bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第221节
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be getting not a little impatient and restless。 I don’t say but what
he’s as free as ever。 Of course he must be free； or he wouldn’t be
George； but he smarts； and seems put out。”
“He’s extra…drilled；” says Mr Bagnet。 “By a lawyer。 Who would
put the devil out。”
“There’s something in that；” his wife assents； “but so it is；
Lignum。”
Further conversation is prevented； for the time； by the
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necessity under which Mr Bagnet finds himself of directing the
whole force of his mind to the dinner； which is a little endangered
by the dry humour of the fowls in not yielding any gravy； and also
by the made…gravy acquiring no flavour； and turning out of a
flaxen complexion。 With a similar perverseness； the potatoes
crumble off forks in the process of peeling； upheaving from their
centres in every direction； as if they were subject to earthquakes。
The legs of the fowls； too； are longer than could be desired； and
extremely scaly。 Overcoming these disadvantages to the best of his
ability； Mr Bagnet at last dishes； and they sit down at table； Mrs
Bagnet occupying the guest’s place at his right hand。
It is well for the old girl that she has but one birthday in a year；
for two such indulgences in poultry might be injurious。 Every kind
of finer tendon and ligament that it is in the nature of poultry to
possess； is developed in these specimens in the singular form of
guitar…strings。 Their limbs appear to have struck roots into their
breasts and bodies； as aged trees strike roots into the earth。 Their
legs are so hard； as to encourage the idea that they must have
devoted the greater part of their long and arduous lives to
pedestrian exercises； and the walking of matches。 But Mr Bagnet；
unconscious of these little defects； sets his heart on Mrs Bagnet
eating a most severe quantity of the delicacies before her； and as
that good old girl would not cause him a moment’s disappointment
on any day； least of all on such a day； for any consideration； she
imperils her digestion fearfully。 How young Woolwich cleans the
drumsticks without being of ostrich descent； his anxious mother is
at a loss to understand。
The old girl has another trial to undergo after the conclusion of
the repast； in sitting in state to see the room cleared； the hearth
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Bleak House 920
swept； and the dinner…service washed up and polished in the back
yard。 The great delight and energy with which the two young
ladies apply themselves to these duties； turning up their skirts in
imitation of their mother； and skating in and out on little scaffolds
of pattens； inspire the highest hopes for the future； but some
anxiety for the present。 The same causes lead to a confusion of
tongues； a clattering of crockery； a rattling of tin mugs； a whisking
of brooms； and an expenditure of water； all in excess； while the
saturation of the young ladies themselves is almost too moving a
spectacle for Mrs Bagnet to look upon； with the calmness proper
to her position。 At last the various cleansing processes are
triumphantly completed； Quebec and Malta appear in fresh attire；
smiling and dry； pipes； tobacco； and something to drink； are
placed upon the table； and the old girl enjoys the first peace of
mind she ever knows on the day of this delightful entertainment。
When Mr Bagnet takes his usual seat； the hands of the clock are
very near to half…past four； as they mark it accurately； Mr Bagnet
announces； “George！ Military time。”
It is George； and he has hearty congratulations for the old girl
（whom he kisses on the great occasion）； and for the children； and
for Mr Bagnet。 “Happy returns to all！” says Mr George。
“But； George； old man？” cries Mrs Bagnet； looking at him
curiously。 “What’s come to you？”
“Come to me？”
“Ah！ you are so white； George—for you—and look so shocked。
Now； don’t he； Lignum？”
“George；” says Mr Bagnet； “tell the old girl。 What’s the matter。”
“I didn’t know I looked white；” says the trooper； passing his
hand over his brow； “and I didn’t know I looked shocked； and I’m
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Bleak House 921
sorry I do。 But the truth is； that boy who was taken in at my place
died yesterday afternoon； and it has rather knocked me over。”
“Poor creetur！” says Mrs Bagnet； with a mother’s pity。 “Is he
gone？ Dear； dear！”
“I didn’t mean to say anything about it； for it’s not birthday talk；
but you have got it out of me； you see； before I sit down。 I should
have roused up in a minute；” says the trooper； making himself
speak more gaily； “but you’re so quick； Mrs Bagnet。”
“You’re right。 The old girl；” says Mr Bagnet。 “Is as quick。 As
powder。”
“And what’s more； she’s the subject of the day； and we’ll stick to
her；” cries Mr George。 “See here； I have brought a little brooch
along with me。 It’s a poor thing； you know； but it’s a keepsake。
That’s all the good it is； Mrs Bagnet。”
Mr George produces his present； which is greeted with
admiring leapings and clappings by the young family； and with a
species of reverential admiration by Mr Bagnet。 “Old girl；” says
Mr Bagnet。 “Tell him my opinion of it。”
“Why； it’s a wonder； George！” Mrs Bagnet exclaims。 “It’s the
beautifullest thing that ever was seen！”
“Good！” says Mr Bagnet。 “My opinion。”
“It’s so pretty； George；” cries Mrs Bagnet； turning it on all sides；
and holding it out at arm’s length； “that it seems too choice for
me。”
“Bad！” says Mr Bagnet。 “Not my opinion。”
“But whatever it is； a hundred thousand thanks； old fellow；”
says Mrs Bagnet； her eyes sparkling with pleasure； and her hand
stretched out to him； “and though I have been a cross…grained
soldier’s wife to you sometimes； George； we are as strong friends； I
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am sure； in reality； as ever can be。 Now you shall fasten it on
yourself； for good luck； if you will； George。”
The children close up to see it done； and Mr Bagnet looks over
young Woolwich’s head to see it done； with an interest so maturely
wooden； yet so pleasantly childish； that Mrs Bagnet cannot help
laughing in her airy way； and saying； “O； Lignum； Lignum； what a
precious old chap you are！” But the trooper fails to fasten the
brooch。 His hand shakes； he is nervous； and it falls off。 “Would any
one believe this？” says he； catching it as it drops； and looking
round。 “I am so out of sorts that I bungle at an easy job like this！”
Mrs Bagnet concludes that for such a case there is no remedy
like a pipe； and fastening the brooch herself in a twinkling； causes
the trooper to be inducted into his usual snug place； and the pipes
to be got into action。 “If that don’t bring you round； George；” says
she； “just throw your eye across here at your present now and
then； and the two together must do it。”
“You ought to do it of yourself；” George answers； “I know that
very well； Mrs Bagnet。 I’ll tell you how； one way and another； the
blues have got to be too many for me。 Here was this poor lad。
’Twas dull work to see him dying as he did； and not be able to help
him。”
“What do you mean； George？ You did help him。 You took him
under your roof。”
“I helped him so far； but that’s little。 I mea
