Decimus called to him 'Ferdinand!' and he went, and
    took his place in the conference for some five minutes more. Then a
    half-suppressed gasp broke out among the Chorus; for Lord Decimus rose
    to take his leave. Again coached up by Ferdinand to the point of making
    himself popular, he shook hands in the most brilliant manner with the
    whole company, and even said to Bar, 'I hope you were not bored by my
    pears?' To which Bar retorted, 'Eton, my lord, or Parliamentary?' neatly
    showing that he had mastered the joke, and delicately insinuating that
    he could never forget it while his life remained.

    All the grave importance that was buttoned up in Mr Tite Barnacle, took
    itself away next; and Ferdinand took himself away next, to the opera.
    Some of the rest lingered a little, marrying golden liqueur glasses to
    Buhl tables with sticky rings; on the desperate chance of Mr Merdle's
    saying something. But Merdle, as usual, oozed sluggishly and muddily
    about his drawing-room, saying never a word.

    In a day or two it was announced to all the town, that Edmund Sparkler,
    Esquire, son-in-law of the eminent Mr Merdle of worldwide renown, was
    made one of the Lords of the Circumlocution Office; and proclamation was
    issued, to all true believers, that this admirable appointment was to
    be hailed as a graceful and gracious mark of homage, rendered by the
    graceful and gracious Decimus, to that commercial interest which must
    ever in a great commercial country--and all the rest of it, with
    blast of trumpet. So, bolstered by this mark of Government homage, the
    wonderful Bank and all the other wonderful undertakings went on and went
    up; and gapers came to Harley Street, Cavendish Square, only to look at
    the house where the golden wonder lived.

    And when they saw the Chief Butler looking out at the hall-door in
    his moments of condescension, the gapers said how rich he looked, and
    wondered how much money he had in the wonderful Bank. But, if they had
    known that respectable Nemesis better, they would not have wondered
    about it, and might have stated the amount with the utmost precision.

 Oh, Merdle, Merdle, Merdle. Everyone worships the ground he walks on because of his money. Which is sort of a crazy reason, especially since none of that money does anyone any good. While Mrs. Merdle is gone, society still hangs out at the Merdle house. Merdle himself lurks there too, but since he's not really all that social, and since he's terrified of his butler, he kind of keeps in the shadows. But suddenly Merdle starts getting urgent letters from Mrs. Merdle saying that Edmund Sparkler needs to finally be set up with some kind of job. And what she means by job is an appointment of some sort where he will be paid money for not doing much of anything. So Merdle decides to organize a small dinner for some powerful people. Basically, the idea is that at this dinner, Merdle and Lord Decimus will do a quid pro quo, a totally illegal and unethical trade of power. Merdle owns three rotten boroughs, each of which is supposed to elect a member of Parliament. He will get whomever Decimus wants elected in exchange for a position for Sparkler in the Circumlocution Office. Merdle and Decimus are social idiots. Everyone does their best to keep up the party around them, since this is such an important meeting. Bar, the lawyer, is particularly impressive and able to chat up every single person there. Finally, after dinner, everyone goes upstairs and waits for the Merdle-Decimus convo. There is no convo. They are so inept that they can't move toward each other in the room. It's hilariously ridiculous. Finally, Bar steers Merdle toward Decimus, and Frederic Barnacle steers Decimus toward Merdle. They have a chat. Hooray! Business accomplished. The next day the papers announce that Edmund Sparkler has been appointed to a high Circumlocution Office position. Maybe Shmoop is a little cynical, but we're betting this is the way government still sometimes works.

