“She has a graceful carriage, an exquisite shape, a sweet voice, a countenance beaming with animation and expression; and the eye,” he says, rubbing his hands, “of a startled fawn.”
‘Tom supposed this might mean, what was called among his circle of acquaintance, “a game eye;” and, with a view to this defect, inquired whether the young lady had any cash.
‘ “She has five thousand pounds,” cries the old gentleman. “But what of that? what of that? A word in your ear. I’m in search of the philosopher’s stone. I have very nearly found it—not quite. It turns everything to gold; that’s its property.”
‘Tom naturally thought it must have a deal of property; and said that when the old gentleman did get it, he hoped he’d be careful to keep it in the family.
‘ “Certainly,” he says, “of course. Five thousand pounds! What’s five thousand pounds to us? What’s five million?” he says. “What’s five thousand million? Money will be nothing to us. We shall never be able to spend it fast enough.”
‘ “We’ll try what we can do, Sir,” says Tom.
‘ “We will,” says the old gentleman. “Your name?”
‘ “Grig,” says Tom.
‘The old gentleman embraced him again, very tight; and without speaking another word, dragged him into the house in such an excited manner, that it was as much as Tom could do to take his link and ladder with him, and put them down in the passage.
‘Gentlemen, if Tom hadn’t been always remarkable for his love of truth, I think you would still have believed him when he said that all this was like a dream. There is no better way for a man to find out whether he is really asleep or awake, than calling for something to eat. If he’s in a dream, gentlemen, he’ll find something wanting in flavour, depend upon it.
‘Tom explained his doubts to the old gentleman, and said that if there was any cold meat in the house, it would ease his mind very much to test himself at once. The old gentleman ordered up a venison pie, a small ham, and a bottle of very old Madeira. At the first mouthful of pie and the first glass of wine, Tom smacks his lips and cries out, “I’m awake—wide awake;” and to prove that he was so, gentlemen, he made an end of ’em both.
‘When Tom had finished his meal (which he never spoke of afterwards without tears in his eyes), the old gentleman hugs him again, and says, “Noble stranger! let us visit my young and lovely niece.” Tom, who was a little elevated with the wine, replies, “The noble stranger is agreeable!” At which words the old gentleman took him by the hand, and led him to the parlour; crying as he opened the door, “Here is Mr. Grig, the favourite of the planets!”
‘I will not attempt a description of female beauty, gentlemen, for every one of us has a model of his own that suits his own taste best. In this parlour that I’m speaking of, there were two young ladies; and if every gentleman present, will imagine two models of his own in their places, and will be kind enough to polish ’em up to the very highest pitch of perfection, he will then have a faint conception of their uncommon radiance.
‘Besides these two young ladies, there was their waiting-woman, that under any other circumstances Tom would have looked upon as a Venus; and besides her, there was a tall, thin, dismal-faced young gentleman, half man and half boy, dressed in a childish suit of clothes very much too short in the legs and arms; and looking, according to Tom’s comparison, like one of the wax juveniles from a tailor’s door, grown up and run to seed. Now, this youngster stamped his foot upon the ground and looked very fierce at Tom, and Tom looked fierce at him—for to tell the truth, gentlemen, Tom more than half suspected that when they entered the room he was kissing one of the young ladies; and for anything Tom knew, you observe, it might be hisyoung lady—which was not pleasant.
‘ “Sir,” says Tom, “before we proceed any further, will you have the goodness to inform me who this young Salamander”—Tom called him that for aggravation, you perceive, gentlemen—“who this young Salamander may be?”
‘ “That, Mr. Grig,” says the old gentleman, “is my little boy. He was christened Galileo Isaac Newton Flamstead. Don’t mind him. He’s a mere child.”
‘ “And a very fine child too,” says Tom—still aggravating, you’ll observe—“of his age, and as good as fine, I have no doubt.