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a stool and twelve shillings a week were at last found for Tip in the
office of an attorney in a great National Palladium called the Palace
Court； at that time one of a considerable list of everlasting bulwarks
to the dignity and safety of Albion； whose places know them no more。
Tip languished in Clifford's Inns for six months； and at the expiration
of that term sauntered back one evening with his hands in his pockets；
and incidentally observed to his sister that he was not going back
again。
'Not going back again？' said the poor little anxious Child of the
Marshalsea； always calculating and planning for Tip； in the front rank
of her charges。
'I am so tired of it；' said Tip； 'that I have cut it。'
Tip tired of everything。 With intervals of Marshalsea lounging； and Mrs
Bangham succession； his small second mother； aided by her trusty friend；
got him into a warehouse； into a market garden； into the hop trade；
into the law again； into an auctioneers； into a brewery； into a
stockbroker's； into the law again； into a coach office； into a waggon
office； into the law again； into a general dealer's； into a distillery；
into the law again； into a wool house； into a dry goods house； into the
Billingsgate trade； into the foreign fruit trade； and into the docks。
But whatever Tip went into； he came out of tired； announcing that he
had cut it。 Wherever he went； this foredoomed Tip appeared to take the
prison walls with him； and to set them up in such trade or calling；
and to prowl about within their narrow limits in the old slip…shod；
purposeless； down…at…heel way； until the real immovable Marshalsea walls
asserted their fascination over him； and brought him back。
Nevertheless； the brave little creature did so fix her heart on her
brother's rescue； that while he was ringing out these doleful changes；
she pinched and scraped enough together to ship him for Canada。 When he
was tired of nothing to do； and disposed in its turn to cut even that；
he graciously consented to go to Canada。 And there was grief in her
bosom over parting with him； and joy in the hope of his being put in a
straight course at last。
'God bless you； dear Tip。 Don't be too proud to e and see us； when
you have made your fortune。'
'All right！' said Tip； and went。
But not all the way to Canada； in fact； not further than Liverpool。
After making the voyage to that port from London； he found himself
so strongly impelled to cut the vessel； that he resolved to walk back
again。 Carrying out which intention； he presented himself before her at
the expiration of a month； in rags； without shoes； and much more tired
than ever。 At length； after another interval of successorship to Mrs
Bangham； he found a pursuit for himself； and announced it。
'Amy； I have got a situation。'
'Have you really and truly； Tip？'
'All right。 I shall do now。 You needn't look anxious about me any more；
old girl。'
'What is it； Tip？'
'Why； you know Slingo by sight？'
'Not the man they call the dealer？'
'That's the chap。 He'll be out on Monday； and he's going to give me a
berth。'
'What is he a dealer in； Tip？'
'Horses。 All right！ I shall do now； Amy。'
She lost sight of him for months afterwards； and only heard from him
once。 A whisper passed among the elder collegians that he had been seen
at a mock auction in Moorfields； pretending to buy plated articles for
massive silver； and paying for them with the greatest liberality in
bank notes； but it never reached her ears。 One evening she was alone at
work……standing up at the window； to save the twilight lingering above
the wall……when he opened the door and walked in。
She kissed and weled him； but was afraid to ask him any questions。 He
saw how anxious and timid she was； and appeared sorry。
'I am afraid； Amy； you'll be vexed this time。 Upon my life I am！'
'I am very sorry to hear you say so； Tip。 Have you e back？'
'Why……yes。'
'Not expecting this time that what you had found would answer very well；
I am less surprised and sorry than I might have been； Tip。'
'Ah！ But that's not the worst of it。'
'Not the worst of it？'
'Don't look so startled。 No； Amy； not the worst of it。 I have e back；
you see； but……DON'T look so startled……I have e back in what I may
call a new way。 I am off the volunteer list altogether。 I am in now； as
one of the regulars。'
'Oh！ Don't say you are a prisoner； Tip！ Don't； don't！'
'Well； I don't want to say it；' he returned in a reluctant tone； 'but if
you can't understand me without my saying it； what am I to do？ I am in
for forty pound odd。'
For the first time in all those years； she sunk under her cares。 She
cried； with her clasped hands lifted above her head； that it would kill
their father if he ever knew it； and fell down at Tip's graceless feet。
It was easier for Tip to bring her to her senses than for her to bring
him to understand that the Father of the Marshalsea would be beside
himself if he knew the truth。 The thing was inprehensible to Tip； and
altogether a fanciful notion。 He yielded to it in that light only； when
he submitted to her entreaties； backed by those of his uncle and sister。
There was no want of precedent for his return； it was accounted for
to the father in the usual way； and the collegians； with a better
prehension of the pious fraud than Tip； supported it loyally。
This was the life； and this the history； of the child of the Marshalsea
at twenty…two。 With a still surviving attachment to the one miserable
yard and block of houses as her birthplace and home； she passed to and
fro in it shrinkingly now； with a womanly consciousness that she was
pointed out to every one。 Since she had begun to work beyond the walls；
she had found it necessary to conceal where she lived； and to e and
go as secretly as she could； between the free city and the iron gates；
outside of which she had never slept in her life。 Her original timidity
had grown with this concealment； and her light step and her little
figure shunned the thronged streets while they passed along them。
Worldly wise in hard and poor necessities； she was innocent in all
things else。 Innocent； in the mist through which she saw her father；
and the prison； and the turbid living river that flowed through it and
flowed on。
This was the life； and this the history； of Little Dorrit； now going
home upon a dull September evening； observed at a distance by Arthur
Clennam。 This was the life； and this the history； of Little Dorrit；
turning at the end of London Bridge； recrossing it； going back again；
passing on to Saint George's Church； turning back suddenly once more；
and flitting in at the open outer gate and little court…yard of the
Marshalsea。
CHAPTER 8。 The Lock
Arthur Clennam stood in the street； waiting to ask some passer…by what
place that was。 He suffered a few people to pass him in whose face there
was no encouragement to make the inquiry； and still stood pausing in the
street； when an old man came up and turned into the courtyard。
He stooped a good deal； and plodded along in a slow pre…occupied manner；
which made the bustling London thoroughfares no very safe resort for
him。 He was dirtily and meanly dressed； in a threadbare coat； once blue；
reaching to his ankles and buttoned to his chin； where it vanished in
the pale ghost of a velvet collar。 A piece of red cloth with which that
phantom had been stiffened in its lifetime was now laid bare； and poked
itself up； at the back of the old man's neck； into a confusion of grey
hair and rusty stock and buckle which altogether nearly poked his
hat off。 A greasy hat it was； and a napless； impending over his eyes；
cracked and crumpled at the brim； and with a wisp of pocket…handkerchief
dangling out below it。 His trousers were so long and loose； and his
shoes so clumsy and large； that he shuffled like an elephant； though how
much of this was gait； and how much trailing cloth and leather； no one
could have told。 Under one arm he carried a limp and worn…out case；
containing some wind instrument； in the same hand he had a pennyworth
of snuff in a little packet of whitey…brown paper； from which he slowly
forted his poor blue old nose with a lengthened…out pinch； as Arthur
Clennam looked at him。 To this old man crossing the court…yard； he
preferred his inquiry； touching him on the shoulder。 The old man stopped
and looked round； with the expression in his weak grey eyes of one whose
thoughts had been far off； and who was a little dull of hearing also。
'Pray； sir；' said Arthur； repeating his question； 'what is this place？'
'Ay！ This place？' returned the old man； staying his pinch of snuff on
its road； and pointing at the place without looking at it。 'This is the
Marshalsea； sir。'
'The debtors' prison？'
'Sir；' said the old man； with the air of deeming it not quite necessary
to insist upon that designation； 'the debtors' prison。'
He turned himself about； and went on。
'I beg your pardon；' said Arthur； stopping him once more； 'but will you
allow me to ask you another question？ Can any one go in here？'
'Any one can go IN；' replied the old man； plainly adding by the
significance of his emphasis； 'but it is not every one who can go out。'