little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第202章

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turn　the　wheel；　turn　the　wheel！　I　haven't　been　agreeable　to　myself；
and　I　haven't　been　likely　to　be　agreeable　to　anybody　else。　If　I　was　a
shilling　a　week　less　useful　in　ten　years'　time；　this　impostor　would　give
me　a　shilling　a　week　less；　if　as　useful　a　man　could　be　got　at　sixpence
cheaper；　he　would　be　taken　in　my　place　at　sixpence　cheaper。　Bargain　and
sale；　bless　you！　Fixed　principles！　It's　a　mighty　fine　sign…post；　is　The
Casby's　Head；'　said　Mr　Pancks；　surveying　it　with　anything　rather　than
admiration；　'but　the　real　name　of　the　House　is　the　Sham's　Arms。　Its
motto　is；　Keep　the　Grubber　always　at　it。　Is　any　gentleman　present；'　said
Mr　Pancks；　breaking　off　and　looking　round；　'acquainted　with　the　English
Grammar？'

Bleeding　Heart　Yard　was　shy　of　claiming　that　acquaintance。

'It's　no　matter；'　said　Mr　Pancks；　'I　merely　wish　to　remark　that　the　task
this　Proprietor　has　set　me；　has　been　never　to　leave　off　conjugating　the
Imperative　Mood　Present　Tense　of　the　verb　To　keep　always　at　it。　Keep
thou　always　at　it。　Let　him　keep　always　at　it。　Keep　we　or　do　we　keep
always　at　it。　Keep　ye　or　do　ye　or　you　keep　always　at　it。　Let　them　keep
always　at　it。　Here　is　your　benevolent　Patriarch　of　a　Casby；　and　there　is
his　golden　rule。　He　is　unmonly　improving　to　look　at；　and　I　am　not
at　all　so。　He　is　as　sweet　as　honey；　and　I　am　as　dull　as　ditch…water。　He
provides　the　pitch；　and　I　handle　it；　and　it　sticks　to　me。　Now；'　said
Mr　Pancks；　closing　upon　his　late　Proprietor　again；　from　whom　he　had
withdrawn　a　little　for　the　better　display　of　him　to　the　Yard；　'as　I　am
not　accustomed　to　speak　in　public；　and　as　I　have　made　a　rather　lengthy
speech；　all　circumstances　considered；　I　shall　bring　my　observations　to　a
close　by　requesting　you　to　get　out　of　this。'

The　Last　of　the　Patriarchs　had　been　so　seized　by　assault；　and　required
so　much　room　to　catch　an　idea　in；　an　so　much　more　room　to　turn　it　in；
that　he　had　not　a　word　to　offer　in　reply。　He　appeared　to　be　meditating
some　Patriarchal　way　out　of　his　delicate　position；　when　Mr　Pancks；　once
more　suddenly　applying　the　trigger　to　his　hat；　shot　it　off　again　with
his　former　dexterity。　On　the　preceding　occasion；　one　or　two　of　the
Bleeding　Heart　Yarders　had　obsequiously　picked　it　up　and　handed　it　to
its　owner；　but　Mr　Pancks　had　now　so　far　impressed　his　audience；　that　the
Patriarch　had　to　turn　and　stoop　for　it　himself。

Quick　as　lightning；　Mr　Pancks；　who；　for　some　moments；　had　had　his　right
hand　in　his　coat　pocket；　whipped　out　a　pair　of　shears；　swooped　upon　the
Patriarch　behind；　and　snipped　off　short　the　sacred　locks　that　flowed
upon　his　shoulders。　In　a　paroxysm　of　animosity　and　rapidity；　Mr　Pancks
then　caught　the　broad…brimmed　hat　out　of　the　astounded　Patriarch's　hand；
cut　it　down　into　a　mere　stewpan；　and　fixed　it　on　the　Patriarch's　head。

Before　the　frightful　results　of　this　desperate　action；　Mr　Pancks　himself
recoiled　in　consternation。　A　bare…polled；　goggle…eyed；　big…headed
lumbering　personage　stood　staring　at　him；　not　in　the　least　impressive；
not　in　the　least　venerable；　who　seemed　to　have　started　out　of　the
earth　to　ask　what　was　bee　of　Casby。　After　staring　at　this　phantom　in
return；　in　silent　awe；　Mr　Pancks　threw　down　his　shears；　and　fled　for　a
place　of　hiding；　where　he　might　lie　sheltered　from　the　consequences　of
his　crime。　Mr　Pancks　deemed　it　prudent　to　use　all　possible　despatch　in
making　off；　though　he　was　pursued　by　nothing　but　the　sound　of　laughter
in　Bleeding　Heart　Yard；　rippling　through　the　air　and　making　it　ring
again。




CHAPTER　33。　Going！


The　changes　of　a　fevered　room　are　slow　and　fluctuating；　but　the　changes
of　the　fevered　world　are　rapid　and　irrevocable。

It　was　Little　Dorrit's　lot　to　wait　upon　both　kinds　of　change。　The
Marshalsea　walls；　during　a　portion　of　every　day；　again　embraced　her　in
their　shadows　as　their　child；　while　she　thought　for　Clennam；　worked　for
him；　watched　him；　and　only　left　him；　still　to　devote　her　utmost　love　and
care　to　him。　Her　part　in　the　life　outside　the　gate　urged　its　pressing
claims　upon　her　too；　and　her　patience　untiringly　responded　to　them。
Here　was　Fanny；　proud；　fitful；　whimsical；　further　advanced　in　that
disqualified　state　for　going　into　society　which　had　so　much　fretted
her　on　the　evening　of　the　tortoise…shell　knife；　resolved　always　to　want
fort；　resolved　not　to　be　forted；　resolved　to　be　deeply　wronged；
and　resolved　that　nobody　should　have　the　audacity　to　think　her　so。　Here
was　her　brother；　a　weak；　proud；　tipsy；　young　old　man；　shaking　from
head　to　foot；　talking　as　indistinctly　as　if　some　of　the　money　he　plumed
himself　upon　had　got　into　his　mouth　and　couldn't　be　got　out；　unable　to
walk　alone　in　any　act　of　his　life；　and　patronising　the　sister　whom　he
selfishly　loved　（he　always　had　that　negative　merit；　ill…starred　and
ill…launched　Tip！）　because　he　suffered　her　to　lead　him。　Here　was　Mrs
Merdle　in　gauzy　mourning……the　original　cap　whereof　had　possibly　been
rent　to　pieces　in　a　fit　of　grief；　but　had　certainly　yielded　to　a　highly
being　article　from　the　Parisian　market……warring　with　Fanny　foot　to
foot；　and　breasting　her　with　her　desolate　bosom　every　hour　in　the　day。
Here　was　poor　Mr　Sparkler；　not　knowing　how　to　keep　the　peace　between
them；　but　humbly　inclining　to　the　opinion　that　they　could　do　no　better
than　agree　that　they　were　both　remarkably　fine　women；　and　that　there　was
no　nonsense　about　either　of　them……for　which　gentle　remendation　they
united　in　falling　upon　him　frightfully。　Then；　too；　here　was　Mrs　General；
got　home　from　foreign　parts；　sending　a　Prune　and　a　Prism　by　post　every
other　day；　demanding　a　new　Testimonial　by　way　of　remendation　to　some
vacant　appointment　or　other。　Of　which　remarkable　gentlewoman　it　may　be
finally　observed；　that　there　surely　never　was　a　gentlewoman　of　whose
transcendent　fitness　for　any　vacant　appointment　on　the　face　of　this
earth；　so　many　people　were　（as　the　warmth　of　her　Testimonials　evinced）
so　perfectly　satisfied……or　who　was　so　very　unfortunate　in　having　a
large　circle　of　ardent　and　distinguished　admirers；　who　never　themselves
happened　to　want　her　in　any　capacity。

On　the　first　crash　of　the　eminent　Mr　Merdle's　decease；　many　important
persons　had　been　unable　to　determine　whether　they　should　cut　Mrs　Merdle；
or　fort　her。　As　it　seemed；　however；　essential　to　the　strength　of
their　own　case　that　they　should　admit　her　to　have　been　cruelly　deceived；
they　graciously　made　the　admission；　and　continued　to　know　her。　It
followed　that　Mrs　Merdle；　as　a　woman　of　fashion　and　good　breeding　who
had　been　sacrificed　to　the　wiles　of　a　vulgar　barbarian　（for　Mr　Merdle
was　found　out　from　the　crown　of　his　head　to　the　sole　of　his　foot；　the
moment　he　was　found　out　in　his　pocket）；　must　be　actively　championed　by
her　order　for　her　order's　sake。　She　returned　this　fealty　by　causing　it
to　be　understood　that　she　was　even　more　incensed　against　the　felonious
shade　of　the　deceased　than　anybody　else　was；　thus；　on　the　whole；　she
came　out　of　her　furnace　like　a　wise　woman；　and　did　exceedingly　well。

Mr　Sparkler's　lordship　was　fortunately　one　of　those　shelves　on　which　a
gentleman　is　considered　to　be　put　away　for　life；　unless　there　should　be
reasons　for　hoisting　him　up　with　the　Barnacle　crane　to　a　more　lucrative
height。　That　patriotic　servant　accordingly　stuck　to　his　colours　（the
Standard　of　four　Quarterings）；　and　was　a　perfect　Nelson　in　respect
of　nailing　them　to　the　mast。　On　the　profits　of　his　intrepidity；　Mrs
Sparkler　and　Mrs　Merdle；　inhabiting　different　floors　of　the　genteel
little　temple　of　inconvenience　to　which　the　smell　of　the　day　before
yesterday's　soup　and　coach…horses　was　as　constant　as　Death　to　man；
arrayed　themselves　to　fight　it　out　in　the　lists　of　Society；　sworn
rivals。　And　Little　Dorrit；　seeing　all　these　things　as　they　developed
themselves；　could　not　but　wonder；　anxiously；　into　what　back　corner　of
the　genteel　establishment　Fanny's　children　would　be　poked　by…and…by；　and
who　would　take　care　of　those　unborn　little　victims。

Arthur　being　far　too　ill　to　be　spoken　with　on　subjects　of　emotion　or
anxiety；　and　his　recovery　greatly　depending　on　the　repose　into　which
his　weakness　could　be　hushed；　Little　Dorrit's　sole　reliance　during　this
heavy　period　was　on　Mr　Meagles。　He　was　still　abroad；　but　she　had　written
to　him　through　his　daughter；　immediately　after　first　seeing　Arthur　in
the　Marshalsea　and　since；　confiding　her　uneasiness　to　him　on　the　points
on　which　she　was　most　anxious；　but　especially　on　one。　To　that　one；
the　continued　absence　of　Mr　Meagles　abroad；　instead　of　his　forting
presence　in　the　Marshalsea；　was　referable。

Without　disclosing　the　precise　nature　of　the　documents　that　had　fallen
into　Rigaud's　hands；　Little　Dorrit　had　confided　the　general　outline　of
that　story　to　Mr　Meagles；　to　whom　she　had　also　recounted　his　fate。　The
old　cautious　habits　of　the　scales　and　scoop　at　once　showed　Mr　Meagles
the　importance　of　recovering　the　original　papers；　wherefore　he　wrote
back　to　Little　Dorrit；　strongly　confirming　her　in　the　solicitude　she
expressed　on　that　head；　and　adding　that　he　would　not　e　over　to
England　'without　making　some　attempt　to　trace　them　out。'

By　this　time　Mr　Henry　Gowan　had　made　up　his　mind　that　it　would　be
agreeable　to　him　not　to　know　the　Meagleses。　He