bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第92节
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strength of these profound views； he in the most ingenious
manner takes infinite pains to counterplot； when there is no plot；
and plays the deepest games of chess without any adversary。
It is a source of much gratification to Mr Guppy； therefore； to
find the newcomer constantly poring over the papers in Jarndyce
and Jarndyce； for he well knows that nothing but confusion and
failure can come of that。 His satisfaction communicates itself to a
third saunterer through the long vacation in Kenge and Carboy’s
office； to wit； Young Smallweed。
Whether Young Smallweed （metaphorically called Small and
eke Chick Weed； as it were jocularly to express a fledgling；） was
ever a boy； is much doubted in Lincoln’s Inn。 He is now something
under fifteen； and an old limb of the law。 He is facetiously
understood to entertain a passion for a lady at a cigar shop； in the
neighbourhood of Chancery Lane； and for her sake to have broken
off a contract with another lady； to whom he had been engaged
some years。 He is a town…made article； of small statute and weazen
features； but may be perceived from a considerable distance by
means of his very tall hat。 To become a Guppy is the object of his
ambition。 He dresses at that gentleman （by whom he is
patronised）； talks at him； walks at him； founds himself entirely on
him。 He is honoured with Mr Guppy’s particular confidence； and
occasionally advises him； from the deep wells of his experience； on
difficult points in private life。
Mr Guppy has been lolling out of window all the morning； after
trying all the stools in succession and finding more of them easy；
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and after several times putting his head into the iron safe with a
notion of cooling it。 Mr Smallweed has been twice despatched for
effervescent drinks； and has twice mixed them in the two official
tumblers and stirred them up with the ruler。 Mr Guppy
propounds； for Mr Smallweed’s consideration； the paradox that
the more you drink the thirstier you are； and reclines his head
upon the window…sill in a state of hopeless languor。
While thus looking out into the shade of Old Square； Lincoln’s
Inn； surveying the intolerable bricks and mortar； Mr Guppy
becomes conscious of a manly whisker emerging from the
cloistered walk below； and turning itself up in the direction of his
face。 At the same time； a low whistle is wafted through the Inn；
and a suppressed voice cries； “Hip！ Gup…py！”
“Why； you don’t mean it？” says Mr Guppy； aroused。 “Small！
Here’s Jobling！” Small’s head looks out of window too； and nods to
Jobling。
“Where have you sprung up from？” inquires Mr Guppy。
“From the market…gardens down by Deptford。 I can’t stand it
any longer。 I must enlist。 I say！ I wish you’d lend me half…a…crown。
Upon my soul I’m hungry。”
Jobling looks hungry； and also has the appearance of having
run to seed in the market…gardens down by Deptford。
“I say！ Just throw out half…a…crown； if you have got one to spare。
I want to get some dinner。”
“Will you come and dine with me？” says Mr Guppy； throwing
out the coin； which Mr Jobling catches neatly。
“How long should I have to hold out？” says Jobling。
“Not half an hour。 I am only waiting here till the enemy goes；”
returns Mr Guppy； butting inward with his head。
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“What enemy？”
“A new one。 Going to be articled。 Will you wait？”
“Can you give a fellow anything to read in the meantime？” says
Mr Jobling。
Smallweed suggests the Law List。 But Mr Jobling declares；
with much earnestness； that he “can’t stand it。”
“You shall have the paper；” says Mr Guppy。 “He shall bring it
down。 But you had better not be seen about here。 Sit on our
staircase and read。 It’s a quiet place。”
Jobling nods intelligence and acquiescence。 The sagacious
Smallweed supplies him with the newspaper； and occasionally
drops his eye upon him from the landing as a precaution against
his becoming disgusted with waiting； and makes an untimely
departure。 At last the enemy retreats； and then Smallweed fetches
Mr Jobling up。
“Well； and how are you？” says Mr Guppy； shaking hands with
him。
“So； so。 How are you？”
Mr Guppy replying that he is not much to boast of； Mr Jobling
ventures on the question； “How is she？” This Mr Guppy resents as
a liberty； retorting； “Jobling； there are chords in the human
mind—” Jobling begs pardon。
“Any subject but that！” says Mr Guppy； with a gloomy
enjoyment of his injury。 “For there are chords； Jobling—” Mr
Jobling begs pardon again。
During this short colloquy； the active Smallweed； who is of the
dinner party； has written in legal characters on a slip of paper；
“Return immediately。” This notification to all whom it may
concern； he inserts in the letter…box； and then putting on the tall
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hat； at the angle of inclination at which Mr Guppy wears his；
informs his patron that they may now make themselves scarce。
Accordingly they betake themselves to a neighbouring dining…
house； of the class known among its frequenters by the
denomination Slap…Bang； where the waitress； a bouncing young
female of forty； is supposed to have made some impression on the
susceptible Smallweed； of whom it may be remarked that he is a
weird changeling； to whom years are nothing。 He stands
precociously possessed of centuries of owlish wisdom。 If he ever
lay in a cradle； it seems as if he must have lain there in a tail…coat。
He has an old； old eye； has Smallweed； and he drinks； and smokes；
in a monkeyish way； and his neck is stiff in his collar； and he is
never to be taken in； and he knows all about it； whatever it is。 In
short； in his bringing up； he has been so nursed by Law and
Equity that he has become a kind of fossil Imp； to account for
whose terrestrial existence it is reported at the public offices that
his father was John Doe； and his mother the only female member
of the Roe family： also that his first long…clothes were made from a
blue bag。
Into the Dining House； unaffected by the seductive show in the
window； of artificially whitened cauliflowers and poultry； verdant
baskets of peas； coolly blooming cucumbers； and joints ready for
the spit； Mr Smallweed leads the way。 They know him there； and
defer to him。 He has his favourite box； he bespeaks all the papers；
he is down upon bald patriarchs； who keep them more than ten
minutes afterwards。 It is of no use trying him with anything less
than a full…sized “bread；” or proposing to him any joint in cut；
unless it is in the very best cut。 In the matter of gravy he is
adamant。
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Conscious of his elfin power； and submitting to his dread
experience； Mr Guppy consults him in the choice of that day’s
banquet； turning an appealing look towards him as the waitress
repeats the catalogue of viands； and saying “What do you take；
Chick？” Chick； out of the profundity of his artfulness； preferring
“veal and ham and French beans—And don’t you forget the
stuffing； Polly；” （with an unearthly cock of his venerable eye）； Mr
Guppy and Mr Jobling give the like order。 T
