Captain Shandon, urged on by his wife, who seldom meddled1 in business matters, had stipulated2 that John Finucane, Esquire, of the Upper Temple, should be appointed sub-editor of forthcoming Pall5 Mall Gazette, and this post was accordingly conferred upon Mr. Finucane by the spirited proprietor6 of the Journal. Indeed he deserved any kindness at the hands of Shandon, so fondly attached was he, as we have said, to the Captain and his family, and so eager to do him a service. It was in Finucane’s chambers7 that Shandon in former days used to hide when danger was near and bailiffs abroad: until at length his hiding-place was known, and the sheriff’s officers came as regularly to wait for the Captain on Finucane’s staircase as at his own door. It was to Finucane’s chambers that poor Mrs. Shandon came often and often to explain her troubles and griefs, and devise means of rescue for her adored Captain. Many a meal did Finucane furnish for her and the child there. It was an honour to his little rooms to be visited by such a lady; and as she went down the staircase with her veil over her face, Fin3 would lean over the balustrade looking after her, to see that no Temple Lovelace assailed8 her upon the road, perhaps hoping that some rogue9 might be induced to waylay10 her, so that he, Fin, might have the pleasure of rushing to her rescue, and breaking the rascal’s bones. It was a sincere pleasure to Mrs. Shandon when the arrangements were made by which her kind honest champion was appointed her husband’s aide-de-camp in the newspaper.
He would have sate11 with Mrs. Shandon as late as the prison hours permitted, and had indeed many a time witnessed the putting to bed of little Mary, who occupied a crib in the room; and to whose evening prayers that God might bless papa, Finucane, although of the Romish faith himself, had said Amen with a great deal of sympathy — but he had an appointment with Mr. Bungay regarding the affairs of the paper which they were to discuss over a quiet dinner. So he went away at six o’clock from Mrs. Shandon, but made his accustomed appearance at the Fleet Prison next morning, having arrayed himself in his best clothes and ornaments12, which, though cheap as to cost, were very brilliant as to colour and appearance, and having in his pocket four pounds two shillings, being the amount of his week’s salary at the Daily Journal, minus two shillings expended13 by him in the purchase of a pair of gloves on his way to the prison.
He had cut his mutton with Mr. Bungay, as the latter gentleman phrased it, and Mr. Trotter, Bungay’s reader and literary man of business, at Dick’s Coffee-house on the previous day, and entered at large into his views respecting the conduct of the Pall Mall Gazette. In a masterly manner he had pointed4 out what should be the sub-editorial arrangements of the paper: what should be the type for the various articles: who should report the markets; who the turf and ring; who the Church intelligence; and who the fashionable chit-chat. He was acquainted with gentlemen engaged in cultivating these various departments of knowledge, and in communicating them afterwards to the public — in fine, Jack15 Finucane was, as Shandon had said of him, and as he proudly owned himself to be, one of the best sub-editors of a paper in London. He knew the weekly earnings16 of every man connected with the Press, and was up to a thousand dodges17, or ingenious economic contrivances, by which money could be saved to spirited capitalists, who were going to set up a paper. He at once dazzled and mystified Mr. Bungay, who was slow of comprehension, by the rapidity of the calculations which he exhibited on paper, as they sate in the box. And Bungay afterwards owned to his subordinate Mr. Trotter, that that Irishman seemed a clever fellow.
And now having succeeded in making this impression upon Mr. Bungay, the faithful fellow worked round to the point which he had very near at heart, viz., the liberation from prison of his admired friend and chief, Captain Shandon. He knew to a shilling the amount of the detainers which were against the Captain at the porter’s lodge18 of the Fleet; and, indeed, professed19 to know all his debts, though this was impossible, for no man in England, certainly not the Captain himself, was acquainted with them. He pointed out what Shandon’s engagements already were; and how much better he would work if removed from confinement20 (though this Mr. Bungay denied, for, “when the Captain’s locked up,” he said, “we are sure to find him at home; whereas, when he’s free, you can never catch hold of him”); finally, he so worked on Mr. Bungay’s feelings, by describing Mrs. Shandon pining away in the prison, and the child sickening there, that the publisher was induced to promise that, if Mrs. Shandon would come to him in the morning, he would see what could be done. And the colloquy21 ending at this time with the second round of brandy-and-water, although Finucane, who had four guineas in his pocket, would have discharged the tavern22 reckoning with delight, Bungay said, “No, sir,— this is my affair, sir, if you please. James, take the bill, and eighteenpence for yourself,” and he handed over the necessary funds to the waiter. Thus it was that Finucane, who went to bed at the Temple after the dinner at Dick’s, found himself actually with his week’s salary intact upon Saturday morning.
He gave Mrs. Shandon a wink23 so knowing and joyful24, that that kind creature knew some good news was in store for her, and hastened to get her bonnet25 and shawl, when Fin asked if he might have the honour of taking her a walk, and giving her a little fresh air. And little Mary jumped for joy at the idea of this holiday, for Finucane never neglected to give her a toy, or to take her to a show, and brought newspaper orders in his pocket for all sorts of London diversions to amuse the child. Indeed, he loved them with all his heart, and would cheerfully have dashed out his rambling26 brains to do them, or his adored Captain, a service.
“May I go, Charley? or shall I stay with you, for you’re poorly, dear, this morning? He’s got a headache, Mr. Finucane. He suffers from headaches, and I persuaded him to stay in bed,” Mrs. Shandon said.
“Go along with you, and Polly. Jack, take care of ’em. Hand me over the Burton’s Anatomy27, and leave me to my abominable28 devices,” Shandon said, with perfect good-humour. He was writing, and not uncommonly29 took his Greek and Latin quotations30 (of which he knew the use as a public writer) from that wonderful repertory of learning.
So Fin gave his arm to Mrs. Shandon, and Mary went skipping down the passages of the prison, and through the gate into the free air. From Fleet Street to Paternoster Row is not very far. As the three reached Mr. Bungay’s shop, Mrs. Bungay was also entering at the private door, holding in her hand a paper parcel and a manuscript volume bound in red, and, indeed, containing an account of her transactions with the butcher in the neighbouring market. Mrs. Bungay was in a gorgeous shot-silk dress, which flamed with red and purple; she wore a yellow shawl, and had red flowers inside her bonnet, and a brilliant light blue parasol.
Mrs. Shandon was in an old black watered silk; her bonnet had never seen very brilliant days of prosperity any more than its owner, but she could not help looking like a lady whatever her attire31 was. The two women curtsied to each other, each according to her fashion.
“I hope you’re pretty well, mum?” said Mrs. Bungay.
“It’s a very fine day,” said Mrs. Shandon.
“Won’t you step in, mum?” said Mrs. Bungay, looking so hard at the child as almost to frighten her.
“I— I came about business with Mr. Bungay — I— I hope he’s pretty well?” said timid Mrs. Shandon.
“If you go to see him in the counting-house, couldn’t you, couldn’t you leave your little gurl with me?” said Mrs. Bungay, in a deep voice, and with a tragic32 look, as she held out one finger towards the child.
“I want to stay with mamma,” cried little Mary, burying her face in her mother’s dress.
“Go with this lady, Mary, my dear,” said the mother.
“I’ll show you some pretty pictures,” said Mrs. Bungay, with the voice of an ogress, “and some nice things besides; look here,”— and opening her brown-paper parcel, Mrs. Bungay displayed some choice sweet buscuits, such as her Bungay loved after his wine. Little Mary followed after this attraction, the whole party entering at the private entrance, from which a side door led into Mr. Bungay’s commercial apartments. Here, however, as the child was about to part from her mother, her courage again failed her, and again she ran to the maternal33 petticoat; upon which the kind and gentle Mrs. Shandon, seeing the look of disappointment in Mrs. Bungay’s face, good-naturedly said, “If you will let me, I will come up too, and sit for a few minutes,” and so the three females ascended34 the stairs together. A second biscuit charmed little Mary into perfect confidence, and in a minute or two she prattled35 away without the least restraint.
Faithful Finucane meanwhile found Mr. Bungay in a severer mood than he had been on the night previous, when two-thirds of a bottle of port, and two large glasses of brandy-and-water, had warmed his soul into enthusiasm, and made him generous in his promises towards Captain Shandon. His impetuous wife had rebuked36 him on his return home. She had ordered that he should give no relief to the Captain; he was a good-for-nothing fellow, whom no money would help; she disapproved37 of the plan of the Pall Mall Gazette, and expected that Bungay would only lose his money in it as they were losing over the way (she always called her brother’s establishment “over the way”) by the Whitehall Journal. Let Shandon stop in prison and do his work; it was the best place for him. In vain Finucane pleaded and promised and implored38, for his friend Bungay had had an hour’s lecture in the morning and was inexorable.
But what honest Jack failed to do below-stairs in the counting-house, the pretty faces and manners of the mother and child were effecting in the drawing-room, where they were melting the fierce but really soft Mrs. Bungay. There was an artless sweetness in Mrs. Shandon’s voice, and a winning frankness of manner, which made most people fond of her, and pity her: and taking courage by the rugged39 kindness with which her hostess received her, the Captain’s lady told her story, and described her husband’s goodness and virtues40, and her child’s failing health (she was obliged to part with two of them, she said, and send them to school, for she could not have them in that horrid41 place)— that Mrs. Bungay, though as grim as Lady Macbeth, melted under the influence of the simple tale, and said she would go down and speak to Bungay. Now in this household to speak was to command, with Mrs. Bungay; and with Bungay, to hear was to obey.
It was just when poor Finucane was in despair about his negotiation42, that the majestic43 Mrs. Bungay descended44 upon her spouse45, politely requested Mr. Finucane to step up to his friends in her drawing-room, while she held a few minutes’ conversation with Mr. B., and when the pair were alone the publisher’s better half informed him of her intentions towards the Captain’s lady.
“What’s in the wind now, my dear?” Maecenas asked, surprised at his wife’s altered tone. “You wouldn’t hear of my doing anything for the Captain this morning: I wonder what has been a changing of you.
“The Capting is an Irishman,” Mrs. Bungay replied; “and those Irish I have always said I couldn’t abide46. But his wife is a lady, as any one can see; and a good woman, and a clergyman’s daughter, and a West of England woman, B., which I am myself, by my mother’s side — and, O Marmaduke! didn’t you remark the little gurl?”
“Yes, Mrs. B., I saw the little girl.”
“And didn’t you see how like she was to our angel, Bessy, Mr. B.?”— and Mrs. Bungay’s thoughts flew back to a period eighteen years back, when Bacon and Bungay had just set up in business as small booksellers in a country town, and when she had had a child, named Bessy, something like the little Mary who had moved her compassion47.
“Well, well, my dear,” Mr. Bungay said, seeing the little eyes of his wife begin to twinkle and grow red; “the Captain ain’t in for much. There’s only a hundred and thirty pound against him. Half the money will take him out of the Fleet, Finucane says, and we’ll pay him half salaries till he has made the account square. When the little ’un said, ‘Why don’t you take Par14 out of prizn?’ I did feel it, Flora48, upon my honour I did, now.” And the upshot of this conversation was, that Mr. and Mrs. Bungay both ascended to the drawing-room, and Mr. Bungay made a heavy and clumsy speech, in which he announced to Mrs. Shandon, that, hearing sixty-five pounds would set her husband free, he was ready to advance that sum of money, deducting49 it from the Captain’s salary, and that he would give it to her on condition that she would personally settle with the creditors50 regarding her husband’s liberation.
I think this was the happiest day that Mrs. Shandon and Mr. Finucane had had for a long time. “Bedad, Bungay, you’re a trump51!” roared out Fin, in an overpowering brogue and emotion. “Give us your fist, old boy: and won’t we send the Pall Mall Gazette up to ten thousand a week, that’s all!” and he jumped about the room, and tossed up little Mary, with a hundred frantic52 antics.
“If I could drive you anywhere in my carriage, Mrs. Shandon — I’m sure it’s quite at your service,” Mrs. Bungay said, looking out at a one-horsed vehicle which had just driven up, and in which this lady took the air considerably53 — and the two ladies, with little Mary between them (whose tiny hand Maecenas’s wife kept fixed54 in her great grasp), with the delighted Mr. Finucane on the back seat, drove away from Paternoster Row, as the owner of the vehicle threw triumphant55 glances at the opposite windows at Bacon’s.
“It won’t do the Captain any good,” thought Bungay, going back to his desk and accounts, “but Mrs. B. becomes reglar upset when she thinks about her misfortune. The child would have been of age yesterday, if she’d lived. Flora told me so:” and he wondered how women did remember things.
We are happy to say that Mrs. Shandon sped with very good success upon her errand. She who had had to mollify creditors when she had no money at all, and only tears and entreaties56 wherewith to soothe57 them, found no difficulty in making them relent by means of a bribe58 of ten shillings in the pound; and the next Sunday was the last, for some time at least, which the Captain spent in prison.
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meddled
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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fin
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| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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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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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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waylay
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| v.埋伏，伏击 | |
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sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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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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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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dodges
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| n.闪躲( dodge的名词复数 )；躲避；伎俩；妙计v.闪躲( dodge的第三人称单数 )；回避 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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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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joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prattled
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的过去式和过去分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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negotiation
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| n.谈判，协商 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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46
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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47
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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48
flora
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| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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49
deducting
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| v.扣除，减去( deduct的现在分词 ) | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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51
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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52
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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53
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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54
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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55
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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56
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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58
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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