In the first place several of the members of the family were enrolled2 in the “goose club;” that is to say, they had each paid fourpence a week at a neighbouring public-house during the last half year, in acknowledgment of which patronage3 the landlord supplied each of them with a Christmas goose. Then Mrs. Pettindund and two of her daughters were in the “grocer’s club;” that is to say, they had each paid the sum of threepence weekly since the month of May, in return for which they now rejoiced in the receipt of two pint4 bottles of port wine, of one or two large plum cakes, and of sundry5 pounds of tea, coffee and sugar. (It is curious, bye-the-by, how incapable6 the working classes, as a rule, are of keeping their own savings7. The public-house landlord, or the grocer, or the benefit society is quite welcome to a few shillings a week, provided they return occasionally something like a tenth of what they have received). These provisions were all very well as stop-gaps, but in the serious business of the feast they went for nothing. Accordingly, in each of the three weeks immediately preceding Christmas, Mrs. Pettindund had, with the utmost efforts, succeeded in putting aside the sum of one pound out of her regular receipts. That money would go towards supplying joints8, and would not be any too much. Then, the eldest9 Miss Pettindund had paid repeated visits of late to a pawnbroker’s shop at no great distance, in the course of which sundry coats and trousers, sheets and blankets, hoots10, watches, rings, necklaces, bracelets11, &c., had become converted into a very respectable little sum of current cash. But neither was this sufficient, for it must be remembered that the Pettindunds took a serious view of the obligations of the season; anything less than deep carousal12 from Christmas Eve to the morning of the first day of January would have been desecration13 in their eyes. Accordingly Mrs. Pettindund herself paid a visit to a familiar loan office, where she procured14, without difficulty, on the security of her house and furniture, the sum of fifteen pounds. And now at length, when this last sum had been carefully put away in the tea caddy, together with the three pounds before mentioned, and the harvest reaped at the pawnbroker’s, family quietly rested till the arrival of Christmas Eve. This pause was absolutely necessary. It was like the diver taking a long breath before he springs into the water, like the athlete reposing16 his sinews for a moment before he tries an enormous effort of strength.
Early on the eventful day which precedes Christmas the Pettindund family was stirring to some purpose. To-day were to be baked an utterly17 incalculable number of mince18-pies, together with half a dozen very large plum-puddings, destined19 to be eaten cold on the morrow. The plum-pudding, the weight of which I dare not guess at, was now made and received its first boiling, but that would have to be reboiled on the following day. To-day were to be roasted some six. or seven ducks, these also to be eaten cold on Christmas and the ensuing days. The turkey would not be boiled, of course, till tomorrow, and till then were reserved the two ponderous20 masses of beef, which, on account of their size, would be entrusted21 to the tender care of the baker22. This morning, too, Mrs. Pettindund, happening to be quenching23 a momentary24 thirst at the public-house, purchased, as it were, en passant, a quart bottle of brandy and two similar sized bottles of the beverage25 known as “Old Tom.”
“Now mind yer don’t keep my Moggie a waitin’ when she comes for the liquor to-night an’ tomorrow,” was Mrs. Pettindund’s parting injunction to the landlord; to which the latter replied with a wink26 of each eye, and the exclamation27, “All serene28!”
That evening — Christmas Eve — only some two or three friends were expected. They arrived between eight and nine o’clock, and began by satisfying their hunger. I shall not endeavour to find a name for this meal and those that follow. At this period such purely29 factitious distinctions were lost sight of by the Pettindunds; the tables were spread and folks ate, all day and night. This evening, however, the mirth was kept within moderate bounds. All present knew by experience the folly30 of wasting one’s energy in mere31 preliminaries. To be sure Mr. Pettindund got very drunk and passed the night on the kitchen hearth-rug, but that was a matter of course, an event which occurred so repeatedly that no one took any notice of it. By three o’clock in the morning the house was at rest.
At ten on the following morning — Christmas morning — the earliest guests began to appear. The very first to arrive was Jim Glibbery. Jim was a carter, and as good as engaged to the eldest Miss Pettindund; so that his arrival excited no particular attention, he being regarded as one of the family. Jim took a seat by the kitchen fire, despatched Moggie for a pot of “six ale,” and undertook to watch that the saucepans on the fire did not boil over. When Mr. and Mrs. Tudge and the three little Tudges came in, however, it was a different thing. Here there was a grand reception. The visitors were shown into the best room and all the Pettindunds crowded to greet them. Mr. Tudge was, in fact, a very well-to-do oilman, and so could not be neglected. It was this gentleman’s habit to flirt32 jestingly with the eldest Miss Pettindund, to the vast exasperation33 of his wife. Accordingly when this object of his affections entered the room, he bestowed34 a sounding smack35 upon her lips, and in return received no less sounding a smack on each ear, one from the maiden36 herself, one from the angry Mrs. Tudge.
“Well, I’m damned!” he exclaimed, without paying the least attention to these marks of favour, “here’s Sarah with a new dress on! ‘Ev yer wet it, Sarah, eh?”
“Not yet, Mr. Tudge,” replied the damsel, with a becoming leer at herself in a glass hard by.
“Then, damn me!” cried Mr. Tudge, “where’s that Moggie o’ yourn? Here, Moggie, young ’un. Run for two pots of ‘four ale’ with a quartern of Old Tom in it! D’ye ‘ear? Here’s a two bob piece, and mind yer bring the right change”
The uninitiated reader must be informed that the “wetting” of a new garment means drinking the health of its wearer. Before many minutes Moggie returned with the prescribed compound in a huge tin can, into which each individual dipped his or her glass till it was all finished. But by this time numerous other visitors had arrived. Prominent among these was young Mr. Spinks, a grocer’s counterman, who had an eye upon another Miss Pettindund. He was always the funny man of the party. As he entered the room he struck an attitude and exclaimed in a stagey voice —
“Bring forth37 the lush!”
“Ain’t got none!” screamed his Miss Pettindund. “Just finished!”
“So! Then, Moggie, run and get me a ‘alfporth o’ four ‘alf, and blast the hexpense!”
This jest was received with perfect shrieks38 of laughter, which continued to be excited by sallies of the same nature till the house was quite full of visitors, and at length dinner was ready. Then indeed for a time there was silence, save f or the unceasing clatter39 of knives and forks and the audible evidences of mastication40; it would be difficult to say which of these sounds predominated. The two masses of beef disappeared like tall grass before the scythe41 of a sturdy mower42. If any guest was incommoded owing to Mrs. Pettindund’s inability to carve quickly enough, he amused himself with half a duck or a considerable fraction of turkey till his turn came. Those who were so unfortunate as to have been beyond reach of these entrées, solaced43 themselves with mince pies and celery alternately. Poor Moggie’s life became a burden to her. Her duty it was to see that every guest’s glass was kept filled, in the execution of which she rapidly emptied two large cans, ordinarily used for carrying up water into the lodgers’ bed-rooms. When these contained no more she hurried for a fresh supply, and on her return was roundly cursed for having been so long. Mr. Spinks went the length of throwing a turkey’s leg-bone at the unfortunate child’s head, and was loudly applauded for the ingenuity44 of the joke.
Gorged45 into silence, the guests at length leaned back in their chairs, and for a few minutes amused themselves only with picking their teeth. It was the preparation for an outburst of enthusiasm. When, after a few minutes, two Misses Pettindund struggled in under the weight of a mountain of plum-pudding, which had been drenched46 with brandy and then set on fire, each person in the room arose and gave utterance47 to a yell which must have been heard in Tottenham Court Road. The cry seemed to have aided the process of digestion48; the capacity of all appeared renewed. By this time ale was no longer in request, but bottles of spirits circulated round the table, and Moggie was at hand with a kettle of boiling water. The scene now baffles description. Every one talked and nobody listened. Most of the men swore, not a few told disgusting stories, a few interchanged expletives or even blows, the women shrieked49 and squabbled indiscriminately. At this period Mrs. Pettindund, happening to go downstairs into the kitchen, caught Moggie — who had had nothing to eat all day, bye-the-by — in the act of demolishing50 some fragments of duck which had been left. With a howl of rage and a curse which it would defile51 the very ink to trace, she caught up the nearest object, which happened to be an empty bottle, and hurled52 it at the child. Luckily her aim was not very steady, and Moggie was only bruised53 on the shoulder. With a yell of pain, the wretched child darted55 past her mother and up into the street, where she waited out of sight till she thought the incident had been forgotten.
And so the short day darkened into night. Shutters56 were now closed, and blinds drawn57 down, and two or three rooms prepared for dancing. The fact that these rooms were only about twelve feet square was no obstacle. The eldest Miss Pettindund then began to hammer a waltz on the piano, which had been carried out in the hall in order that its sounds might penetrate58 as far as possible, and dancing forthwith commenced. Before long the house seemed to shake and quiver to its foundations. Here a couple, whirling themselves into insensate giddiness, would fall with a heavy crash upon the floor, and two or three other couples stumbling over them, the whole room would become a mass of struggling, kicking and cursing humanity, if the latter word be not grossly inappropriate. At one point two young men became obnoxious59 to each other in consequence of their attentions to the same young woman. From expostulations they proceeded to recriminations, and thence rapidly to blows. Vain were the efforts of the bystanders to separate them. Unable long to stand, from the excess of liquor they had imbibed60, the two rolled in each other’s embraces from end to end of the room. They bit, they scratched, they tore, they kicked, had not their wonted vigour61 been somewhat enfeebled, one of them would without doubt have been killed. In a few minutes their faces were indistinguishable from streaming blood, their waistcoats were rent open, their collars and neck-cloths were scattered62 to the winds. At length they were both overpowered by pure weight of numbers, Mrs. Tudge, together with three stout63 women, fairly falling upon the one, and Mrs. Pettindund with all her daughters actually sitting upon the other. Most of the men present were enraged64 at this result. Their ferocity was excited, and they longed for the sight of blood. They satisfied themselves, however, with the anticipation65 of the match being fought out on the morrow when there would be no women to interfere66.
Matters had been once more brought to a pacific state, and Miss Pettindund had recommenced to hammer upon the piano, when she suddenly stopped.
“What is it?” yelled half a dozen voices.
“A knock at the door,” was the reply. “Fire away! I’ll go.”
And she accordingly went and opened the door. Outside in the black street a fierce snowstorm was raging. The girl’s breath was stopped by the blast which blew into her face as she held the door and peered out to see who it was. A tall woman’s figure, clad in a ragged67 black dress which only showed here and there through the cleaving68 snowflakes, and carrying some kind of bundle in a large shawl, was all that Miss Pettindund could discern.
“Why it’s a beggar!” she exclaimed, indignantly. “Get away with yer! We’ve enough to do to make our own living, these hard times, without givin’ to beggars. Now, you be orff!”
The woman stepped forward, reaching out with one long, bare arm, and saying something which the fierce blasts of wind and the riot within the house rendered inaudible.
“I’ve nothink to say to yer!” shrieked Miss Pettindund; and she was on the point of exerting her whole strength to slam to the door, when the beggar actually advanced into the hall.
“Sarah! Don’t you know me?” she cried, in a hoarse69 voice.
As the light from the hall-lamp fell upon her face, Miss Pettindund saw that it was Carrie Mitchell. With a horrified70 scream she ran into the front parlour, calling out — “Ma! ma!”
“What is it, child?” screeched71 Mrs. Pettindund, in reply. “Ugh! who’s gone an’ left that front door open? I’m froze to death. Whatever’s the matter, Sarah?”
“Oh, my God, ma!” cried the young lady. “Here’s a go! Come and look here!”
In a moment, a dozen people had crowded into the hall, and were gazing with astonishment72 on the tall figure, half white, half black, from whom the melted snow was running like a stream on to the floor.
“What the devil’s all this about?” blustered73 Mr. Tudge. “Here, get you out o’ this ’ere ’ouse!”
“Aunt!” cried the intruder, struggling to make herself understood with a voice which exposure to the weather had made so hoarse and feeble that it could scarcely be heard. “Aunt! let me in! — Let me sit in the kitchen! My baby will be frozen to death!”
“Oh, God! she’s got a baby!” screamed all the Misses Pettindund together.
“What! Carrie Mitchell!” exclaimed Mrs. Pettindund. “She a comin’ ’ere in that way! Well, I’m blowed! Isn’t it like her impudence74! Now, come, trot75! I’ve nothing to do with people of your class. Go somewhere else, and don’t come to ‘spectable ‘ouses. You know well enough where to go, trust you! I ain’t got nothin’ for yer, I tell yer; go!”
One cry of despair came from the lips of the outcast, but even that was scarcely heard amid the yell of approval with which the guests greeted Mrs. Pettindund’s determination. The latter, never blest with a very good temper, became a fiend when under the influence of drink. Laying a rude hand upon her niece’s shoulder, she pushed her violently into the street, and slammed the door fiercely behind her.
“There!” she exclaimed, “that’s how I treat them kind o’ people! — Ha, ha, ha!”
The mirth was resumed, and sped on fast and furious. In five minutes the incident had been altogether forgotten. The piano rang out its discordant76 waltzes, polkas and gallops77, and again the very house rocked and reeled. Soon it was midnight, at which hour Mrs. Pettindund proclaimed that supper was ready. Accordingly the guests once more crowded round the table. Cold provender78 was there in abundance, and, in addition, the two younger Misses Pettindund had just completed the broiling79 of some half-dozen pounds of beef-steak, which, smoking in reeking80 onions, made a dish at which the guests cheered. An hour was spent in the consumption of supper, after which music and dancing recommenced. All the time, be it understood, the supply of liquids had been unfailing. Shortly before the time at which the public-house closed, Moggie had refilled all the largest vessels81, the contents of which, it was hoped, would suffice to bring the merriment to an end. And so they did. Towards half-past three, signs of abatement82 began to manifest themselves; by four o’clock several guests were fast asleep, either on the floor or on chairs. About this hour, the movement of departure began. The party, led by Mr. Spinks, went off arm-inarm, howling, “We won’t go home till morning.” Mr. Tudge staggered into the street, with difficulty supported between his wife and eldest child; bevies83 of young damsels, who were far from quite steady upon their feet, rushed out into the snow-storm with shrieks of laughter which made the night reecho; the two young men who had fought went off with the young woman who had been the cause of the combat, and, before they had reached the end of the street, quarrelled again, came to blows, and wallowed together in the snow, whilst the female with them yelled like a vulture over a field of battle. Neither of the gentlemen reached their home that night, for the cries of the woman attracting one or two policemen, they were both dragged away to the police-station, and there allowed to sleep off the effect of their carouse84. By five o’clock, there was silence throughout the house of the Pettindunds.
During the morning, Mark Challenger had been visiting some friends, but, as the short afternoon drew on towards night, he returned, and, before entering his own room, knocked at Arthur’s door. Summoned to enter, he did so, but the moment he opened the door, such a tremendous shouting, yelling and screaming sounded from the rooms below, that Arthur started to his feet in sudden anger.
“Good God!” he exclaimed, “this is intolerable! Have they got half the inhabitants of the Zoological Gardens to dinner downstairs? Every five minutes I hear such a hideous85 roaring that I am almost driven mad. I have a headache to begin with.”
“You may well ask whether they are beasts,” replied Mark. “As I came along the passage, the front-room door was open, and I never set eyes on such a scene in my life. There must be twenty people there, and I’m quite sure they’re all drunk. I had only time to notice one thing, and that was old Pettindund at one side of the table, and another man opposite to him, holding a goose, or something of the kind, by its legs, and ripping it in two between them!”
“Brutes!” replied Arthur, in a tone of disgust. “Do not such blackguards as these give good cause to the upper classes to speak of us working men with contempt? I warrant they waste as much money today in guzzling86 and swilling87 as would give twenty or thirty poor starving wretches88 a good dinner for a week to come. Mr. Challenger, I think I must leave this house. I do indeed. If this sort of thing is to go on all through Christmas week, as no doubt it will, I shall be driven mad. I seem to have become irritable89 of late, and nervous.
“I have thought of the same thing,” returned Mark. “I don’t feel justified90 in giving such people money for them to make beasts of themselves with. Shall we look out for another place tomorrow?”
“Let us do so, by all means. I want to get into new scenes. I shall hardly know myself if I am here much longer. I must forget everything that has happened here, and begin anew; that is the only way. I am fast losing all taste for every healthy kind of occupation. I can’t read, I have no pleasure in speaking at the club, or in hearing others speak. This state of affairs will never do. I cannot live so any longer!”
“Have you had any dinner, Arthur?”
“No, indeed I haven’t. I haven’t felt hungry yet; is it dinner time?”
“It’s nearly four.”
“Nearly four? Then I suppose I must eat something. Luckily I have a loaf of bread and a bit of cheese in the cupboard here. Come and share with me, Mr. Challenger.”
“Thanks; I had my dinner nearly three hours ago.”
“You had! Then I must eat alone. And do talk to me about something, if you please. There must be a spider inside my skull91, eating up whatever little brains there are, and spinning cobwebs in their place. Look! Gibbon’s History has always been one of my chief delights, and yet I couldn’t get through half-a-dozen pages today.”
He ate his bread and cheese for some minutes in silence, then, filling a glass of water, held it up before drinking.
“It’s Christmas Day,” he said, “and we mustn’t entirely92 forget to keep it. I won’t drink your health in wine, Mr. Challenger, lest I should be too much like those shouting fools downstairs. So here it is in water.”
“And none the less sincere for that, I know, Arthur. Do you know what I’ve been thinking? We really ought to go and see poor John Pether today.”
“So we ought; so we ought. I’m very glad you thought of it. When did you see him last?”
“A little more than a week ago. He didn’t seem very well then; had a bad cold, and wasn’t much in the mood for talking. I’m afraid he’s gradually starving to death.”
“I wish to goodness,” exclaimed Arthur, “that we could find some way of helping93 him!”
“Yes, but how is it to be done? Whenever I’ve hinted at it lately, he’s got quite fierce and angry. I don’t know what will become of the poor fellow.”
“Come, let’s go to him at once,” said Arthur, hastily finishing his meagre repast. “I’m afraid he’s having a terribly lonely day of it.”
Accordingly, in a few minutes they departed, hurrying out unnoticed through the noise and confusion of the lower part of the house. At that moment, some half-dozen people were engaged carrying the piano into the passage, whilst in the front parlour Mr. Tudge was standing94 on a chair, singing in a voice which shook the walls, a song wherein frequent reference was made to “Sairey Jane an’ me,” amid unceasing plaudits from the other guests. Once in the street, Arthur and his companion struggled on in the gathering95 darkness, bending forward against the fierce storm of wind, sleet96 and snow. Snow lay thick upon the streets, and clung to the fronts of the houses, filling the corners of the windows, and heaping itself up wherever it could find a hold. Already the street-lamps were lit, and threw their dim light upon the comfortless scene, whilst streaks97 of pale grey still held a place amid the else uniform gloom of the sky. There were not many people about, and the few vehicles which went past made no noise. It was a desolate98 evening.
After casting a glance down Gower Street, where the lamps seemed to converge99 in a limitless perspective, the two friends walked quickly along University Street into Tottenham Court Road, where a walk of ten minutes brought them into Charlotte Place. They both cast a glance at the old shop, over which still stood Mr. Tollady’s name, and Arthur sighed. The shutters were up, and the whole house showed no signs of life. Its desolation seemed heightened by contrast with the house next to it, all the windows of which gleamed with lights, whilst from within proceeded a tumult100 scarcely less than that the companions had left behind them.
“The shop isn’t taken yet, is it?” asked Arthur, as they paused for a moment in front of it.
Mark shook his head.
“I suppose its owner has satisfied his base nature by getting possession of it,” returned Arthur, “and now he cares little if it rots to pieces.”
They arrived before the umbrella-mender’s shop and knocked. After waiting several minutes without reply, they knocked again. Again they waited a long time, but at length heard a key turning in the lock. The door was partially101 opened, and John Pether, only showing his head, asked who had come to disturb him.
“It is only us, John,” said Mark Challenger. “You’ll let us in, won’t you?”
No sign of pleasure passed over John’s dark countenance102, but he opened the door a little wider and admitted the two They found the shop quite dark, but a candle was burning in the room behind it, the door of which stood open. John, who, they saw, was naked all but his shirt, led the way into the lighted room, and there got into bed, whence he had come to open the door. As he lay with his head resting on the pillow, his eyes turned up towards the ceiling, his appearance was almost ghastly. His face was the colour of parchment, wrinkled and creased103 with hundreds of deep lines, and amid its pallor, the red stain upon his cheek showed with hideous distinctness. He paid no attention to his visitors, but lay at times shivering slightly, and moving his lips as if talking to himself.
“You’re not well, John,” said Mark Challenger, after one or two uneasy glances at Arthur. “Have you been in bed all day?”
“Why not,” asked the other, in a hollow voice which sounded almost fierce. “It’s a holiday, isn’t it. Haven’t I a right to take a holiday as well as rich people?”
“That you have, John,” returned Mark, endeavouring to sooth his friend. “Aye, and a better right, too. The rich have holiday all the year round — curse them! — but you have to work hard for what little rest you have. And it’s the same with Arthur and me, John. You don’t think us enemies, do you?”
“Enemies!” exclaimed Pether. “No; you never did me harm.”
“You ought to have a doctor to see you, Mr. Pether,” put in Arthur. “You look terribly ill.”
“Doctor! How am I to pay a doctor?”
“Oh, if you haven’t the money just now, Mr. Challenger and I will do that gladly, and you shall pay us back when you can. Do let us do something for you, Mr. Pether. It is dreadful to see you so lonely in your suffering.”
“There it is!” cried the man, half rising on his elbow. “There it is! You want to make a beggar of me, to make me feel my poverty, to know even better than I do that I am a miserable104 wretch54. You’ll tell me to go into the workhouse next! I don’t want your money. It isn’t friendship to offer it me; it only makes me mad — mad — mad! Look here; I have been reading a newspaper today. Do you know how many paupers105 there are in London? About seventy-thousand! Do you want me to make one more? I have held out these many years, and why shouldn’t I hold out a few months more? It’s coming, I tell you; I know it’s coming. I can feel it coming by the trouble in my mind, like I can feel an east wind coming by the pains in my body. A few months and we shall have no lack of food. These seventy-thousand paupers shall be dressing106 themselves in the garments of the rich, and warming their frozen limbs in the blood which shall stream like water along the streets! I feel it’s coming!”
Arthur shrank back before the man’s violence, but kept his eyes fixed107 upon him. In his excitement John Pether had now fully15 risen, and his almost bald head, his ghastly features, his straggling beard, and his open shirt, which displayed his bony and hairy chest, gave him the appearance of a man in delirium108. Neither Arthur nor Mark spoke109 in reply, and presently he again lay down and fixed his eyes upon the ceiling; and then his lips began to move, and he spoke as if unconscious of any one being present.
“I have been thinking of my mother today,” he said. “She was tried and found guilty of murder, but her execution was put off because she was with child. I was born in prison, and then she was hanged.”
Arthur shuddered110 with horror as he remembered where and when he had heard this before. Mark Challenger sat with his forehead resting on his hands, and showed no sign of attention. Probably he had heard it too often. After a few minutes of silence, John Pether continued to speak, still as if to himself only.
“I was brought up in the workhouse, and suffered cold, and hunger, and cruelty. Then they made me apprentice111 to a master who starved and beat me. One day he caught me taking a halfpenny which had dropped on to the floor. I thought I could buy a piece of bread with it, and the temptation was too strong. He had no mercy, and I was sent to prison. Oh, God! When I came out, I begged for days, sleeping at night in dark archways or in cellars with thieves and murderers. I prayed men to give me work, but they only threatened me with the gaol112. One night I went to drown myself. It is a rare death, drowning. You feel the water, at first deadly cold, grow warmer and warmer, and a kind of music in your ears lulls113 you to sleep. I thought I might have drowned myself in peace, but I was saved and forced back to life.”
Arthur listened eagerly to hear more of this strange and terrible history, but the speaker’s lips ceased to move, and he was silent. So quiet was the house, that shouts from the revellers on the opposite side of the street could be distinctly heard. Arthur sat watching the breath of the sick man, which rose in a cloud through the freezing atmosphere of the room. At length Mark Challenger rose.
“And you won’t let us do anything for you, John?” he asked.
John Pether started, looked round, then shook his head with an impatient frown.
“Then we will leave you,” said Mark. “Try to sleep John; you are tired. Do you sleep well at night?”
There was no reply, and Mark beckoned114 to Arthur to leave the room. The latter was obeying, with much inward reluctance115, when John Pether suddenly turned on his side and tried to check him with his hand.
“You remember what you swore?” he asked, in a hollow voice.
“I do,” replied Arthur, pressing the other’s hand.
“The time is coming,” returned Pether. “A few months yet, and our chance will show itself. I feel it coming.”
He then once more averted116 his face as the two friends left the room and passed out through the dark shop.
“Aye,” said Mark Challenger, sadly, as soon as they were in the street, “I fear John Pether’s time is coming. He has had an awful life. Perhaps it wouldn’t be much kindness to try and make it longer.”
“He seems mad,” returned Arthur. “It is scarcely safe that he should be left alone.”
“Poor fellow!” sighed Mark, and they walked on in silence.
They had taken a short cut which brought them into Tottenham Street. The night had grown still more boisterous117, and the snow lay very deep upon the ground. Hurrying arm-inarm in the direction of Tottenham Court Road, they shortly passed by the Prince of Wales’s Theatre. As they were going beneath the portico118 Arthur saw what appeared to be a woman’s form crouching119 far back in the darkness against the steps to one of the entrances. Touched with pity at the thought of a human being preparing to spend a terrible night in such a place, he pointed120 her out to Mark, and they stopped. The woman, seeing them, rose to her feet and staggered forward. She carried something in her arms, pressed against her bosom121. In a hoarse voice, expressive122 of agony unutterable, she begged of them to give her enough to pay for a night’s lodging123.
“Is that a child you have in your arms?” asked Arthur, unable to discern clearly in the darkness.
The woman stepped out of the shadow of the portico. A gleam from a gas-lamp on the other side of the street illumined her form, as she lifted her shawl and discovered a young child’s face. As she did so, Mark Challenger plucked Arthur by the sleeve.
“Don’t you see who it is?” he whispered hurriedly.
Arthur looked into the woman’s face, and at once in the ghastly pale and worn features recognised the face of Carrie Mitchell. She had no covering to her head but a coarse handkerchief, tied around it. Her long dark hair hung all dishevelled down her back, wet with melted snow. Her feet were bare, save for a pair of loose slippers124 which were no protection against the snow. Her countenance displayed no sign of intelligence; it was fixed in an unutterable expression of pain. She stood pointing at her child and muttering.
“Is your name Carrie Mitchell?” asked Arthur, overcome at once with emotions of anguish125 and joy.
She nodded, but continued to point to her baby.
“It is dead,” were the words that struggled from her frozen lips.
“Good God!” exclaimed Arthur. “What shall we do? Mr. Challenger! What shall we do? Where can we take her?”
As he spoke the girl tottered126 and would have fallen had she not supported herself against one of the columns of the portico. Arthur sprang to her side and encircled her with one arm.
“There is a coffee-house at the end of the street,” said Mark. “Perhaps they have a room to let there. I will go and see.”
“Quick! Quick!” cried Arthur. “She’s dying.”
The girl seemed indeed either to be dying or to have fainted. Arthur placed her in a sitting position upon the steps at the theatre door, and commenced to chafe127 one of her hands. The other hand was still fixed tightly around the form of the dead child. She had once more opened her eyes with a deep sigh when Mark came running back.
“I have got a room,” he cried. “Let us be quick. Can she walk?”
With difficulty the two supported her between them. It was a very small coffee-house, and at present empty of customers. Only a young girl was to be seen, who, with wide-staring eyes, watched the three enter, and led the way to a small bedroom on the first floor. The two friends were obliged to carry their charge up the stairs; she was quite incapable of walking up herself.
“We should have done better to take her to the Middlesex Hospital,” said Mark, as they laid her, apparently128 lifeless, on the bed.
“No, no!” cried Arthur, “she shall not go to the hospital as long as I possess a penny. Now will you fetch a doctor? Where does the nearest doctor live?” he asked, turning to the girl who had accompanied them upstairs.
Information of a vague kind was given, and Mark hastened off on his errand.
“Light a fire here at once,” cried Arthur. “Have you any spirits in the place?”
“We mayn’t sell ’em,” replied the girl.
“Will you run to the nearest public-house and get me some brandy?”
“I daren’t leave,” returned the girl. “They’re all out.”
With a hurried exclamation Arthur took a glance at the form on the bed, and himself darted down the stairs and out of the house. In three minutes he returned with a small bottle of spirits. Hot water was forthcoming, and, whilst the girl was lighting129 the fire in the grate, he tried to administer a little of the mixture. But Carrie was now perfectly130 unconscious, and her teeth were fast set. Arthur was forced to content himself with chafing131 her hands and arms, and bathing her forehead with the brandy.
It seemed as if Mark had been gone an hour already. Arthur fretted132 and fumed133 with impatience134, and his sufferings, as he saw no sign of life returning to the girl’s face, were intense He was on the point of himself running in pursuit of aid when he heard footsteps upon the stairs, and Mark appeared, followed by a middle-aged135 man. The latter examined his patient forthwith, and looked serious.
“We had better remove her at once to the hospital,” was his first remark. “Will one of you fetch a cab?”
Mark posted off again at his best speed.
“She is alive, isn’t she?” asked Arthur, in an agony of apprehension136. “Can’t you bring her back to consciousness?”
“She is alive at present,” replied the doctor, “but I shouldn’t like to promise that she will be so long.”
As he spoke he disengaged the dead child from her arms with some trouble.
“The child has been dead several hours,” he remarked, laying it by the side of the mother. He then proceeded to attempt the latter’s restoration. In a minute or two he was interrupted by a shout from the bottom of the stairs. The cab was waiting.
Arthur and the doctor carried the patient down stairs, and placed her in the cab. After that Arthur returned to fetch the dead child. With a hurried charge to his friend Mark to pay whatever might be wanted for the use of the room, and then to follow to the hospital, he jumped in with the doctor and they drove off.
Mark Challenger followed almost immediately, and found Arthur in a waiting-room, where there was a huge fire, waiting till he should hear at least that Carrie had shown signs of life. They sat side by side, occasionally speaking to each other in a low voice for more than two hours. At the end of this time they heard that the patient was doing well. Satisfied perforce with this gleam of hope, and having obtained permission to make an inquiry137 in the morning, Arthur left the hospital, and walked home with his friend.
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1
surfeit
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| v.使饮食过度；n.(食物)过量，过度 | |
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enrolled
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| adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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5
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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10
hoots
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| 咄，啐 | |
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bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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12
carousal
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| n.喧闹的酒会 | |
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13
desecration
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| n. 亵渎神圣, 污辱 | |
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14
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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15
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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16
reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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17
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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18
mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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19
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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20
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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21
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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23
quenching
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| 淬火，熄 | |
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24
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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25
beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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26
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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27
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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28
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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29
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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30
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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31
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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32
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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33
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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34
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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36
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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37
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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38
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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39
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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40
mastication
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| n.咀嚼 | |
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41
scythe
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| n. 长柄的大镰刀，战车镰； v. 以大镰刀割 | |
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42
mower
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| n.割草机 | |
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43
solaced
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的过去分词 ) | |
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44
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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45
gorged
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| v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的过去式和过去分词 )；作呕 | |
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46
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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47
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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48
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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49
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
demolishing
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| v.摧毁( demolish的现在分词 )；推翻；拆毁（尤指大建筑物）；吃光 | |
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51
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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52
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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53
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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54
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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55
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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56
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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57
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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58
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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59
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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60
imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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61
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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62
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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64
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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65
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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66
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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67
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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68
cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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69
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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70
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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71
screeched
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的过去式和过去分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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72
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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73
blustered
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| v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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74
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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75
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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76
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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77
gallops
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| （马等）奔驰，骑马奔驰( gallop的名词复数 ) | |
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78
provender
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| n.刍草；秣料 | |
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79
broiling
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| adj.酷热的，炽热的，似烧的v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的现在分词 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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80
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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81
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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82
abatement
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| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
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83
bevies
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| n.（尤指少女或妇女的）一群( bevy的名词复数 )；（鸟类的）一群 | |
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84
carouse
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| v.狂欢；痛饮；n.狂饮的宴会 | |
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85
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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86
guzzling
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| v.狂吃暴饮，大吃大喝( guzzle的现在分词 ) | |
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87
swilling
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| v.冲洗( swill的现在分词 )；猛喝；大口喝；（使）液体流动 | |
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88
wretches
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| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
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89
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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90
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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91
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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92
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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93
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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94
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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95
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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96
sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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97
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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98
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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99
converge
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| vi.会合；聚集，集中；(思想、观点等)趋近 | |
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100
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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101
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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102
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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103
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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104
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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105
paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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106
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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107
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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108
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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109
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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110
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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111
apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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112
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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113
lulls
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| n.间歇期（lull的复数形式）vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的第三人称单数形式） | |
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114
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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116
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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118
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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119
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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122
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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123
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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124
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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125
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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126
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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127
chafe
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| v.擦伤；冲洗；惹怒 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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129
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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131
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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132
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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134
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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135
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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136
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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