In a rather ill-favoured and ill-savoured neighbourhood, though oneof its rising grounds bears the name of Mount Pleasant, the ElfinSmallweed, christened Bartholomew and known on the domestic hearthas Bart, passes that limited portion of his time on which theoffice and its contingencies1 have no claim. He dwells in a littlenarrow street, always solitary2, shady, and sad, closely bricked inon all sides like a tomb, but where there yet lingers the stump3 ofan old forest tree whose flavour is about as fresh and natural asthe Smallweed smack4 of youth.
There has been only one child in the Smallweed family for severalgenerations. Little old men and women there have been, but nochild, until Mr. Smallweed's grandmother, now living, became weakin her intellect and fell (for the first time) into a childishstate. With such infantine graces as a total want of observation,memory, understanding, and interest, and an eternal disposition5 tofall asleep over the fire and into it, Mr. Smallweed's grandmotherhas undoubtedly6 brightened the family.
Mr. Smallweed's grandfather is likewise of the party. He is in ahelpless condition as to his lower, and nearly so as to his upper,limbs, but his mind is unimpaired. It holds, as well as it everheld, the first four rules of arithmetic and a certain smallcollection of the hardest facts. In respect of ideality,reverence, wonder, and other such phrenological attributes, it isno worse off than it used to be. Everything that Mr. Smallweed'sgrandfather ever put away in his mind was a grub at first, and is agrub at last. In all his life he has never bred a singlebutterfly.
The father of this pleasant grandfather, of the neighbourhood ofMount Pleasant, was a horny-skinned, two-legged, money-gettingspecies of spider who spun7 webs to catch unwary flies and retiredinto holes until they were entrapped8. The name of this old pagan'sgod was Compound Interest. He lived for it, married it, died ofit. Meeting with a heavy loss in an honest little enterprise inwhich all the loss was intended to have been on the other side, hebroke something--something necessary to his existence, therefore itcouldn't have been his heart--and made an end of his career. Ashis character was not good, and he had been bred at a charityschool in a complete course, according to question and answer, ofthose ancient people the Amorites and Hittites, he was frequentlyquoted as an example of the failure of education.
His spirit shone through his son, to whom he had always preached of"going out" early in life and whom he made a clerk in a sharpscrivener's office at twelve years old. There the young gentlemanimproved his mind, which was of a lean and anxious character, anddeveloping the family gifts, gradually elevated himself into thediscounting profession. Going out early in life and marrying late,as his father had done before him, he too begat a lean and anxious-minded son, who in his turn, going out early in life and marryinglate, became the father of Bartholomew and Judith Smallweed, twins.
During the whole time consumed in the slow growth of this familytree, the house of Smallweed, always early to go out and late tomarry, has strengthened itself in its practical character, hasdiscarded all amusements, discountenanced all story-books, fairy-tales, fictions, and fables9, and banished10 all levities11 whatsoever12.
Hence the gratifying fact that it has had no child born to it andthat the complete little men and women whom it has produced havebeen observed to bear a likeness13 to old monkeys with somethingdepressing on their minds.
At the present time, in the dark little parlour certain feet belowthe level of the street--a grim, hard, uncouth15 parlour, onlyornamented with the coarsest of baize table-covers, and the hardestof sheet-iron tea-trays, and offering in its decorative16 characterno bad allegorical representation of Grandfather Smallweed's mind--seated in two black horsehair porter's chairs, one on each side ofthe fire-place, the superannuated17 Mr. and Mrs. Smallweed while awaythe rosy18 hours. On the stove are a couple of trivets for the potsand kettles which it is Grandfather Smallweed's usual occupation towatch, and projecting from the chimney-piece between them is a sortof brass19 gallows20 for roasting, which he also superintends when itis in action. Under the venerable Mr. Smallweed's seat and guardedby his spindle legs is a drawer in his chair, reported to containproperty to a fabulous21 amount. Beside him is a spare cushion withwhich he is always provided in order that he may have something tothrow at the venerable partner of his respected age whenever shemakes an allusion22 to money--a subject on which he is particularlysensitive.
"And where's Bart?" Grandfather Smallweed inquires of Judy, Bart'stwin sister.
"He an't come in yet," says Judy.
"It's his tea-time, isn't it?""No.""How much do you mean to say it wants then?""Ten minutes.""Hey?""Ten minutes." (Loud on the part of Judy.)"Ho!" says Grandfather Smallweed. "Ten minutes."Grandmother Smallweed, who has been mumbling23 and shaking her headat the trivets, hearing figures mentioned, connects them with moneyand screeches24 like a horrible old parrot without any plumage, "Tenten-pound notes!"Grandfather Smallweed immediately throws the cushion at her.
"Drat you, be quiet!" says the good old man.
The effect of this act of jaculation is twofold. It not onlydoubles up Mrs. Smallweed's head against the side of her porter'schair and causes her to present, when extricated25 by hergranddaughter, a highly unbecoming state of cap, but the necessaryexertion recoils27 on Mr. Smallweed himself, whom it throws back intoHIS porter's chair like a broken puppet. The excellent oldgentleman being at these times a mere28 clothes-bag with a blackskull-cap on the top of it, does not present a very animatedappearance until he has undergone the two operations at the handsof his granddaughter of being shaken up like a great bottle andpoked and punched like a great bolster29. Some indication of a neckbeing developed in him by these means, he and the sharer of hislife's evening again fronting one another in their two porter'schairs, like a couple of sentinels long forgotten on their post bythe Black Serjeant, Death.
Judy the twin is worthy30 company for these associates. She is soindubitably sister to Mr. Smallweed the younger that the twokneaded into one would hardly make a young person of averageproportions, while she so happily exemplifies the before-mentionedfamily likeness to the monkey tribe that attired31 in a spangled robeand cap she might walk about the table-land on the top of a barrel-organ without exciting much remark as an unusual specimen32. Underexisting circumstances, however, she is dressed in a plain, sparegown of brown stuff.
Judy never owned a doll, never heard of Cinderella, never played atany game. She once or twice fell into children's company when shewas about ten years old, but the children couldn't get on withJudy, and Judy couldn't get on with them. She seemed like ananimal of another species, and there was instinctive33 repugnance34 onboth sides. It is very doubtful whether Judy knows how to laugh.
She has so rarely seen the thing done that the probabilities arestrong the other way. Of anything like a youthful laugh, shecertainly can have no conception. If she were to try one, shewould find her teeth in her way, modelling that action of her face,as she has unconsciously modelled all its other expressions, on herpattern of sordid35 age. Such is Judy.
And her twin brother couldn't wind up a top for his life. He knowsno more of Jack36 the Giant Killer37 or of Sinbad the Sailor than heknows of the people in the stars. He could as soon play at leap-frog or at cricket as change into a cricket or a frog himself. Buthe is so much the better off than his sister that on his narrowworld of fact an opening has dawned into such broader regions aslie within the ken14 of Mr. Guppy. Hence his admiration38 and hisemulation of that shining enchanter.
Judy, with a gong-like clash and clatter39, sets one of the sheet-iron tea-trays on the table and arranges cups and saucers. Thebread she puts on in an iron basket, and the butter (and not muchof it) in a small pewter plate. Grandfather Smallweed looks hardafter the tea as it is served out and asks Judy where the girl is.
"Charley, do you mean?" says Judy.
"Hey?" from Grandfather Smallweed.
"Charley, do you mean?"This touches a spring in Grandmother Smallweed, who, chuckling40 asusual at the trivets, cries, "Over the water! Charley over thewater, Charley over the water, over the water to Charley, Charleyover the water, over the water to Charley!" and becomes quiteenergetic about it. Grandfather looks at the cushion but has notsufficiently recovered his late exertion26.
"Ha!" he says when there is silence. "If that's her name. Sheeats a deal. It would be better to allow her for her keep."Judy, with her brother's wink42, shakes her head and purses up hermouth into no without saying it.
"No?" returns the old man. "Why not?""She'd want sixpence a day, and we can do it for less," says Judy.
"Sure?"Judy answers with a nod of deepest meaning and calls, as shescrapes the butter on the loaf with every precaution against wasteand cuts it into slices, "You, Charley, where are you?" Timidlyobedient to the summons, a little girl in a rough apron43 and a largebonnet, with her hands covered with soap and water and a scrubbingbrush in one of them, appears, and curtsys.
"What work are you about now?" says Judy, making an ancient snap ather like a very sharp old beldame.
"I'm a-cleaning the upstairs back room, miss," replies Charley.
"Mind you do it thoroughly45, and don't loiter. Shirking won't dofor me. Make haste! Go along!" cries Judy with a stamp upon theground. "You girls are more trouble than you're worth, by half."On this severe matron, as she returns to her task of scraping thebutter and cutting the bread, falls the shadow of her brother,looking in at the window. For whom, knife and loaf in hand, sheopens the street-door.
"Aye, aye, Bart!" says Grandfather Smallweed. "Here you are, hey?""Here I am," says Bart.
"Been along with your friend again, Bart?"Small nods.
"Dining at his expense, Bart?"Small nods again.
"That's right. Live at his expense as much as you can, and takewarning by his foolish example. That's the use of such a friend.
The only use you can put him to," says the venerable sage46.
His grandson, without receiving this good counsel as dutifully ashe might, honours it with all such acceptance as may lie in aslight wink and a nod and takes a chair at the tea-table. The fourold faces then hover47 over teacups like a company of ghastlycherubim, Mrs. Smallweed perpetually twitching48 her head andchattering at the trivets and Mr. Smallweed requiring to berepeatedly shaken up like a large black draught49.
"Yes, yes," says the good old gentleman, reverting50 to his lesson ofwisdom. "That's such advice as your father would have given you,Bart. You never saw your father. More's the pity. He was my trueson." Whether it is intended to be conveyed that he wasparticularly pleasant to look at, on that account, does not appear.
"He was my true son," repeats the old gentleman, folding his breadand butter on his knee, "a good accountant, and died fifteen yearsago."Mrs. Smallweed, following her usual instinct, breaks out with"Fifteen hundred pound. Fifteen hundred pound in a black box,fifteen hundred pound locked up, fifteen hundred pound put away andhid!" Her worthy husband, setting aside his bread and butter,immediately discharges the cushion at her, crushes her against theside of her chair, and falls back in his own, overpowered. Hisappearance, after visiting Mrs. Smallweed with one of theseadmonitions, is particularly impressive and not whollyprepossessing, firstly because the exertion generally twists hisblack skull-cap over one eye and gives him an air of goblinrakishness, secondly51 because he mutters violent imprecationsagainst Mrs. Smallweed, and thirdly because the contrast betweenthose powerful expressions and his powerless figure is suggestiveof a baleful old malignant52 who would be very wicked if he could.
All this, however, is so common in the Smallweed family circle thatit produces no impression. The old gentleman is merely shaken andhas his internal feathers beaten up, the cushion is restored to itsusual place beside him, and the old lady, perhaps with her capadjusted and perhaps not, is planted in her chair again, ready tobe bowled down like a ninepin.
Some time elapses in the present instance before the old gentlemanis sufficiently41 cool to resume his discourse53, and even then hemixes it up with several edifying54 expletives addressed to theunconscious partner of his bosom55, who holds communication withnothing on earth but the trivets. As thus: "If your father, Bart,had lived longer, he might have been worth a deal of money--youbrimstone chatterer!--but just as he was beginning to build up thehouse that he had been making the foundations for, through many ayear--you jade56 of a magpie57, jackdaw, and poll-parrot, what do youmean!--he took ill and died of a low fever, always being a sparingand a spare man, fule been a good son, and I think I meant tohave been one. But I wasn't. I was a thundering bad son, that'sthe long and the short of it, and never was a credit to anybody.""Surprising!" cries the old man.
"However," Mr. George resumes, "the less said about it, the betternow. Come! You know the agreement. Always a pipe out of the twomonths' interest! (Bosh! It's all correct. You needn't be afraidto order the pipe. Here's the new bill, and here's the two months'
interest-money, and a devil-and-all of a scrape it is to get ittogether in my business.)"Mr. George sits, with his arms folded, consuming the family and theparlour while Grandfather Smallweed is assisted by Judy to twoblack leathern cases out of a locked bureau, in one of which hesecures the document he has just received, and from the other takesanother similar document which hl of business care--I should like to throw acat at you instead of a cushion, and I will too if you make such aconfounded fool of yourself!--and your mother, who was a prudentwoman as dry as a chip, just dwindled59 away like touchwood after youand Judy were born--you are an old pig. You are a brimstone pig.
You're a head of swine!"Judy, not interested in what she has often heard, begins to collectin a basin various tributary60 streams of tea, from the bottoms ofcups and saucers and from the bottom of the teapot for the littlecharwoman's evening meal. In like manner she gets together, in theiron bread-basket, as many outside fragments and worn-down heels ofloaves as the rigid61 economy of the house has left in existence.
"But your father and me were partners, Bart," says the oldgentleman, "and when I am gone, you and Judy will have all thereis. It's rare for you both that you went out early in life--Judyto the flower business, and you to the law. You won't want tospend it. You'll get your living without it, and put more to it.
When I am gone, Judy will go back to the flower business and you'llstill stick to the law."One might infer from Judy's appearance that her business rather laywith the thorns than the flowers, but she has in her time beenapprenticed to the art and mystery of artificial flower-making. Aclose observer might perhaps detect both in her eye and herbrother's, when their venerable grandsire anticipates his beinggone, some little impatience62 to know when he may be going, and someresentful opinion that it is time he went.
"Now, if everybody has done," says Judy, completing herpreparations, "I'll have that girl in to her tea. She would neverleave off if she took it by herself in the kitchen."Charley is accordingly introduced, and under a heavy fire of eyes,sits down to her basin and a Druidical ruin of bread and butter.
In the active superintendence of this young person, Judy Smallweedappears to attain63 a perfectly64 geological age and to date from theremotest periods. Her systematic65 manner of flying at her andpouncing on her, with or without pretence66, whether or no, iswonderful, evincing an accomplishment67 in the art of girl-drivingseldom reached by the oldest practitioners68.
"Now, don't stare about you all the afternoon," cries Judy, shakingher head and stamping her foot as she happens to catch the glancewhich has been previously69 sounding the basin of tea, "but take yourvictuals and get back to your work.""Yes, miss," says Charley.
"Don't say yes," returns Miss Smallweed, "for I know what you girlsare. Do it without saying it, and then I may begin to believeyou."Charley swallows a great gulp70 of tea in token of submission71 and sodisperses the Druidical ruins that Miss Smallweed charges her notto gormandize, which "in you girls," she observes, is disgusting.
Charley might find some more difficulty in meeting her views on thegeneral subject of girls but for a knock at the door.
"See who it is, and don't chew when you open it!" cries Judy.
The object of her attentions withdrawing for the purpose, MissSmallweed takes that opportunity of jumbling72 the remainder of thebread and butter together and launching two or three dirty tea-cupsinto the ebb-tide of the basin of tea as a hint that she considersthe eating and drinking terminated.
"Now! Who is it, and what's wanted?" says the snappish Judy.
It is one Mr. George, it appears. Without other announcement orceremony, Mr. George walks in.
"Whew!" says Mr. George. "You are hot here. Always a fire, eh?
Well! Perhaps you do right to get used to one." Mr. George makesthe latter remark to himself as he nods to Grandfather Smallweed.
"Ho! It's you!" cries the old gentleman. "How de do? How de do?""Middling," replies Mr. George, taking a chair. "Yourgranddaughter I have had the honour of seeing before; my service toyou, miss.""This is my grandson," says Grandfather Smallweed. "You ha'n'tseen him before. He is in the law and not much at home.""My service to him, too! He is like his sister. He is very likehis sister. He is devilish like his sister," says Mr. George,laying a great and not altogether complimentary73 stress on his lastadjective.
"And how does the world use you, Mr. George?" Grandfather Smallweedinquires, slowly rubbing his legs.
"Pretty much as usual. Like a football."He is a swarthy brown man of fifty, well made, and good looking,with crisp dark hair, bright eyes, and a broad chest. His sinewyand powerful hands, as sunburnt as his face, have evidently beenused to a pretty rough life. What is curious about him is that hesits forward on his chair as if he were, from long habit, allowingspace for some dress or accoutrements that he has altogether laidaside. His step too is measured and heavy and would go well with aweighty clash and jingle74 of spurs. He is close-shaved now, but hismouth is set as if his upper lip had been for years familiar with agreat moustache; and his manner of occasionally laying the openpalm of his broad brown hand upon it is to the same effect.
Altogether one might guess Mr. George to have been a trooper onceupon a time.
A special contrast Mr. George makes to the Smallweed family.
Trooper was never yet billeted upon a household more unlike him.
It is a broadsword to an oyster-knife. His developed figure andtheir stunted75 forms, his large manner filling any amount of roomand their little narrow pinched ways, his sounding voice and theirsharp spare tones, are in the strongest and the strangestopposition. As he sits in the middle of the grim parlour, leaninga little forward, with his hands upon his thighs76 and his elbowssquared, he looks as though, if he remained there long, he wouldabsorb into himself the whole family and the whole four-roomedhouse, extra little back-kitchen and all.
"Do you rub your legs to rub life into 'em?" he asks of GrandfatherSmallweed after looking round the room.
"Why, it's partly a habit, Mr. George, and--yes--it partly helpsthe circulation," he replies.
"The cir-cu-la-tion!" repeats Mr. George, folding his arms upon hischest and seeming to become two sizes larger. "Not much of that, Ishould think.""Truly I'm old, Mr. George," says Grandfather Smallweed. "But Ican carry my years. I'm older than HER," nodding at his wife, "andsee what she is? You're a brimstone chatterer!" with a suddenrevival of his late hostility77.
"Unlucky old soul!" says Mr. George, turning his head in thatdirection. "Don't scold the old lady. Look at her here, with herpoor cap half off her head and her poor hair all in a muddle78. Holdup, ma'am. That's better. There we are! Think of your mother,Mr. Smallweed," says Mr. George, coming back to his seat fromassisting her, "if your wife an't enough.""I suppose you were an excellent son, Mr. George?" the old manhints with a leer.
The colour of Mr. George's face rather deepens as he replies, "Whyno. I wasn't.""I am astonished at it.""So am I. I ought to have hands to Mr. George, who twistsit up for a pipelight. As the old man inspects, through hisglasses, every up-stroke and down-stroke of both documents beforehe releases them from their leathern prison, and as he counts themoney three times over and requires Judy to say every word sheutters at least twice, and is as tremulously slow of speech andaction as it is possible to be, this business is a long time inprogress. When it is quite concluded, and not before, hedisengages his ravenous79 eyes and fingers from it and answers Mr.
George's last remark by saying, "Afraid to order the pipe? We arenot so mercenary as that, sir. Judy, see directly to the pipe andthe glass of cold brandy-and-water for Mr. George."The sportive twins, who have been looking straight before them allthis time except when they have been engrossed80 by the blackleathern cases, retire together, generally disdainful of thevisitor, but leaving him to the old man as two young cubs81 mightleave a traveller to the parental82 bear.
"And there you sit, I suppose, all the day long, eh?" says Mr.
George with folded arms.
"Just so, just so," the old man nods.
"And don't you occupy yourself at all?""I watch the fire--and the boiling and the roasting--""When there is any," says Mr. George with great expression.
"Just so. When there is any.""Don't you read or get read to?"The old man shakes his head with sharp sly triumph. "No, no. Wehave never been readers in our family. It don't pay. Stuff.
Idleness. Folly83. No, no!""There's not much to choose between your two states," says thevisitor in a key too low for the old man's dull hearing as he looksfrom him to the old woman and back again. "I say!" in a loudervoice.
"I hear you.""You'll sell me up at last, I suppose, when I am a day in arrear84.""My dear friend!" cries Grandfather Smallweed, stretching out bothhands to embrace him. "Never! Never, my dear friend! But myfriend in the city that I got to lend you the money--HE might!""Oh! You can't answer for him?" says Mr. George, finishing theinquiry in his lower key with the words "You lying old rascal85!""My dear friend, he is not to be depended on. I wouldn't trusthim. He will have his bond, my dear friend.""Devil doubt him," says Mr. George. Charley appearing with a tray,on which are the pipe, a small paper of tobacco, and the brandy-and-water, he asks her, "How do you come here! You haven't got thefamily face.""I goes out to work, sir," returns Charley.
The trooper (if trooper he be or have been) takes her bonnet44 off,with a light touch for so strong a hand, and pats her on the head.
"You give the house almost a wholesome86 look. It wants a bit ofyouth as much as it wants fresh air." Then he dismisses her,lights his pipe, and drinks to Mr. Smallweed's friend in the city--the one solitary flight of that esteemed87 old gentleman'simagination.
"So you think he might be hard upon me, eh?""I think he might--I am afraid he would. I have known him do it,"says Grandfather Smallweed incautiously, "twenty times."Incautiously, because his stricken better-half, who has been dozingover the fire for some time, is instantly aroused and jabbers"Twenty thousand pounds, twenty twenty-pound notes in a money-box,twenty guineas, twenty million twenty per cent, twenty--" and isthen cut short by the flying cushion, which the visitor, to whomthis singular experiment appears to be a novelty, snatches from herface as it crushes her in the usual manner.
"You're a brimstone idiot. You're a scorpion--a brimstonescorpion! You're a sweltering toad88. You're a chatteringclattering broomstick witch that ought to be burnt!" gasps89 the oldman, prostrate90 in his chair. "My dear friend, will you shake me upa little?"Mr. George, who has been looking first at one of them and then atthe other, as if he were demented, takes his venerable acquaintanceby the throat on receiving this request, and dragging him uprightin his chalr as easily as if he were a doll, appears in two mindswhether or no to shake all future power of cushioning out of himand shake him into his grave. Resisting the temptation, butagitating him violently enough to make his head roll like aharlequin's, he puts him smartly down in his chair again andadjusts his skull-cap with such a rub that the old man winks91 withboth eyes for a minute afterwards.
"O Lord!" gasps Mr. Smallweed. "That'll do. Thank you, my dearfriend, that'll do. Oh, dear me, I'm out of breath. O Lord!" AndMr. Smallweed says it not without evident apprehensions92 of his dearfriend, who still stands over him looming93 larger than ever.
The alarming presence, however, gradually subsides94 into its chairand falls to smoking in long puffs95, consoling itself with thephilosophical reflection, "The name of your friend in the citybegins with a D, comrade, and you're about right respecting thebond.""Did you speak, Mr. George?" inquires the old man.
The trooper shakes his head, and leaning forward with his rightelbow on his right knee and his pipe supported in that hand, whilehis other hand, resting on his left leg, squares his left elbow ina martial97 manner, continues to smoke. Meanwhile he looks at Mr.
Smallweed with grave attention and now and then fans the cloud ofsmoke away in order that he may see him the more clearly.
"I take it," he says, making just as much and as little change inhis position as will enable him to reach the glass to his lips witha round, full action, "that I am the only man alive (or deadeither) that gets the value of a pipe out of YOU?""Well," returns the old man, "it's true that I don't see company,Mr. George, and that I don't treat. I can't afford to it. But asyou, in your pleasant way, made your pipe a condition--""Why, it's not for the value of it; that's no great thing. It wasa fancy to get it out of you. To have something in for my money.""Ha! You're prudent58, prudent, sir!" cries Grandfather Smallweed,rubbing his legs.
"Very. I always was." Puff96. "It's a sure sign of my prudencethat I ever found the way here." Puff. "Also, that I am what Iam." Puff. "I am well known to be prudent," says Mr. George,composedly smoking. "I rose in life that way.""Don't he down-hearted, sir. You may rise yet."Mr. George laughs and drinks.
"Ha'n't you no relations, now," asks Grandfather Smallweed with atwinkle in his eyes, "who would pay off this little principal orwho would lend you a good name or two that I could persuade myfriend in the city to make you a further advance upon? Two goodnames would be sufficient for my friend in the city. Ha'n't you nosuch relations, Mr. George?"Mr. George, still composedly smoking, replies, "If I had, Ishouldn't trouble them. I have been trouble enough to mybelongings in my day. It MAY be a very good sort of penitence98 in avagabond, who has wasted the best time of his life, to go back thento decent people that he never was a credit to and live upon them,but it's not my sort. The best kind of amends99 then for having goneaway is to keep away, in my opinion.""But natural affection, Mr. George," hints Grandfather Smallweed.
"For two good names, hey?" says Mr. George, shaking his head andstill composedly smoking. "No. That's not my sort either."Grandfather Smallweed has been gradually sliding down in his chairsince his last adjustment and is now a bundle of clothes with avoice in it calling for Judy. That houri, appearing, shakes him upin the usual manner and is charged by the old gentleman to remainnear him. For he seems chary100 of putting his visitor to the troubleof repeating his late attentions.
"Ha!" he observes when he is in trim again. "If you could havetraced out the captain, Mr. George, it would have been the makingof you. If when you first came here, in consequence of ouradvertisement in the newspapers--when I say 'our,' I'm alluding101 tothe advertisements of my friend in the city, and one or two otherswho embark102 their capital in the same way, and are so friendlytowards me as sometimes to give me a lift with my little pittance--if at that time you could have helped us, Mr. George, it would havebeen the making of you.""I was willing enough to be 'made,' as you call it," says Mr.
George, smoking not quite so placidly103 as before, for since theentrance of Judy he has been in some measure disturbed by afascination, not of the admiring kind, which obliges him to look ather as she stands by her grandfather's chair, "but on the whole, Iam glad I wasn't now.""Why, Mr. George? In the name of--of brimstone, why?" saysGrandfather Smallweed with a plain appearance of exasperation104.
(Brimstone apparently105 suggested by his eye lighting106 on Mrs.
Smallweed in her slumber107.)"For two reasons, comrade.""And what two reasons, Mr. George? In the name of the--""Of our friend in the city?" suggests Mr. George, composedlydrinking.
"Aye, if you like. What two reasons?""In the first place," returns Mr. George, but still looking at Judyas if she being so old and so like her grandfather it isindifferent which of the two he addresses, "you gentlemen took mein. You advertised that Mr. Hawdon (Captain Hawdon, if you hold tothe saying 'Once a captain, always a captain') was to hear ofsomething to his advantage.""Well?" returns the old man shrilly108 and sharply.
"Well!" says Mr. George, smoking on. "It wouldn't have been muchto his advantage to have been clapped into prison by the whole billand judgment109 trade of London.""How do you know that? Some of his rich relations might have paidhis debts or compounded for 'em. Besides, he had taken US in. Heowed us immense sums all round. I would sooner have strangled himthan had no return. If I sit here thinking of him," snarls110 the oldman, holding up his impotent ten fingers, "I want to strangle himnow." And in a sudden access of fury, he throws the cushion at theunoffending Mrs. Smallweed, but it passes harmlessly on one side ofher chair.
"I don't need to be told," returns the trooper, taking his pipefrom his lips for a moment and carrying his eyes back fromfollowing the progress of the cushion to the pipe-bowl which isburning low, "that he carried on heavily and went to ruin. I havebeen at his right hand many a day when he was charging upon ruinfull-gallop. I was with him when he was sick and well, rich andpoor. I laid this hand upon him after he had run througheverything and broken down everything beneath him--when he held apistol to his head.""I wish he had let it off," says the benevolent111 old man, "and blownhis head into as many pieces as he owed pounds!""That would have been a smash indeed," returns the trooper coolly;"any way, he had been young, hopeful, and handsome in the days goneby, and I am glad I never found him, when he was neither, to leadto a result so much to his advantage. That's reason number one.""I hope number two's as good?" snarls the old man.
"Why, no. It's more of a selfish reason. If I had found him, Imust have gone to the other world to look. He was there.""How do you know he was there?""He wasn't here.""How do you know he wasn't here?""Don't lose your temper as well as your money," says Mr. George,calmly knocking the ashes out of his pipe. "He was drowned longbefore. I am convinced of it. He went over a ship's side.
Whether intentionally112 or accidentally, I don't know. Perhaps yourfriend in the city does. Do you know what that tune113 is, Mr.
Smallweed?" he adds after breaking off to whistle one, accompaniedon the table with the empty pipe.
"Tune!" replied the old man. "No. We never have tunes114 here.""That's the Dead March in Saul. They bury soldiers to it, so it'sthe natural end of the subject. Now, if your pretty granddaughter--excuse me, miss--will condescend115 to take care of this pipe for twomonths, we shall save the cost of one next time. Good evening, Mr.
Smallweed!""My dear friend!" the old man gives him both his hands.
"So you think your friend in the city will be hard upon me if Ifall in a payment?" says the trooper, looking down upon him like agiant.
"My dear friend, I am afraid he will," returns the old man, lookingup at him like a pygmy.
Mr. George laughs, and with a glance at Mr. Smallweed and a partingsalutation to the scornful Judy, strides out of the parlour,clashing imaginary sabres and other metallic116 appurtenances as hegoes.
"You're a damned rogue," says the old gentleman, making a hideousgrimace at the door as he shuts it. "But I'll lime you, you dog,I'll lime you!"After this amiable117 remark, his spirit soars into those enchantingregions of reflection which its education and pursuits have openedto it, and again he and Mrs. Smallweed while away the rosy hours,two unrelieved sentinels forgotten as aforesaid by the BlackSerjeant.
While the twain are faithful to their post, Mr. George stridesthrough the streets with a massive kind of swagger and a grave-enough face. It is eight o'clock now, and the day is fast drawingin. He stops hard by Waterloo Bridge and reads a playbill, decidesto go to Astley's Theatre. Being there, is much delighted with thehorses and the feats118 of strength; looks at the weapons with acritical eye; disapproves119 of the combats as giving evidences ofunskilful swordsmanship; but is touched home by the sentiments. Inthe last scene, when the Emperor of Tartary gets up into a cart andcondescends to bless the united lovers by hovering120 over them withthe Union Jack, his eyelashes are moistened with emotion.
The theatre over, Mr. George comes across the water again and makeshis way to that curious region lying about the Haymarket andLeicester Square which is a centre of attraction to indifferentforeign hotels and indifferent foreigners, racket-courts, fighting-men, swordsmen, footguards, old china, gaming-houses, exhibitions,and a large medley121 of shabbiness and shrinking out of sight.
Penetrating to the heart of this region, he arrives by a court anda long whitewashed122 passage at a great brick building composed ofbare walls, floors, roof-rafters, and skylights, on the front ofwhich, if it can be said to have any front, is painted GEORGE'SSHOOTING GALLERY, &c.
Into George's Shooting Gallery, &c., he goes; and in it there aregaslights (partly turned off now), and two whitened targets forrifle-shooting, and archery accommodation, and fencing appliances,and all necessaries for the British art of boxing. None of thesesports or exercises being pursued in George's Shooting Gallery to-night, which is so devoid123 of company that a little grotesque124 manwith a large head has it all to himself and lies asleep upon thefloor.
The little man is dressed something like a gunsmith, in a green-baize apron and cap; and his face and hands are dirty withgunpowder and begrimed with the loading of guns. As he lies in thelight before a glaring white target, the black upon him shinesagain. Not far off is the strong, rough, primitive125 table with avice upon it at which he has been working. He is a little man witha face all crushed together, who appears, from a certain blue andspeckled appearance that one of his cheeks presents, to have beenblown up, in the way of business, at some odd time or times.
"Phil!" says the trooper in a quiet voice.
"All right!" cries Phil, scrambling126 to his feet.
"Anything been doing?""Flat as ever so much swipes," says Phil. "Five dozen rifle and adozen pistol. As to aim!" Phil gives a howl at the recollection.
"Shut up shop, Phil!"As Phil moves about to execute this order, it appears that he islame, though able to move very quickly. On the speckled side ofhis face he has no eyebrow127, and on the other side he has a bushyblack one, which want of uniformity gives him a very singular andrather sinister128 appearance. Everything seems to have happened tohis hands that could possibly take place consistently with theretention of all the fingers, for they are notched129, and seamed, andcrumpled all over. He appears to be very strong and lifts heavybenches about as if he had no idea what weight was. He has acurious way of limping round the gallery with his shoulder againstthe wall and tacking130 off at objects he wants to lay hold of insteadof going straight to them, which has left a smear132 all round thefour walls, conventionally called "Phil's mark."This custodian133 of George's Gallery in George's absence concludeshis proceedings134, when he has locked the great doors and turned outall the lights but one, which he leaves to glimmer135, by dragging outfrom a wooden cabin in a corner two mattresses137 and bedding. Thesebeing drawn138 to opposite ends of the gallery, the trooper makes hisown bed and Phil makes his.
"Phil!" says the master, walking towards him without his coat andwaistcoat, and looking more soldierly than ever in his braces139.
"You were found in a doorway140, weren't you?""Gutter," says Phil. "Watchman tumbled over me.""Then vagabondizing came natural to YOU from the beginning.""As nat'ral as possible," says Phil.
"Good night!""Good night, guv'ner."Phil cannot even go straight to bed, but finds it necessary toshoulder round two sides of the gallery and then tack131 off at hismattress. The trooper, after taking a turn or two in the rifle-distance and looking up at the moon now shining through theskylights, strides to his own mattress136 by a shorter route and goesto bed too.
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contingencies
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| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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entrapped
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| v.使陷入圈套，使入陷阱( entrap的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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levities
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| n.欠考虑( levity的名词复数 )；不慎重；轻率；轻浮 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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screeches
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| n.尖锐的声音( screech的名词复数 )v.发出尖叫声( screech的第三人称单数 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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recoils
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| n.（尤指枪炮的）反冲，后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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bolster
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| n.枕垫；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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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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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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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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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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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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jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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magpie
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| n.喜欢收藏物品的人，喜鹊，饶舌者 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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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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systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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practitioners
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| n.习艺者，实习者( practitioner的名词复数 )；从业者（尤指医师） | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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71
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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jumbling
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| 混杂( jumble的现在分词 )； （使）混乱； 使混乱； 使杂乱 | |
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complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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arrear
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| n.欠款 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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93
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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subsides
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的第三人称单数 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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99
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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100
chary
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| adj.谨慎的，细心的 | |
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101
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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102
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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103
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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105
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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106
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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snarls
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| n.（动物的）龇牙低吼( snarl的名词复数 )；愤怒叫嚷（声）；咆哮（声）；疼痛叫声v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的第三人称单数 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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113
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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114
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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118
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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disapproves
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的第三人称单数 ) | |
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120
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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medley
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| n.混合 | |
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122
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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notched
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| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
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tacking
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| （帆船）抢风行驶，定位焊[铆]紧钉 | |
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tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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133
custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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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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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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140
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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