bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第127节
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consult with him。 I—I really am so completely smothered myself at
present；” says Mr George； passing his hand hopelessly across his
brow； “that I don’t know but what it might be a satisfaction to me。”
Mr Smallweed； hearing that this authority is an old soldier； so
strongly inculcates the expediency of the trooper’s taking counsel
with him； and particularly informing him of its being a question of
five guineas or more； that Mr George engages to go and see him。
Mr Tulkinghorn says nothing either way。
“I’ll consult my friend； then； by your leave； sir；” says the
trooper； “and I’ll take the liberty of looking in again with a final
answer in the course of the day。 Mr Smallweed； if you wish to be
carried downstairs—”
“In a moment； my dear friend； in a moment。 Will you first let
me speak half a word with this gentleman； in private？”
“Certainly； sir。 Don’t hurry yourself on my account。” The
trooper retires to a distant part of the room； and resumes his
curious inspection of the boxes； strong and otherwise。
“If I wasn’t as weak as a Brimstone Baby； sir；” whispers
Grandfather Smallweed； drawing the lawyer down to his level by
the lappel of his coat； and flashing some half…quenched green fire
out of his angry eyes； “I’d tear the writing away from him。 He’s got
it buttoned in his breast。 I saw him put it there。 Judy saw him put
it there。 Speak up； you crabbed image for the sign of a walking…
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stick shop； and say you saw him put it there！”
This vehement conjuration the old gentleman accompanies
with such a thrust at his grand…daughter； that it is too much for his
strength； and he slips away out of his chair； drawing Mr
Tulkinghorn with him； until he is arrested by Judy； and well
shaken。
“Violence will not do for me； my friend；” Mr Tulkinghorn then
remarks coolly。
“No； no； I know； I know； sir。 But it’s chafing and galling—it’s—
it’s worse than your smattering chattering Magpie of a
grandmother；” to the imperturbable Judy； who only looks at the
fire； “to know he has got what’s wanted； and won’t give it up。 He；
not to give it up！ He！ A vagabond！ But never mind； sir； never mind。
At the most he has only his own way for a little while。 I have him
periodically in a vice。 I’ll twist him； sir。 I’ll screw him； sir。 If he
won’t do it with a good grace； I’ll make him do it with a bad one；
sir！—Now； my dear Mr George；” says Grandfather Smallweed；
winking at the lawyer hideously； as he releases him； “I am ready
for your kind assistance； my excellent friend！”
Mr Tulkinghorn； with some shadowy sign of amusement
manifesting itself through his self…possession； stands on the
hearth…rug with his back to the fire； watching the disappearance of
Mr Smallweed； and acknowledging the trooper’s parting salute
with one slight nod。
It is more difficult to get rid of the old gentleman； Mr George
finds； than to bear a hand in carrying him upstairs； for； when he is
replaced in his conveyance； he is so loquacious on the subject of
the guineas； and retains such an affectionate hold of his button—
having； in truth； a secret longing to rip his coat open； and rob
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him—that some degree of force is necessary on the trooper’s part
to effect a separation。 It is accomplished at last； and he proceeds
alone in quest of his adviser。
By the cloisterly Temple； and by Whitefriars （there； not without
a glance at Hanging…Sword Alley； which would seem to be
something in his way）； and by Blackfriars bridge； and Blackfriars
road； Mr George sedately marches to a street of little shops lying
somewhere in that ganglion of roads from Kent and Surrey； and of
streets from the bridges of London； centring in the far…famed
Elephant who has lost his castle formed of a thousand four…horse
coaches； to a stronger iron monster than he； ready to chop him
into mince…meat any day he dares。 To one of the little shops in this
street； which is a musician’s shop； having a few fiddles in the
window； and some Pan’s pipes and a tambourine； and a triangle；
and certain elongated scraps of music； Mr George directs his
massive tread。 And halting at a few paces from it； as he sees a
soldierly…looking woman； with her outer skirts tucked up； come
forth with a small wooden tub； and in that tub commence a
whisking and a splashing on the margin of the pavement； Mr
George says to himself “She’s as usual； washing greens。 I never
saw her； except upon a baggage…waggon； when she wasn’t washing
greens！”
The subject of this reflection is at all events so occupied in
washing greens at present； that she remains unsuspicious of Mr
George’s approach； until； lifting up herself and her tub together；
when she has poured the water off into the gutter； she finds him
standing near her。 Her reception of him is not flattering。
“George； I never see you； but I wish you was a hundred mile
away！”
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The trooper； without remarking on this welcome； follows into
the musical instrument shop； where the lady places her tub of
greens upon the counter； and having shaken hands with him； rests
her arms upon it。
“I never；” she says； “George； consider Matthew Bagnet safe a
minute when you’re near him。 You are that restless and that
roving—”
“Yes！ I know I am； Mrs Bagnet。 I know I am。”
“You know you are！” says Mrs Bagnet。 “What’s the use of that？
Why are you？”
“The nature of the animal； I suppose；” returns the trooper
good…humouredly。
“Ah！” cries Mrs Bagnet； something shrilly； “but what
satisfaction will the nature of the animal be to me； when the
animal shall have tempted my Mat away from the musical
business to New Zealand or Australey？”
Mrs Bagnet is not at all an ill…looking woman。 Rather large…
boned； a little coarse in the grain； and freckled by the sun and
wind which have tanned her hair upon the forehead； but healthy；
wholesome； and bright…eyed。 A strong； busy； active； honest…faced
woman； of from forty…five to fifty。 Clean； hardy； and so
economically dressed （though substantially）； that the only article
of ornament of which she stands possessed appears to be her
wedding…ring； around which her finger has grown to be so large
since it was put on； that it will never come off again until it shall
mingle with Mrs Bagnet’s dust。
“Mrs Bagnet；” says the trooper； “I am on my parole with you。
Mat will get no harm from me。 You may trust me so far。”
“Well； I think I may。 But the very looks of you are unsettling；”
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Mrs Bagnet rejoins。 “Ah； George； George！ If you had only settled
down； and married Joe Pouch’s widow when he died in North
America； she’d have combed your hair for you。”
“It was a chance for me； certainly；” returns the trooper； half…
laughingly； half…seriously； “but I shall never settle down into a
respectable man now。 Joe Pouch’s widow might have done me
good—there was something in
