bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第152节
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expression； at the time； being； “that he was like an empty post…
office； for he hadn’t a single note in him。” How this account of Mr
Swills is entirely corroborated by two intelligent married females
residing in the same court； and known respectively by the names
of Mrs Piper and Mrs Perkins； both of whom observed the foetid
effluvia； and regarded them as being emitted from the premises in
the occupation of Krook； the unfortunate deceased。 All this and a
great deal more； the two gentlemen； who have formed an amicable
partnership in the melancholy catastrophe； write down on the
spot； and the boy population of the court （out of bed in a moment）
swarm up the shutters of the Sol’s Arm’s parlour； to behold the
tops of their heads while they are about it。
The whole court； adult as well as boy； is sleepless for that night；
and can do nothing but wrap up its many heads； and talk of the ill…
fated house； and look at it。 Miss Flite has been bravely rescued
from her chamber； as if it were in flames； and accommodated with
a bed at the Sol’s Arms。 The Sol neither turns off its gas nor shuts
it door； all night； for any kind of public excitement makes good for
the Sol； and causes the court to stand in need of comfort。 The
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house has not done so much in the stomachic articles of clove； or
in brandy and water warm； since the Inquest。 The moment the
potboy heard what had happened； he rolled up his shirt…sleeves
tight to the shoulders； and said； “There’ll be a run upon us！” In the
first outcry； Young Piper dashed off for the fire…engines； and
returned in triumph at a jolting gallop； perched up aloft on the
Phoenix； and holding on to that fabulous creature with all his
might； in the midst of helmets and torches。 One helmet remains
behind； after careful investigation of all chinks and crannies； and
slowly paces up and down before the house； in company with one
of the two policemen who have been likewise left in charge
thereof。 To this trio； everybody in the court； possessed of sixpence；
has an insatiate desire to exhibit hospitality in a liquid form。
Mr Weevle and his friend Mr Guppy are within the bar at the
Sol； and are worth anything to the Sol that the bar contains； if they
will only stay there。 “This is not a time；” says Mr Bogsby； “to
haggle about money；” though he looks something sharply at it
over the counter； “give your orders； you two gentlemen； and
you’re welcome to whatever you put a name to。”
Thus entreated； the two gentlemen （Mr Weevle especially） put
names to so many things； that in course of time they find it
difficult to put a name to anything quite distinctly； though they
still relate； to all newcomers； some version of the night they have
had of it； and of what they said； and what they thought； and what
they saw。 Meanwhile； one or other of the policemen often flits
about the door； and pushing it open a little way at the full length of
his arm； looks in from outer gloom。 Not that he has any suspicions；
but that he may as well know what they are up to in there。
Thus； night pursues its leaden course； finding the court still out
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Bleak House 634
of bed through the unwonted hours； still treating and being
treated； still conducting itself similarly to a court that has had a
little money left it unexpectedly。 Thus； night at length with slow…
retreating steps departs； and the lamplighter going his rounds； like
an executioner to a despotic king； strikes off the little heads of fire
that have aspired to lessen the darkness。 Thus； the day cometh；
whether or no。
And the day may discern； even with its dim London eye； that
the court has been up all night。 Over and above the faces that have
fallen drowsily on tables； and the heels that lie prone on hard
floors instead of beds； the brick and mortar physiognomy of the
very court itself looks worn and jaded。 And now the
neighbourhood waking up； and beginning to hear of what has
happened； comes streaming in； half dressed； to ask questions； and
the two policemen and the helmet （who are far less impressible
externally than the court） have enough to do to keep the door。
“Good gracious； gentlemen！” says Mr Snagsby； coming up。
“What’s this I hear！”
“Why； it’s true；” returns one of the policemen。 “That’s what it
is。 Now move on here； come！”
“Why； good gracious； gentlemen；” says Mr Snagsby； somewhat
promptly backed away； “I was at this door last night betwixt ten
and eleven o’clock； in conversation with the young man who
lodges here。”
“Indeed？” returns the policeman。 “You will find the young man
next door； then。 Now move on here； some of you。”
“Not hurt； I hope？” says Mr Snagsby。
“Hurt？ No。 What’s to hurt him！”
Mr Snagsby； wholly unable to answer this； or any other
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Bleak House 635
question； in his troubled mind； repairs to the Sol’s Arms； and finds
Mr Weevle languishing over tea and toast； with a considerable
expression on him of exhausted excitement； and exhausted
tobacco…smoke。
“And Mr Guppy likewise！” quoth Mr Snagsby。 “Dear； dear；
dear！ What a fate there seems in all this！ And my lit—” Mr
Snagsby’s power of speech deserts him in the formation of the
words “my little woman。” For； to see that injured female walk into
the Sol’s Arms at that hour of the morning and stand before the
beer…engine； with her eyes fixed upon him like an accusing spirit；
strikes him dumb。
“My dear；” says Mr Snagsby； when his tongue is loosened； “will
you take anything？ A little—not to put too fine a point upon it—
drop of shrub？”
“No；” says Mrs Snagsby。
“My love； you know these two gentlemen？”
“Yes！” says Mrs Snagsby； and in a rigid manner acknowledges
their presence； still fixing Mr Snagsby with her eye。
The devoted Mr Snagsby cannot bear this treatment。 He takes
Mrs Snagsby by the hand； and leads her aside to an adjacent cask。
“My little woman； why do you look at me in that way？ Pray
don’t do it。”
“I can’t help my look；” says Mrs Snagsby； “and if I could I
wouldn’t。”
Mr Snagsby with his cough of meekness； rejoins；—“Wouldn’t
you really； my dear？” and meditates。 Then coughs his cough of
trouble； and says； “This is a dreadful mystery； my love！” still
fearfully disconcerted by Mrs Snagsby’s eye。
“It is；” returns Mrs Snagsby； shaking her head； “a dreadful
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mystery。”
“My little woman；” urges Mr Snagsby； in a piteous manner；
“don’t for goodness sake； speak to me with that bitter expression；
and look at me in that searching way！ I beg and entreat of you not
to do it。 Good lord； you don’t suppose that I would go
spontaneously combusting any person； my dear？”
“I can’t say；” returns Mrs Snagsby。
On a hasty review of his unfortunate position； Mr Snagsby
“can’t say；” either。 He is not prepared positively to deny that he
may have had something to do with it。 He has had something—he
don’t know what—to do with so much in this connection that is
mysterious；
