Charles Dickens: Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

27. Chapter Twenty-seven (continued)

The appearance of Mr Bailey's governor as he drove along fully justified that enthusiastic youth's description of him to the wondering Poll. He had a world of jet-black shining hair upon his head, upon his cheeks, upon his chin, upon his upper lip. His clothes, symmetrically made, were of the newest fashion and the costliest kind. Flowers of gold and blue, and green and blushing red, were on his waistcoat; precious chains and jewels sparkled on his breast; his fingers, clogged with brilliant rings, were as unwieldly as summer flies but newly rescued from a honey-pot. The daylight mantled in his gleaming hat and boots as in a polished glass. And yet, though changed his name, and changed his outward surface, it was Tigg. Though turned and twisted upside down, and inside out, as great men have been sometimes known to be; though no longer Montague Tigg, but Tigg Montague; still it was Tigg; the same Satanic, gallant, military Tigg. The brass was burnished, lacquered, newly stamped; yet it was the true Tigg metal notwithstanding.

Beside him sat a smiling gentleman, of less pretensions and of business looks, whom he addressed as David. Surely not the David of the--how shall it be phrased?--the triumvirate of golden balls? Not David, tapster at the Lombards' Arms? Yes. The very man.

'The secretary's salary, David,' said Mr Montague, 'the office being now established, is eight hundred pounds per annum, with his house- rent, coals, and candles free. His five-and-twenty shares he holds, of course. Is that enough?'

David smiled and nodded, and coughed behind a little locked portfolio which he carried; with an air that proclaimed him to be the secretary in question.

'If that's enough,' said Montague, 'I will propose it at the Board to-day, in my capacity as chairman.'

The secretary smiled again; laughed, indeed, this time; and said, rubbing his nose slily with one end of the portfolio:

'It was a capital thought, wasn't it?'

'What was a capital thought, David?' Mr Montague inquired.

'The Anglo-Bengalee,' tittered the secretary.