The footman was to the Grosvenor Square footmen, what the house was to

the Grosvenor Square houses. Admirable in his way, his way was a back

and a bye way. His gorgeousness was not unmixed with dirt; and both in

complexion and consistency he had suffered from the closeness of his

pantry. A sallow flabbiness was upon him when he took the stopper out,

and presented the bottle to Mr Clennam's nose.

'Be so good as to give that card to Mr Tite Barnacle, and to say that I

have just now seen the younger Mr Barnacle, who recommended me to call

here.' The footman (who had as many large buttons with the Barnacle crest upon

them on the flaps of his pockets, as if he were the family strong box,

and carried the plate and jewels about with him buttoned up) pondered

over the card a little; then said, 'Walk in.'

It required some judgment to do it without butting the inner hall-door

open, and in the consequent mental confusion and physical darkness

slipping down the kitchen stairs. The visitor, however, brought himself

up safely on the door-mat.

Still the footman said 'Walk in,' so the visitor followed him. At the

inner hall-door, another bottle seemed to be presented and another

stopper taken out. This second vial appeared to be filled with

concentrated provisions and extract of Sink from the pantry. After a

skirmish in the narrow passage, occasioned by the footman's opening the

door of the dismal dining-room with confidence, finding some one there

with consternation, and backing on the visitor with disorder, the

visitor was shut up, pending his announcement, in a close back parlour.

There he had an opportunity of refreshing himself with both the

bottles at once, looking out at a low blinding wall three feet off,

and speculating on the number of Barnacle families within the bills of

mortality who lived in such hutches of their own free flunkey choice.

Mr Barnacle would see him. Would he walk up-stairs? He would, and

he did; and in the drawing-room, with his leg on a rest, he found Mr

Barnacle himself, the express image and presentment of How not to do it.

Mr Barnacle dated from a better time, when the country was not so

parsimonious and the Circumlocution Office was not so badgered. He wound

and wound folds of white cravat round his neck, as he wound and wound

folds of tape and paper round the neck of the country. His wristbands

and collar were oppressive; his voice and manner were oppressive. He

had a large watch-chain and bunch of seals, a coat buttoned up to

inconvenience, a waistcoat buttoned up to inconvenience, an unwrinkled

pair of trousers, a stiff pair of boots. He was altogether splendid,

massive, overpowering, and impracticable. He seemed to have been sitting

for his portrait to Sir Thomas Lawrence all the days of his life.




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