bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第144节
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carried his wretched fragment of fur cap like a bundle； though he
went bare…headed through the rain； which now fell fast。 He
stopped when we called to him； and again showed a dread of me
when I came up； standing with his lustrous eyes fixed upon me；
and even arrested in his shivering fit。
I asked him to come with us； and we would take care that he
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had some shelter for the night。
“I don’t want no shelter；” he said； “I can lay amongst the warm
bricks。”
“But don’t you know that people die there？” returned Charley。
“They dies everywheres；” said the boy。 “They dies in their
lodgings—she knows where； I showed her—and they dies down in
Tom…all…Alone’s in heaps。 They dies more than they lives；
according to what I see。” Then he hoarsely whispered Charley。 “If
she ain’t the t’other one； she ain’t the forrenner。 Is there three of
’em then？”
Charley looked at me a little frightened。 I felt half frightened at
myself when the boy glared on me so。
But he turned and followed when I beckoned to him； and
finding that he acknowledged that influence in me； I led the way
straight home。 It was not far； only at the summit of the hill。 We
passed but one man。 I doubted if we should have got home
without assistance； the boy’s steps were so uncertain and
tremulous。 He made no complaint； however； and was strangely
unconcerned about himself； if I may say so strange a thing。
Leaving him in the hall for a moment； shrunk into a corner of
the window…seat； and staring with an indifference that could
scarcely be called wonder； at the comfort and brightness about
him； I went into the drawing…room to speak to my Guardian。 There
I found Mr Skimpole； who had come down by the coach； as he
frequently did without notice； and never bringing any clothes with
him； but always borrowing everything he wanted。
They came out with me directly； to look at the boy。 The
servants had gathered in the hall； too； and he shivered in the
window…seat with Charley standing by him； like some wounded
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animal that had been found in a ditch。
“This is a sorrowful case；” said my Guardian； after asking him a
question or two； and touching him； and examining his eyes。 “What
do you say； Harold？”
“You had better turn him out；” said Mr Skimpole。
“What do you mean？” inquired my Guardian； almost sternly。
“My dear Jarndyce；” said Mr Skimpole； “you know what I am： I
am a child。 Be cross to me； if I deserve it。 But I have a
constitutional objection to this sort of thing。 I always had； when I
was a medical man。 He’s not safe； you know。 There’s a very bad
sort of fever about him。”
Mr Skimpole had retreated from the hall to the drawing…room
again； and said this in his airy way； seated on the music…stool as
we stood by。
“You’ll say it’s childish；” observed Mr Skimpole； looking gaily
at us。 “Well； I dare say it may be； but I am a child； and I never
pretend to be anything else。 If you put him out in the road； you
only put him where he was before。 He will be no worse off than he
was； you know。 Even make him better off； if you like。 Give him
sixpence； or five shillings； or five pound ten—you are
arithmeticians； and I am not—and get rid of him！”
“And what is he to do then？” asked my Guardian。
“Upon my life；” said Mr Skimpole； shrugging his shoulders with
his engaging smile； “I have not the least idea what he is to do then。
But I have no doubt he’ll do it。”
“Now； is it not a horrible reflection；” said my Guardian； to
whom I had hastily explained the unavailing efforts of the two
women； “is it not a horrible reflection；” walking up and down and
rumpling his hair； “that if this wretched creature were a convicted
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prisoner； his hospital would be wide open to him； and he would be
as well taken care of as any sick boy in the kingdom。”
“My dear Jarndyce；” returned Mr Skimpole； “you’ll pardon the
simplicity of the question； coming as it does from a creature who is
perfectly simple in worldly matters—but； why isn’t he a prisoner
then？”
My Guardian stopped and looked at him with a whimsical
mixture of amusement and indignation in his face。
“Our young friend is not to be suspected of any delicacy； I
should imagine；” said Mr Skimpole； unabashed and candid。 “It
seems to me that it would be wiser； as well as in a certain kind of
way more respectable； if he showed some misdirected energy that
got him into prison。 There would be more of an adventurous spirit
in it； and consequently more of a certain sort of poetry。”
“I believe；” returned my Guardian； resuming his uneasy walk；
“that there is not such another child on earth as yourself。”
“Do you really？” said Mr Skimpole； “I dare say！ But； I confess I
don’t see why our young friend； in his degree； should not seek to
invest himself with such poetry as is open to him。 He is no doubt
born with an appetite—probably； when he is in a safer state of
health； he has an excellent appetite。 Very well。 At our young
friend’s natural dinner hour； most likely about noon； our young
friend says in effect to society； ‘I am hungry； will you have the
goodness to produce your spoon； and feed me？’ Society； which has
taken upon itself the general arrangement of the whole system of
spoons； and professes to have a spoon for our young friend； does
not produce that spoon； and our young friend； therefore； says ‘You
really must excuse me if I seize it。’ Now； this appears to me a case
of misdirected energy； which has a certain amount of reason in it；
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and a certain amount of romance； and I don’t know but what I
should be more interested in our young friend； as an illustration of
such a case； than merely as a poor vagabond—which any one can
be。”
“In the meantime；” I ventured to observe； “he is getting worse。”
“In the meantime；” said Mr Skimpole cheerfully； “as Miss
Summerson； with her practical good sense； observes； he is getting
worse。 Therefore I recommend your turning him out before he
gets still worse。”
The amiable face with which he said it； I think I shall never
forget。
“Of course； little woman；” observed my Guardian； turning to
me； “I can ensure his admission into the proper place by merely
going there to enforce it； though it’s a bad state of things when； in
his condition； that is necessary。 But it’s growing late； and is a very
bad night； and the boy is worn out already。 There is a bed in the
wholesome loft…room by the stable； we had better keep him there
till morning； when he can be wrapped up and removed。 We’ll do
that。”
“O！” said Mr Skimpole； with his hands upon the keys of the
piano； as we moved away。 “Are you going back to our young
friend？”
“Yes；” said my Guardian。
“How I envy you your constitution； Jarndyce！” returned Mr
Skimpole； with playful admiration。 “You don’t mind these things；
neither does Miss Summerson。 You are ready at all times to go
anywhere； and do anything。 Such is Will！ I have no Will at all—and
no Won’t—simply Can’t。”
“You can’t recom
