COMPRISING A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THECOMPANY AT THE PEACOCK ASSEMBLED;AND A TALE TOLD BY A BAGMANt is pleasant to turn from contemplating1 the strife2 and turmoilof political existence, to the peaceful repose3 of private life.
Although in reality no great partisan4 of either side, Mr.
Pickwick was sufficiently5 fired with Mr. Pott’s enthusiasm, toapply his whole time and attention to the proceedings6, of whichthe last chapter affords a description compiled from his ownmemoranda. Nor while he was thus occupied was Mr. Winkle idle,his whole time being devoted9 to pleasant walks and short countryexcursions with Mrs. Pott, who never failed, when such anopportunity presented it self, to seek some relief from the tediousmonotony she so constantly complained of. The two gentlemenbeing thus completely domesticated10 in the Editor’s house, Mr.
Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were in a great measure cast upontheir own resources. Taking but little interest in public affairs,they beguiled12 their time chiefly with such amusements as thePeacock afforded, which were limited to a bagatelle-board in thefirst floor, and a sequestered13 skittle-ground in the back yard. Inthe science and nicety of both these recreations, which are farmore abstruse14 than ordinary men suppose, they were graduallyinitiated by Mr. Weller, who possessed15 a perfect knowledge ofsuch pastimes. Thus, notwithstanding that they were in a greatmeasure deprived of the comfort and advantage of Mr. Pickwick’ssociety, they were still enabled to beguile11 the time, and to preventits hanging heavily on their hands.
It was in the evening, however, that the Peacock presentedattractions which enabled the two friends to resist even theinvitations of the gifted, though prosy, Pott. It was in the eveningthat the ‘commercial room’ was filled with a social circle, whosecharacters and manners it was the delight of Mr. Tupman toobserve; whose sayings and doings it was the habit of Mr.
Snodgrass to note down.
Most people know what sort of places commercial roomsusually are. That of the Peacock differed in no material respectfrom the generality of such apartments; that is to say, it was alarge, bare-looking room, the furniture of which had no doubtbeen better when it was newer, with a spacious17 table in the centre,and a variety of smaller dittos in the corners; an extensiveassortment of variously shaped chairs, and an old Turkey carpet,bearing about the same relative proportion to the size of the room,as a lady’s pocket-handkerchief might to the floor of a watch-box.
The walls were garnished18 with one or two large maps; and severalweather-beaten rough greatcoats, with complicated capes19, dangledfrom a long row of pegs20 in one corner. The mantel-shelf wasornamented with a wooden inkstand, containing one stump21 of apen and half a wafer; a road-book and directory; a county historyminus the cover; and the mortal remains22 of a trout23 in a glasscoffin. The atmosphere was redolent of tobacco-smoke, the fumesof which had communicated a rather dingy24 hue25 to the whole room,and more especially to the dusty red curtains which shaded thewindows. On the sideboard a variety of miscellaneous articleswere huddled26 together, the most conspicuous27 of which were somevery cloudy fish-sauce cruets, a couple of driving-boxes, two orthree whips, and as many travelling shawls, a tray of knives andforks, and the mustard.
Here it was that Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were seatedon the evening after the conclusion of the election, with severalother temporary inmates28 of the house, smoking and drinking.
‘Well, gents,’ said a stout29, hale personage of about forty, withonly one eye―a very bright black eye, which twinkled with aroguish expression of fun and good-humour, ‘our noble selves,gents. I always propose that toast to the company, and drink Maryto myself. Eh, Mary!’
‘Get along with you, you wretch,’ said the hand-maiden,obviously not ill-pleased with the compliment, however.
‘Don’t go away, Mary,’ said the black-eyed man.
‘Let me alone, imperence,’ said the young lady.
‘Never mind,’ said the one-eyed man, calling after the girl asshe left the room. ‘I’ll step out by and by, Mary. Keep your spiritsup, dear.’ Here he went through the not very difficult process ofwinking upon the company with his solitary31 eye, to theenthusiastic delight of an elderly personage with a dirty face and aclay pipe.
‘Rum creeters is women,’ said the dirty-faced man, after apause.
‘Ah! no mistake about that,’ said a very red-faced man, behind acigar.
After this little bit of philosophy there was another pause.
‘There’s rummer things than women in this world though, mindyou,’ said the man with the black eye, slowly filling a large Dutchpipe, with a most capacious bowl.
‘Are you married?’ inquired the dirty-faced man.
‘Can’t say I am.’
‘I thought not.’ Here the dirty-faced man fell into ecstasies32 ofmirth at his own retort, in which he was joined by a man of blandvoice and placid33 countenance34, who always made it a point to agreewith everybody.
‘Women, after all, gentlemen, ’ said the enthusiastic Mr.
Snodgrass, ‘are the great props35 and comforts of our existence.’
‘So they are,’ said the placid gentleman.
‘When they’re in a good humour,’ interposed the dirty-facedman.
‘And that’s very true,’ said the placid one.
‘I repudiate36 that qualification,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, whosethoughts were fast reverting37 to Emily Wardle. ‘I repudiate it withdisdain―with indignation. Show me the man who says anythingagainst women, as women, and I boldly declare he is not a man.’
And Mr. Snodgrass took his cigar from his mouth, and struck thetable violently with his clenched38 fist.
‘That’s good sound argument,’ said the placid man.
‘Containing a position which I deny,’ interrupted he of the dirtycountenance.
‘And there’s certainly a very great deal of truth in what youobserve too, sir,’ said the placid gentleman.
‘Your health, sir,’ said the bagman with the lonely eye,bestowing an approving nod on Mr. Snodgrass.
Mr. Snodgrass acknowledged the compliment.
‘I always like to hear a good argument,’ continued the bagman,‘a sharp one, like this: it’s very improving; but this little argumentabout women brought to my mind a story I have heard an olduncle of mine tell, the recollection of which, just now, made me saythere were rummer things than women to be met with,sometimes.’
‘I should like to hear that same story,’ said the red-faced manwith the cigar.
‘Should you?’ was the only reply of the bagman, who continuedto smoke with great vehemence39.
‘So should I,’ said Mr. Tupman, speaking for the first time. Hewas always anxious to increase his stock of experience.
‘Should you? Well then, I’ll tell it. No, I won’t. I know you won’tbelieve it,’ said the man with the roguish eye, making that organlook more roguish than ever. ‘If you say it’s true, of course I shall,’
said Mr. Tupman.
‘Well, upon that understanding I’ll tell you,’ replied thetraveller. ‘Did you ever hear of the great commercial house ofBilson & Slum? But it doesn’t matter though, whether you did ornot, because they retired40 from business long since. It’s eightyyears ago, since the circumstance happened to a traveller for thathouse, but he was a particular friend of my uncle’s; and my uncletold the story to me. It’s a queer name; but he used to call itTHE BAGMAN’S STORYand he used to tell it, something in this way.
‘One winter’s evening, about five o’clock, just as it began to growdusk, a man in a gig might have been seen urging his tired horsealong the road which leads across Marlborough Downs, in thedirection of Bristol. I say he might have been seen, and I have nodoubt he would have been, if anybody but a blind man hadhappened to pass that way; but the weather was so bad, and thenight so cold and wet, that nothing was out but the water, and sothe traveller jogged along in the middle of the road, lonesome anddreary enough. If any bagman of that day could have caught sightof the little neck-or-nothing sort of gig, with a clay-coloured bodyand red wheels, and the vixenish, ill tempered, fast-going baymare, that looked like a cross between a butcher’s horse and atwopenny post-office pony43, he would have known at once, that thistraveller could have been no other than Tom Smart, of the greathouse of Bilson and Slum, Cateaton Street, City. However, asthere was no bagman to look on, nobody knew anything at allabout the matter; and so Tom Smart and his clay-coloured gigwith the red wheels, and the vixenish mare42 with the fast pace,went on together, keeping the secret among them, and nobodywas a bit the wiser.
‘There are many pleasanter places even in this dreary41 world,than Marlborough Downs when it blows hard; and if you throw inbeside, a gloomy winter’s evening, a miry and sloppy44 road, and apelting fall of heavy rain, and try the effect, by way of experiment,in your own proper person, you will experience the full force ofthis observation.
‘The wind blew―not up the road or down it, though that’s badenough, but sheer across it, sending the rain slanting45 down likethe lines they used to rule in the copy-books at school, to make theboys slope well. For a moment it would die away, and the travellerwould begin to delude46 himself into the belief that, exhausted47 withits previous fury, it had quietly laid itself down to rest, when,whoo! he could hear it growling48 and whistling in the distance, andon it would come rushing over the hill-tops, and sweeping49 alongthe plain, gathering50 sound and strength as it drew nearer, until itdashed with a heavy gust51 against horse and man, driving the sharprain into their ears, and its cold damp breath into their very bones;and past them it would scour52, far, far away, with a stunning53 roar,as if in ridicule54 of their weakness, and triumphant55 in theconsciousness of its own strength and power.
‘The bay mare splashed away, through the mud and water, withdrooping ears; now and then tossing her head as if to express herdisgust at this very ungentlemanly behaviour of the elements, butkeeping a good pace notwithstanding, until a gust of wind, morefurious than any that had yet assailed56 them, caused her to stopsuddenly and plant her four feet firmly against the ground, toprevent her being blown over. It’s a special mercy that she didthis, for if she had been blown over, the vixenish mare was so light,and the gig was so light, and Tom Smart such a light weight intothe bargain, that they must infallibly have all gone rolling over andover together, until they reached the confines of earth, or until thewind fell; and in either case the probability is, that neither thevixenish mare, nor the clay-coloured gig with the red wheels, norTom Smart, would ever have been fit for service again.
‘“Well, damn my straps57 and whiskers,” says Tom Smart (Tomsometimes had an unpleasant knack58 of swearing)―“damn mystraps and whiskers,” says Tom, “if this ain’t pleasant, blow me!”
‘You’ll very likely ask me why, as Tom Smart had been prettywell blown already, he expressed this wish to be submitted to thesame process again. I can’t say―all I know is, that Tom Smart saidso―or at least he always told my uncle he said so, and it’s just thesame thing.
“‘Blow me,” says Tom Smart; and the mare neighed as if shewere precisely59 of the same opinion.
“‘Cheer up, old girl,” said Tom, patting the bay mare on theneck with the end of his whip. “It won’t do pushing on, such anight as this; the first house we come to we’ll put up at, so thefaster you go the sooner it’s over. Soho, old girl―gently―gently.”
‘Whether the vixenish mare was sufficiently well acquaintedwith the tones of Tom’s voice to comprehend his meaning, orwhether she found it colder standing16 still than moving on, ofcourse I can’t say. But I can say that Tom had no sooner finishedspeaking, than she pricked60 up her ears, and started forward at aspeed which made the clay-coloured gig rattle61 until you wouldhave supposed every one of the red spokes63 were going to fly out onthe turf of Marlborough Downs; and even Tom, whip as he was,couldn’t stop or check her pace, until she drew up of her ownaccord, before a roadside inn on the right-hand side of the way,about half a quarter of a mile from the end of the Downs.
‘Tom cast a hasty glance at the upper part of the house as hethrew the reins64 to the hostler, and stuck the whip in the box. Itwas a strange old place, built of a kind of shingle65, inlaid, as it were,with cross-beams, with gabled-topped windows projectingcompletely over the pathway, and a low door with a dark porch,and a couple of steep steps leading down into the house, instead ofthe modern fashion of half a dozen shallow ones leading up to it. Itwas a comfortable-looking place though, for there was a strong,cheerful light in the bar window, which shed a bright ray acrossthe road, and even lighted up the hedge on the other side; andthere was a red flickering66 light in the opposite window, onemoment but faintly discernible, and the next gleaming stronglythrough the drawn67 curtains, which intimated that a rousing firewas blazing within. Marking these little evidences with the eye ofan experienced traveller, Tom dismounted with as much agility68 ashis half-frozen limbs would permit, and entered the house.
‘In less than five minutes’ time, Tom was ensconced in the roomopposite the bar―the very room where he had imagined the fireblazing―before a substantial, matter-of-fact, roaring fire,composed of something short of a bushel of coals, and woodenough to make half a dozen decent gooseberry bushes, piled half-way up the chimney, and roaring and crackling with a sound thatof itself would have warmed the heart of any reasonable man. Thiswas comfortable, but this was not all; for a smartly-dressed girl,with a bright eye and a neat ankle, was laying a very clean whitecloth on the table; and as Tom sat with his slippered69 feet on thefender, and his back to the open door, he saw a charming prospectof the bar reflected in the glass over the chimney-piece, withdelightful rows of green bottles and gold labels, together with jarsof pickles71 and preserves, and cheeses and boiled hams, and roundsof beef, arranged on shelves in the most tempting72 and deliciousarray. Well, this was comfortable too; but even this was not all―forin the bar, seated at tea at the nicest possible little table, drawnclose up before the brightest possible little fire, was a buxomwidow of somewhere about eight-and-forty or thereabouts, with aface as comfortable as the bar, who was evidently the landlady74 ofthe house, and the supreme75 ruler over all these agreeablepossessions. There was only one drawback to the beauty of thewhole picture, and that was a tall man―a very tall man―in abrown coat and bright basket buttons, and black whiskers andwavy black hair, who was seated at tea with the widow, and who itrequired no great penetration76 to discover was in a fair way ofpersuading her to be a widow no longer, but to confer upon himthe privilege of sitting down in that bar, for and during the wholeremainder of the term of his natural life.
‘Tom Smart was by no means of an irritable77 or enviousdisposition, but somehow or other the tall man with the browncoat and the bright basket buttons did rouse what little gall78 he hadin his composition, and did make him feel extremely indignant,the more especially as he could now and then observe, from hisseat before the glass, certain little affectionate familiarities passingbetween the tall man and the widow, which sufficiently denotedthat the tall man was as high in favour as he was in size. Tom wasfond of hot punch―I may venture to say he was very fond of hotpunch―and after he had seen the vixenish mare well fed and welllittered down, and had eaten every bit of the nice little hot dinnerwhich the widow tossed up for him with her own hands, he justordered a tumbler of it by way of experiment. Now, if there wasone thing in the whole range of domestic art, which the widowcould manufacture better than another, it was this identicalarticle; and the first tumbler was adapted to Tom Smart’s tastewith such peculiar79 nicety, that he ordered a second with the leastpossible delay. Hot punch is a pleasant thing, gentlemen―anextremely pleasant thing under any circumstances―but in thatsnug old parlour, before the roaring fire, with the wind blowingoutside till every timber in the old house creaked again, TomSmart found it perfectly81 delightful70. He ordered another tumbler,and then another―I am not quite certain whether he didn’t orderanother after that―but the more he drank of the hot punch, themore he thought of the tall man.
‘“Confound his impudence82!” said Tom to himself, “whatbusiness has he in that snug80 bar? Such an ugly villain83 too!” saidTom. “If the widow had any taste, she might surely pick up somebetter fellow than that.” Here Tom’s eye wandered from the glasson the chimney-piece to the glass on the table; and as he felthimself becoming gradually sentimental84, he emptied the fourthtumbler of punch and ordered a fifth.
‘Tom Smart, gentlemen, had always been very much attachedto the public line. It had been long his ambition to stand in a bar ofhis own, in a green coat, knee-cords, and tops. He had a greatnotion of taking the chair at convivial85 dinners, and he had oftenthought how well he could preside in a room of his own in thetalking way, and what a capital example he could set to hiscustomers in the drinking department. All these things passedrapidly through Tom’s mind as he sat drinking the hot punch bythe roaring fire, and he felt very justly and properly indignant thatthe tall man should be in a fair way of keeping such an excellenthouse, while he, Tom Smart, was as far off from it as ever. So, afterdeliberating over the two last tumblers, whether he hadn’t aperfect right to pick a quarrel with the tall man for havingcontrived to get into the good graces of the buxom73 widow, TomSmart at last arrived at the satisfactory conclusion that he was avery ill-used and persecuted86 individual, and had better go to bed.
‘Up a wide and ancient staircase the smart girl preceded Tom,shading the chamber87 candle with her hand, to protect it from thecurrents of air which in such a rambling88 old place might havefound plenty of room to disport89 themselves in, without blowing thecandle out, but which did blow it out nevertheless―thus affordingTom’s enemies an opportunity of asserting that it was he, and notthe wind, who extinguished the candle, and that while hepretended to be blowing it alight again, he was in fact kissing thegirl. Be this as it may, another light was obtained, and Tom wasconducted through a maze90 of rooms, and a labyrinth91 of passages,to the apartment which had been prepared for his reception,where the girl bade him good-night and left him alone.
‘It was a good large room with big closets, and a bed whichmight have served for a whole boarding-school, to say nothing of acouple of oaken presses that would have held the baggage of asmall army; but what struck Tom’s fancy most was a strange,grim-looking, high backed chair, carved in the most fantasticmanner, with a flowered damask cushion, and the round knobs atthe bottom of the legs carefully tied up in red cloth, as if it had gotthe gout in its toes. Of any other queer chair, Tom would only havethought it was a queer chair, and there would have been an end ofthe matter; but there was something about this particular chair,and yet he couldn’t tell what it was, so odd and so unlike any otherpiece of furniture he had ever seen, that it seemed to fascinatehim. He sat down before the fire, and stared at the old chair forhalf an hour.―Damn the chair, it was such a strange old thing, hecouldn’t take his eyes off it.
“‘Well,” said Tom, slowly undressing himself, and staring at theold chair all the while, which stood with a mysterious aspect by thebedside, “I never saw such a rum concern as that in my days. Veryodd,” said Tom, who had got rather sage92 with the hot punch―‘very odd.” Tom shook his head with an air of profound wisdom,and looked at the chair again. He couldn’t make anything of itthough, so he got into bed, covered himself up warm, and fellasleep.
‘In about half an hour, Tom woke up with a start, from aconfused dream of tall men and tumblers of punch; and the firstobject that presented itself to his waking imagination was thequeer chair.
‘“I won’t look at it any more,” said Tom to himself, and hesqueezed his eyelids93 together, and tried to persuade himself hewas going to sleep again. No use; nothing but queer chairs dancedbefore his eyes, kicking up their legs, jumping over each other’sbacks, and playing all kinds of antics.
“‘I may as well see one real chair, as two or three complete setsof false ones,” said Tom, bringing out his head from under thebedclothes. There it was, plainly discernible by the light of the fire,looking as provoking as ever.
‘Tom gazed at the chair; and, suddenly as he looked at it, a mostextraordinary change seemed to come over it. The carving94 of theback gradually assumed the lineaments and expression of an old,shrivelled human face; the damask cushion became an antique,flapped waistcoat; the round knobs grew into a couple of feet,encased in red cloth slippers95; and the whole chair looked like avery ugly old man, of the previous century, with his arms akimbo.
Tom sat up in bed, and rubbed his eyes to dispel96 the illusion. No.
The chair was an ugly old gentleman; and what was more, he waswinking at Tom Smart.
‘Tom was naturally a headlong, careless sort of dog, and he hadhad five tumblers of hot punch into the bargain; so, although hewas a little startled at first, he began to grow rather indignantwhen he saw the old gentleman winking30 and leering at him withsuch an impudent97 air. At length he resolved that he wouldn’tstand it; and as the old face still kept winking away as fast as ever,Tom said, in a very angry tone―‘“What the devil are you winking at me for?”
‘“Because I like it, Tom Smart,” said the chair; or the oldgentleman, whichever you like to call him. He stopped winkingthough, when Tom spoke62, and began grinning like asuperannuated monkey.
‘“How do you know my name, old nut-cracker face?” inquiredTom Smart, rather staggered; though he pretended to carry it offso well.
‘“Come, come, Tom,” said the old gentleman, “that’s not theway to address solid Spanish mahogany. Damme, you couldn’ttreat me with less respect if I was veneered.” When the oldgentleman said this, he looked so fierce that Tom began to growfrightened.
‘“I didn’t mean to treat you with any disrespect, sir,” said Tom,in a much humbler tone than he had spoken in at first.
‘“Well, well,” said the old fellow, “perhaps not―perhaps not.
Tom―”
‘“Sir―”
‘“I know everything about you, Tom; everything. You’re verypoor, Tom.”
‘“I certainly am,” said Tom Smart. “But how came you to knowthat?”
‘“Never mind that,” said the old gentleman; “you’re much toofond of punch, Tom.”
‘Tom Smart was just on the point of protesting that he hadn’ttasted a drop since his last birthday, but when his eye encounteredthat of the old gentleman he looked so knowing that Tom blushed,and was silent.
‘“Tom,” said the old gentleman, “the widow’s a fine woman―remarkably98 fine woman―eh, Tom?” Here the old fellow screwedup his eyes, cocked up one of his wasted little legs, and lookedaltogether so unpleasantly amorous99, that Tom was quite disgustedwith the levity100 of his behaviour―at his time of life, too! ‘“I am herguardian, Tom,” said the old gentleman.
‘“Are you?” inquired Tom Smart.
‘“I knew her mother, Tom,” said the old fellow: “and hergrandmother. She was very fond of me―made me this waistcoat,Tom.”
‘“Did she?” said Tom Smart.
‘“And these shoes,” said the old fellow, lifting up one of the redcloth mufflers; “but don’t mention it, Tom. I shouldn’t like to haveit known that she was so much attached to me. It might occasionsome unpleasantness in the family.” When the old rascal101 said this,he looked so extremely impertinent, that, as Tom Smartafterwards declared, he could have sat upon him without remorse102.
‘“I have been a great favourite among the women in my time,Tom,” said the profligate103 old debauchee; “hundreds of fine womenhave sat in my lap for hours together. What do you think of that,you dog, eh!” The old gentleman was proceeding7 to recount someother exploits of his youth, when he was seized with such a violentfit of creaking that he was unable to proceed.
‘“Just serves you right, old boy,” thought Tom Smart; but hedidn’t say anything.
‘“Ah!” said the old fellow, “I am a good deal troubled with thisnow. I am getting old, Tom, and have lost nearly all my rails. Ihave had an operation performed, too―a small piece let into myback―and I found it a severe trial, Tom.”
‘“I dare say you did, sir,” said Tom Smart.
‘“However,” said the old gentleman, “that’s not the point. Tom!
I want you to marry the widow.”
‘“Me, sir!” said Tom.
‘“You,” said the old gentleman.
‘“Bless your reverend locks,” said Tom (he had a few scatteredhorse-hairs left)―“bless your reverend locks, she wouldn’t haveme.” And Tom sighed involuntarily, as he thought of the bar.
‘“Wouldn’t she?” said the old gentleman firmly.
‘“No, no,” said Tom; “there’s somebody else in the wind. A tallman―a confoundedly tall man―with black whiskers.”
‘“Tom,” said the old gentleman; “she will never have him.”
‘“Won’t she?” said Tom. “If you stood in the bar, old gentleman,you’d tell another story.” ‘“Pooh, pooh,” said the old gentleman. “Iknow all about that. “‘“About what?” said Tom.
‘“The kissing behind the door, and all that sort of thing, Tom,”
said the old gentleman. And here he gave another impudent look,which made Tom very wroth, because as you all know, gentlemen,to hear an old fellow, who ought to know better, talking aboutthese things, is very unpleasant―nothing more so.
‘“I know all about that, Tom,” said the old gentleman. “I haveseen it done very often in my time, Tom, between more peoplethan I should like to mention to you; but it never came to anythingafter all.”
‘“You must have seen some queer things,” said Tom, with aninquisitive look.
‘“You may say that, Tom,” replied the old fellow, with a verycomplicated wink8. “I am the last of my family, Tom,” said the oldgentleman, with a melancholy105 sigh.
‘“Was it a large one?” inquired Tom Smart.
‘“There were twelve of us, Tom,” said the old gentleman; “fine,straight-backed, handsome fellows as you’d wish to see. None ofyour modern abortions―all with arms, and with a degree ofpolish, though I say it that should not, which it would have doneyour heart good to behold106.”
‘“And what’s become of the others, sir?” asked Tom Smart―‘The old gentleman applied107 his elbow to his eye as he replied,“Gone, Tom, gone. We had hard service, Tom, and they hadn’t allmy constitution. They got rheumatic about the legs and arms, andwent into kitchens and other hospitals; and one of ’em, with longservice and hard usage, positively108 lost his senses―he got so crazythat he was obliged to be burnt. Shocking thing that, Tom.”
‘“Dreadful!” said Tom Smart.
‘The old fellow paused for a few minutes, apparently109 strugglingwith his feelings of emotion, and then said―‘“However, Tom, I am wandering from the point. This tall man,Tom, is a rascally110 adventurer. The moment he married the widow,he would sell off all the furniture, and run away. What would bethe consequence? She would be deserted111 and reduced to ruin, andI should catch my death of cold in some broker’s shop.”
‘“Yes, but―”
‘“Don’t interrupt me,” said the old gentleman. “Of you, Tom, Ientertain a very different opinion; for I well know that if you oncesettled yourself in a public-house, you would never leave it, as longas there was anything to drink within its walls.”
‘“I am very much obliged to you for your good opinion, sir,”
said Tom Smart.
‘“Therefore,” resumed the old gentleman, in a dictatorial112 tone,“you shall have her, and he shall not.”
‘“What is to prevent it?” said Tom Smart eagerly.
‘“This disclosure,” replied the old gentleman; “he is alreadymarried.”
‘“How can I prove it?” said Tom, starting half out of bed.
‘The old gentleman untucked his arm from his side, and havingpointed to one of the oaken presses, immediately replaced it, in itsold position.
‘“He little thinks,” said the old gentleman, “that in the right-hand pocket of a pair of trousers in that press, he has left a letter,entreating him to return to his disconsolate113 wife, with six―markme, Tom―six babes, and all of them small ones.”
‘As the old gentleman solemnly uttered these words, hisfeatures grew less and less distinct, and his figure more shadowy.
A film came over Tom Smart’s eyes. The old man seemedgradually blending into the chair, the damask waistcoat to resolveinto a cushion, the red slippers to shrink into little red cloth bags.
The light faded gently away, and Tom Smart fell back on hispillow, and dropped asleep.
‘Morning aroused Tom from the lethargic114 slumber115, into whichhe had fallen on the disappearance116 of the old man. He sat up inbed, and for some minutes vainly endeavoured to recall the eventsof the preceding night. Suddenly they rushed upon him. He lookedat the chair; it was a fantastic and grim-looking piece of furniture,certainly, but it must have been a remarkably ingenious and livelyimagination, that could have discovered any resemblance betweenit and an old man.
‘“How are you, old boy?” said Tom. He was bolder in thedaylight―most men are.
‘The chair remained motionless, and spoke not a word.
‘“Miserable morning,” said Tom. No. The chair would not bedrawn into conversation.
‘“Which press did you point to?―you can tell me that,” saidTom. Devil a word, gentlemen, the chair would say.
‘“It’s not much trouble to open it, anyhow,” said Tom, gettingout of bed very deliberately117. He walked up to one of the presses.
The key was in the lock; he turned it, and opened the door. Therewas a pair of trousers there. He put his hand into the pocket, anddrew forth118 the identical letter the old gentleman had described!
‘“Queer sort of thing, this,” said Tom Smart, looking first at thechair and then at the press, and then at the letter, and then at thechair again. “Very queer,” said Tom. But, as there was nothing ineither, to lessen119 the queerness, he thought he might as well dresshimself, and settle the tall man’s business at once―just to put himout of his misery120.
‘Tom surveyed the rooms he passed through, on his waydownstairs, with the scrutinising eye of a landlord; thinking it notimpossible, that before long, they and their contents would be hisproperty. The tall man was standing in the snug little bar, with hishands behind him, quite at home. He grinned vacantly at Tom. Acasual observer might have supposed he did it, only to show hiswhite teeth; but Tom Smart thought that a consciousness oftriumph was passing through the place where the tall man’s mindwould have been, if he had had any. Tom laughed in his face; andsummoned the landlady.
‘“Good-morning ma’am,” said Tom Smart, closing the door ofthe little parlour as the widow entered.
‘“Good-morning, sir,” said the widow. “What will you take forbreakfast, sir?”
‘Tom was thinking how he should open the case, so he made noanswer.
‘“There’s a very nice ham,” said the widow, “and a beautifulcold larded fowl121. Shall I send ’em in, sir?”
‘These words roused Tom from his reflections. His admirationof the widow increased as she spoke. Thoughtful creature!
Comfortable provider!
‘“Who is that gentleman in the bar, ma’am?” inquired Tom.
‘“His name is Jinkins, sir,” said the widow, slightly blushing.
‘“He’s a tall man,” said Tom.
‘“He is a very fine man, sir,” replied the widow, “and a very nicegentleman.”
‘“Ah!” said Tom.
‘“Is there anything more you want, sir?” inquired the widow,rather puzzled by Tom’s manner. ‘“Why, yes,” said Tom. “My dearma’am, will you have the kindness to sit down for one moment?”
‘The widow looked much amazed, but she sat down, and Tomsat down too, close beside her. I don’t know how it happened,gentlemen―indeed my uncle used to tell me that Tom Smart saidhe didn’t know how it happened either―but somehow or other thepalm of Tom’s hand fell upon the back of the widow’s hand, andremained there while he spoke.
‘“My dear ma’am,” said Tom Smart―he had always a greatnotion of committing the amiable―“my dear ma’am, you deservea very excellent husband―you do indeed.”
‘“Lor, sir!” said the widow―as well she might; Tom’s mode ofcommencing the conversation being rather unusual, not to saystartling; the fact of his never having set eyes upon her before theprevious night being taken into consideration. “Lor, sir!”
‘“I scorn to flatter, my dear ma’am,” said Tom Smart. “Youdeserve a very admirable husband, and whoever he is, he’ll be avery lucky man.” As Tom said this, his eye involuntarily wanderedfrom the widow’s face to the comfort around him.
‘The widow looked more puzzled than ever, and made an effortto rise. Tom gently pressed her hand, as if to detain her, and shekept her seat. Widows, gentlemen, are not usually timorous122, as myuncle used to say.
‘“I am sure I am very much obliged to you, sir, for your goodopinion,” said the buxom landlady, half laughing; “and if ever Imarry again―”
‘“If,” said Tom Smart, looking very shrewdly out of the right-hand corner of his left eye. “If―”
“‘Well,” said the widow, laughing outright123 this time, “When I do,I hope I shall have as good a husband as you describe.”
‘“Jinkins, to wit,” said Tom.
‘“Lor, sir!” exclaimed the widow.
‘“Oh, don’t tell me,” said Tom, “I know him.”
‘“I am sure nobody who knows him, knows anything bad ofhim,” said the widow, bridling124 up at the mysterious air with whichTom had spoken.
‘“Hem!” said Tom Smart.
‘The widow began to think it was high time to cry, so she tookout her handkerchief, and inquired whether Tom wished to insulther, whether he thought it like a gentleman to take away thecharacter of another gentleman behind his back, why, if he hadgot anything to say, he didn’t say it to the man, like a man, insteadof terrifying a poor weak woman in that way; and so forth.
‘“I’ll say it to him fast enough,” said Tom, “only I want you tohear it first.”
‘“What is it?” inquired the widow, looking intently in Tom’scountenance.
‘“I’ll astonish you,” said Tom, putting his hand in his pocket.
‘“If it is, that he wants money,” said the widow, “I know thatalready, and you needn’t trouble yourself.”
‘“Pooh, nonsense, that’s nothing,” said Tom Smart, “I wantmoney. ’Tan’t that.”
‘“Oh, dear, what can it be?” exclaimed the poor widow.
‘“Don’t be frightened,” said Tom Smart. He slowly drew forththe letter, and unfolded it. “You won’t scream?” said Tomdoubtfully.
‘“No, no,” replied the widow; “let me see it.”
‘“You won’t go fainting away, or any of that nonsense?” saidTom.
‘“No, no,” returned the widow hastily.
‘“And don’t run out, and blow him up,” said Tom; “because I’lldo all that for you. You had better not exert yourself.”
‘“Well, well,” said the widow, “let me see it.”
‘“I will,” replied Tom Smart; and, with these words, he placedthe letter in the widow’s hand.
‘Gentlemen, I have heard my uncle say, that Tom Smart saidthe widow’s lamentations when she heard the disclosure wouldhave pierced a heart of stone. Tom was certainly very tender-hearted, but they pierced his, to the very core. The widow rockedherself to and fro, and wrung125 her hands.
‘“Oh, the deception126 and villainy of the man!” said the widow.
‘“Frightful, my dear ma’am; but compose yourself,” said TomSmart.
‘“Oh, I can’t compose myself,” shrieked127 the widow. “I shallnever find anyone else I can love so much!”
‘“Oh, yes you will, my dear soul,” said Tom Smart, letting fall ashower of the largest-sized tears, in pity for the widow’smisfortunes. Tom Smart, in the energy of his compassion128, had puthis arm round the widow’s waist; and the widow, in a passion ofgrief, had clasped Tom’s hand. She looked up in Tom’s face, andsmiled through her tears. Tom looked down in hers, and smiledthrough his.
‘I never could find out, gentlemen, whether Tom did or did notkiss the widow at that particular moment. He used to tell my unclehe didn’t, but I have my doubts about it. Between ourselves,gentlemen, I rather think he did.
‘At all events, Tom kicked the very tall man out at the frontdoor half an hour later, and married the widow a month after. Andhe used to drive about the country, with the clay-coloured gig withthe red wheels, and the vixenish mare with the fast pace, till hegave up business many years afterwards, and went to France withhis wife; and then the old house was pulled down.’
‘Will you allow me to ask you,’ said the inquisitive104 oldgentleman, ‘what became of the chair?’
‘Why,’ replied the one-eyed bagman, ‘it was observed to creakvery much on the day of the wedding; but Tom Smart couldn’t sayfor certain whether it was with pleasure or bodily infirmity. Herather thought it was the latter, though, for it never spokeafterwards.’
‘Everybody believed the story, didn’t they?’ said the dirty-facedman, refilling his pipe.
‘Except Tom’s enemies,’ replied the bagman. ‘Some of ’em saidTom invented it altogether; and others said he was drunk andfancied it, and got hold of the wrong trousers by mistake before hewent to bed. But nobody ever minded what they said.’
‘Tom Smart said it was all true?’
‘Every word.’
‘And your uncle?’
‘Every letter.’
‘They must have been very nice men, both of ’em,’ said thedirty-faced man.
‘Yes, they were,’ replied the bagman; ‘very nice men indeed!’
收听单词发音 |
1
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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partisan
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| adj.党派性的；游击队的；n.游击队员；党徒 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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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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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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domesticated
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| adj.喜欢家庭生活的；（指动物）被驯养了的v.驯化( domesticate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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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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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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21
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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30
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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31
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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32
ecstasies
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| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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props
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| 小道具； 支柱( prop的名词复数 )； 支持者； 道具； （橄榄球中的）支柱前锋 | |
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repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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reverting
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| 恢复( revert的现在分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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38
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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40
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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41
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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42
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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43
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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44
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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45
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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46
delude
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| vt.欺骗；哄骗 | |
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47
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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48
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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49
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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50
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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51
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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52
scour
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| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
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53
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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54
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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55
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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56
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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57
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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58
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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59
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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60
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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61
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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62
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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63
spokes
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| n.（车轮的）辐条( spoke的名词复数 )；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 | |
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64
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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65
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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66
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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67
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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68
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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69
slippered
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| 穿拖鞋的 | |
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70
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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71
pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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72
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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73
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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74
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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75
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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76
penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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77
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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78
gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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79
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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80
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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81
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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82
impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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83
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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84
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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85
convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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86
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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87
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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88
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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89
disport
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| v.嬉戏，玩 | |
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90
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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91
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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92
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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93
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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94
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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95
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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96
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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rascally
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| adj. 无赖的，恶棍的 adv. 无赖地，卑鄙地 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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dictatorial
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| adj. 独裁的，专断的 | |
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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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115
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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117
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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bridling
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的现在分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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