bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第197节
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there was a bottle of light wine。 Mr Skimpole himself reclined
upon the sofa； in a dressing…gown； drinking some fragrant coffee
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from an old china cup—it was then about midday—and looking at
a collection of wallflowers in the balcony。
He was not in the least disconcerted by our appearance； but
rose and received us in his usual airy manner。
“Here I am； you see！” he said； when we were seated； not
without some little difficulty； the greater part of the chairs being
broken。 “Here I am！ This is my frugal breakfast。 Some men want
legs of beef and mutton for breakfast； I don’t。 Give me my peach；
my cup of coffee； and my claret； I am content。 I don’t want them
for themselves； but they remind me of the sun。 There’s nothing
solar about legs of beef and mutton。 Mere animal satisfaction！”
“This is our friend’s consulting…room （or would be； if he ever
prescribed）； his sanctum； his studio；” said my Guardian to us。
“Yes；” said Mr Skimpole； turning his bright face about； “this is
the bird’s cage。 This is where the bird lives and sings。 They pluck
his feathers now and then； and clip his wings； but he sings； he
sings！”
He handed us the grapes； repeating in his radiant way； “he
sings！ Not an ambitious note； but still he sings。”
“These are very fine；” said my Guardian。 “A present！”
“No；” he answered。 “No！ Some amiable gardener sells them。
His man wanted to know； when he brought them last evening；
whether he should wait for the money。 ‘Really； my friend；’ I said； ‘I
think not—if your time is of any value to you。’ I suppose it was； for
he went away。”
My Guardian looked at us with a smile； as though he asked us；
“is it possible to be worldly with this baby？”
“This is a day；” said Mr Skimpole； gaily taking a little claret in a
tumbler； “that will ever be remembered here。 We shall call it the
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Saint Clare and Saint Summerson day。 You must see my
daughters。 I have a blue…eyed daughter who is my Beauty
daughter； I have a Sentiment daughter； and I have a Comedy
daughter。 You must see them all。 They’ll be enchanted。”
He was going to summon them； when my Guardian interposed；
and asked him to pause a moment； as he wished to say a word to
him first。 “My dear Jarndyce；” he cheerfully replied； going back to
his sofa； “as many moments as you please。 Time is no object here。
We never know what o’clock it is； and we never care。 Not the way
to get on in life； you’ll tell me？ Certainly。 But we don’t get on in
life。 We don’t pretend to do it。”
My Guardian looked at us again； plainly saying； “You hear
him？”
“Now Harold；” he began； “the word I have to say relates to
Rick。”
“The dearest friend I have！” returned Mr Skimpole； cordially。
“I suppose he ought not to be my dearest friend； as he is not on
terms with you。 But he is； I can’t help it； he is full of youthful
poetry； and I love him。 If you don’t like it； I can’t help it。 I love
him。”
The engaging frankness with which he made this declaration；
really had a disinterested appearance； and captivated my
Guardian； if not； for the moment； Ada too。
“You are welcome to love him as much as you like；” returned
Mr Jarndyce； “but we must save his pocket； Harold。”
“Oh！” said Mr Skimpole。 “His pocket？ Now； you are coming to
what I don’t understand。” Taking a little more claret； and dipping
one of the cakes in it； he shook his head and smiled at Ada and me
with an ingenuous foreboding that he never could be made to
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understand。”
“If you go with him here or there；” said my Guardian； plainly；
“you must not let him pay for both。”
“My dear Jarndyce；” returned Mr Skimpole； his genial face
irradiated by the comicality of this idea； “what am I to do？ If he
takes me anywhere； I must go。 And how can I pay？ I never have
any money。 If I had any money； I don’t know anything about it。
Suppose I say to a man； how much？ Suppose the man says to me
seven and sixpence？ I know nothing about seven and sixpence。 It
is impossible for me to pursue the subject； with any consideration
for the man。 I don’t go about asking busy people what seven and
sixpence is in Moorish—which I don’t understand。 Why should I
go about asking them what seven and sixpence is in Money—
which I don’t understand？”
“Well；” said my Guardian； by no means displeased with this
artless reply； “if you come to any kind of journeying with Rick； you
must borrow the money of me （never breathing the least allusion
to that circumstance）； and leave the calculation to him。”
“My dear Jarndyce；” returned Mr Skimpole； “I will do anything
to give you pleasure； but it seems an idle form—a superstition。
Besides； I give you my word； Miss Clare and my dear Miss
Summerson； I thought Mr Carstone was immensely rich。 I thought
he had only to make over something； or to sign a bond； or a draft
or a cheque； or a bill； or to put something on a file somewhere； to
bring down a shower of money。”
“Indeed it is not so； sir；” said Ada。 “He is poor。”
“No； really？” returned Mr Skimpole； with his bright smile； “you
surprise me。”
“And not being the richer for trusting in a rotten reed；” said my
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Guardian； laying his hand emphatically on the sleeve of Mr
Skimpole’s dressing…gown； “be you very careful not to encourage
him in that reliance； Harold。”
“My dear good friend；” returned Mr Skimpole； “and my dear
Miss Summerson； and my dear Miss Clare； how can I do that？ It’s
business； and I don’t know business。 It is he who encourages me。
He emerges from great feats of business； presents the brightest
prospects before me as their result； and calls upon me to admire
them。 I do admire them—as bright prospects。 But I know no more
about them； and I tell him so。”
The helpless kind of candour with which he presented this
before us； the light…hearted manner in which he was amused by
his innocence； the fantastic way in which he took himself under
his own protection and argued about that curious person；
combined with the delightful ease of everything he said exactly to
make out my Guardian’s case。 The more I saw of him； the more
unlikely it seemed to me； when he was present； that he could
design； conceal； or influence anything； and yet the less likely that
appeared when he was not present； and the less agreeable it was
to think of his having anything to do with anyone for whom I
cared。
Hearing that his examination （as he called it） was now over； Mr
Skimpole left the room with a radiant face to fetch his daughters
（his sons had run away at various times）； leaving my Guardian
quite delighted by the manner in which he had vindicated his
childish character。 He soon came back； bringing with him the
three young ladies and Mrs Skimpole； who had once been a
beauty； but was now a delicate high…nosed invalid； suffering under
a complication of disorders。
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