In Which Mr Headstone Makes a Resolution

The time of year being apposite to the making of resolutions, Mr. Headstone determined to resign his apprenticeship under Mr. Cruncher, and to look for more congenial employment. The schoolmaster together with his friends and acquaintances had gathered, as was their custom, at The Saracen’s Head to bid farewell to the old year and to welcome in the new. The pot boy was being kept in a state of perpetual motion, bringing in from the kitchen first some oysters, and then a pair of roast fowls, together with potatoes boiled and roasted, followed by a dish of stewed beef with vegetables, and a raised pie and a dish of kidneys, and then a tart and a shape of jelly, and, last but not least, the cheese and the celery. Whilst in the execution of these duties, the pot boy was hailed at regular intervals by members of the party for the provision of a quart of ale, a pint of champagne, a bowl of gin punch, a round of sherry cobblers, a flask of brandy, a pint of red wine, and a pint of white, and various other sundries. Having apprised the company of his present difficulties, Mr. Headstone was gratified to be in receipt of a number of suggestions with regard to his future prospects. Mr. Guppy advised him to try the Bar; Mr. Benjamin Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer were in favour of the medical profession; Mr. Richard Swiveller claimed that the life of a jobbing clerk was not without its attractions. But of all the proffered suggestions he received, the schoolmaster was most taken with that of Mr. Micawber, who assured him that if he did nothing but wait, something was bound to turn up.

In Which Mr Headstone is Reunited with a Late Acquaintance

Mr. Headstone and his two fellow tradesmen began to dig and the sound of their spades at work echoed around the churchyard. Presently Mr. Cruncher took from the sack an instrument like a great corkscrew, which he adjusted with a practiced hand. Whatever tools they worked with, they worked hard, until the awful striking of the church clock so terrified the schoolmaster that he felt the hairs on his head and even the bristles on his chin stiffen. He seemed resolved to abandon his new trade before he had truly begun it, and would have made off that instant had not his companions assured him that their work was almost done. Mr. Cruncher dropped down into the opened grave, and there was a screwing and complaining sound down below before he again emerged. Mr. Headstone took hold of a length of rope proffered to him, and all three tradesmen pulled.

   By slow degrees a great weight broke away from the earth upon it, and came to the surface. Mr. Headstone very well knew what it would be; but, when he saw it, and saw Mr. Cruncher about to wrench it open, he was so frightened, being new to the sight, that his other companion was obliged to stop his mouth with a quantity of hessian to prevent his cries from alerting the sexton. The coffin was propped up against the marble stone in order that Mr. Cruncher could apply his crowbar. This he did with little ceremony and to the sound of splintering mahogany he forced open the casket’s heavy lid to reveal the tenant within.

   Imagine Mr. Headstone’s surprise when, compelled by the strangeness of the circumstance to look upon the unfortunate subject of their labours, he recognised the features to be those of none other than the late Mr. Merdle. As the departed are beyond the approbation of Society, Mr. Headstone reasoned that no introductions were necessary, and so he assisted his companions in removing the gentleman from his state of repose and wrapping him in a winding sheet. Thus concealed, the body was transported to the gate and by means of an ingenious system of pulleys hauled over to the other side. The whole operation was greatly facilitated by the fact that the rigors of death had taken full effect, and their burden was as easy to carry as a length of timber.

   Before delivering their prize up to two young medical men, who were desirous of such specimens for the furthering of their education, the three honest tradesmen went through the corpse’s pockets, and were rewarded with the discovery of a gold watch, a silver snuff box, and other sundry items. These spoils were divided up, and Mr. Headstone received as his share a tortoise shell-handled penknife, which, he reflected, as he walked home in the early morning light, was a remarkable instance of poetic justice.

In Which Mr Headstone Learns the Nature of an Honest Trade

Mr. Cruncher’s apartments were not in a savoury neighbourhood, and were but two in number, decently kept by a woman of orderly and industrious appearance, who rejoiced in the title of Mrs. Cruncher. When Mr. Headstone gave a double knock on the door at the appointed time, he inadvertently interrupted the lady of the house in the cleaning of her husband’s boots. As was his custom, Mr. Cruncher sat by the fire, devoting himself to keeping a most vigilant watch on his wife, and sullenly holding her in conversation that she might be prevented from meditating any petitions to his disadvantage. For Mrs. Cruncher did not approve of her husband’s trade, and could be most aggravating on the subject – to such a degree, in fact, that Mr. Cruncher was obliged to keep an iron pot-lid by him as a projectile for the correction of opinions contrary to his own. The honest tradesman invited his new apprentice to take a seat, explaining that they would not start upon their excursion until one o’clock, that hour of darkness being best suited to their purpose.

   Towards that small and ghostly hour, Mr. Cruncher rose up from his chair, took a key out of his pocket, opened a locked cupboard, and brought forth a sack, a crowbar of convenient size, a rope and chain, and other implements of that nature. Disposing these articles about him in a skillful manner, he bestowed a parting defiance on Mrs. Cruncher, extinguished the light, and, bidding Mr. Headstone to follow, went out.

   Within half an hour from the first starting, they were beyond the winking lamps and out upon a lonely road, where another practitioner of the trade was waiting to join them. The three went on until they stopped under a bank overhanging the road. Upon the top of the bank was a low brick wall, surmounted by an iron railing. In the shadow of bank and wall they turned out of the road, and up a blind lane, of which the wall – there, risen to some eight or ten feet high – formed one side.

    Halfway down the lane they came to an iron gate, which was locked. Mr. Headstone, who as the apprentice of the group had been deputised to carry the sack, was grateful of the opportunity to set down his load. The disturbance this occasioned – for the sack contained a quantity of ironmongery – appeared to alarm his two companions, who looked up and down the lane as if they expected an immediate hue and cry. The night was still and with the exception of the shivering call of an owl and the distant bark of a dog all was quiet. Mr. Headstone peered through the bars of the gate and descried amongst the rank grass the rounded hulking shapes of gravestones, whitened by the moonlight.

   Before the schoolmaster could ask Mr. Cruncher what business brought them to a churchyard in the dead of night, that honest tradesman had nimbly scaled the gate and dropped softly on the hallowed ground on the other side. He motioned for his companions to follow, which they did; one with ease, as if he were accustomed to the action; the other with difficulty, accompanied by a further cacophony of ironmongery. Mr. Cruncher led the way amongst the tombs until they came to a large grave of marble. The freshly turned earth beneath the stone suggested that the occupant of the plot had but recently settled in the neighbourhood. The honest tradesman now took command of the sack and from it produced three spades, which he distributed. On receiving his implement and being urged to start digging, Mr. Headstone realized what business he was about, and that his new trade lay in the resurrection line.

In Which Mr Headstone Encounters an Honest Tradesman

Returned to a state of pecuniary uncertainty and finding himself in need of employment, Mr. Headstone began to cast around for a suitable position. As a certificated schoolmaster, he had all reasonable expectation of finding a post commensurate with both his needs and his talents. However, as the former exceeded the latter by some significant margin, he was bound to be disappointed; and a series of unsuccessful interviews in which he demonstrated fully the extent of his limitations without once exhibiting his potential left him morose and dejected. In such circumstances, Mr. Headstone had but one recourse to satisfaction, and that he found behind the bar of The Saracen’s Head.

   One forenoon as the schoolmaster sat contemplating his future, which he appeared to divine in the dregs of his emptied glass, there entered a stranger, looking extremely red-eyed and grim, as if he had been up all night at a party which had taken anything but a convivial turn. This individual called for a pint of ale and a broiled fowl, and sat himself down opposite the schoolmaster to await his repast. When the meal came, he worried over rather than ate it, growling like any four-footed inmate of a menagerie, tearing the flesh from the bone with his crooked yellow teeth and letting the grease run down his chin as if it were a requisite lubricant for the savage action of his jaws. Mr. Headstone attended the operation with a fascination born out of hunger, and was so particular in his observation that the diner could not allow it to go unchallenged.          

   Apprised of the schoolmaster’s desperate situation, the stranger pushed the remains of ragged uneaten meat across the table and invited Mr. Headstone to partake, which that gentleman did with all the evidence of a voracious appetite. The feast having been concluded to the satisfaction of both parties, the stranger drew out a pipe and lit it, and introduced himself as ‘a honest tradesman’ by the name of Jerry Cruncher. Ruminating on his tobacco, which was a necessary aid to digestion, Mr. Cruncher asked Mr. Headstone if he was willing to learn an honest trade that required only light labour and was guaranteed to turn a tidy profit. The schoolmaster’s reply being in the affirmative, Mr. Cruncher then asked if Mr. Headstone objected to a little night work. Mr. Headstone did not object, if it were absolutely necessary to the success of the enterprise, which Mr. Cruncher assured him that it was. The terms and conditions of employment were thus agreed, and the two men parted company with a resolution to meet again at Mr. Cruncher’s private lodging in Hanging-sword-alley, Whitefriars, at half-past ten of the clock that very evening.

In Which The Death of a Great Man is Announced

When Society sat down to breakfast and unfolded the newspaper to learn of the death of the great and wonderful philanthropist Merdle, it was almost overcome by a severe fit of choking. Whether this was occasioned by the unchecked expression of spontaneous emotion or a dry piece of toast cannot be definitively said, but certain it was that when Society rose from the table it had mastered its grief (or swallowed its toast), and was prepared to apostrophise the departed spirit of benevolence with those self same expressions of regard with which it had anointed the mortal shell.

   The report that the great man was dead got about with astonishing rapidity. At first, he was dead of all the diseases that ever were known, and of several bran-new maladies invented to meet the occasion. By about eleven o’clock in the forenoon, something the matter with the brain, became the favourite theory against the field; and by twelve the something had been distinctly ascertained to be ‘Pressure’. There was a general moralizing upon Pressure, in every street. All the people who had tried to make money and had not been able to do it, said, There you were! You no sooner began to devote yourself to the pursuit of wealth than you got Pressure. But, at about the time of High ‘Change, Pressure began to wane, and appalling whispers to circulate east, west, north, and south; and by evening it was known that the late Mr. Merdle’s complaint had been simply Forgery and Robbery, and that he had destroyed himself by means of a bottle of laudanum and a tortoise-shell handled penknife.

   As soon as there arose a doubt that Mr. Merdle’s wealth would not be found to be as vast as had been supposed, Society opined the view that it had always suspected as much, and that there had been something about the man that it had never trusted. His eyes had been set too close together, his handshake had been infirm, his gait evasive, his manner sly. Only the servile worshipper of riches could have mistaken his sumptuous display of wealth for substance. Satisfied with its perspicacity, Society sat down to dinner, and ate well.

   Numbers of men in every profession and trade would be blighted by Mr. Merdle’s insolvency, and, as the creditors circled around the carcass of the fallen man’s ruin, those who had deposited their money and their trust in him – amongst them, Mr. Headstone – found themselves dispossessed of both their belongings and their credulity.

In Which Mr Headstone Agrees to a Great Investment and a Small Loan

There never was, there never had been, there never again should be, such a man as Mr. Merdle. According to his physician, he had the constitution of a rhinoceros, the digestion of an ostrich, and the concentration of an oyster. According to the City, he was possessed of the riches of Croesus and in his financial dealings he was guided by the wisdom of Solomon. Small wonder then that Mr. Headstone should feel the honour of being invited by the great man into an adjoining library for a private conversation. The room was a large one, and smelt of mahogany and leather, which - to noses unaccustomed to them - are the olfactory emblems of tradition and security.

    Mr. Merdle had heard of Mr. Headstone’s recent good fortune and was desirous of doing the gentleman a service by assisting him in the laying out of his money. There would, of course, be the strictest integrity and uprightness in these transactions, and between the parties concerned there must be the purest faith and unimpeachable confidence, or the business could not be carried forward. Mr. Headstone was greatly affected by this statement of integrity, and wishing to prove himself equal to the contract at once made Mr. Merdle the sole executor of his financial affairs.

   The business being concluded with a handshake and a glass of brandy, Mr. Headstone was about to rejoin the party in the other room when his host asked if he was in the habit of carrying a penknife about his person. This instrument being one of necessity to a schoolmaster, Mr. Headstone produced a knife with a tortoise-shell handle, and opened the blade to demonstrate that it had but recently been sharpened. Mr. Merdle asked if he might borrow it for a while as he had a need of a knife, and had misplaced his own. He promised that it would be returned in a day or two, and that he would undertake not to ink it.