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the uncommercial traveller-第11节

小说: the uncommercial traveller 字数: 每页4000字

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The uncommercial transaction which had brought me and Jack

together; was this:… I had entered the Liverpool police force; that

I might have a look at the various unlawful traps which are every

night set for Jack。  As my term of service in that distinguished

corps was short; and as my personal bias in the capacity of one of

its members has ceased; no suspicion will attach to my evidence

that it is an admirable force。  Besides that it is composed;

without favour; of the best men that can be picked; it is directed

by an unusual intelligence。  Its organisation against Fires; I take

to be much better than the metropolitan system; and in all respects

it tempers its remarkable vigilance with a still more remarkable

discretion。



Jack had knocked off work in the docks some hours; and I had taken;

for purposes of identification; a photograph…likeness of a thief;

in the portrait…room at our head police office (on the whole; he

seemed rather complimented by the proceeding); and I had been on

police parade; and the small hand of the clock was moving on to

ten; when I took up my lantern to follow Mr。 Superintendent to the

traps that were set for Jack。  In Mr。 Superintendent I saw; as

anybody might; a tall; well…looking; well…set…up man of a soldierly

bearing; with a cavalry air; a good chest; and a resolute but not

by any means ungentle face。  He carried in his hand a plain black

walking…stick of hard wood; and whenever and wherever; at any

after…time of the night; he struck it on the pavement with a

ringing sound; it instantly produced a whistle out of the darkness;

and a policeman。  To this remarkable stick; I refer an air of

mystery and magic which pervaded the whole of my perquisition among

the traps that were set for Jack。



We began by diving into the obscurest streets and lanes of the

port。  Suddenly pausing in a flow of cheerful discourse; before a

dead wall; apparently some ten miles long; Mr。 Superintendent

struck upon the ground; and the wall opened and shot out; with

military salute of hand to temple; two policemen … not in the least

surprised themselves; not in the least surprising Mr。

Superintendent。



'All right; Sharpeye?'



'All right; sir。'



'All right; Trampfoot?'



'All right; sir。'



'Is Quickear there?'



'Here am I; sir。'



'Come with us。'



'Yes; sir。'



So; Sharpeye went before; and Mr。 Superintendent and I went next;

and Trampfoot and Quickear marched as rear…guard。  Sharp…eye; I

soon had occasion to remark; had a skilful and quite professional

way of opening doors … touched latches delicately; as if they were

keys of musical instruments … opened every door he touched; as if

he were perfectly confident that there was stolen property behind

it … instantly insinuated himself; to prevent its being shut。



Sharpeye opened several doors of traps that were set for Jack; but

Jack did not happen to be in any of them。  They were all such

miserable places that really; Jack; if I were you; I would give

them a wider berth。  In every trap; somebody was sitting over a

fire; waiting for Jack。  Now; it was a crouching old woman; like

the picture of the Norwood Gipsy in the old sixpenny dream…books;

now; it was a crimp of the male sex; in a checked shirt and without

a coat; reading a newspaper; now; it was a man crimp and a woman

crimp; who always introduced themselves as united in holy

matrimony; now; it was Jack's delight; his (un)lovely Nan; but they

were all waiting for Jack; and were all frightfully disappointed to

see us。



'Who have you got up…stairs here?' says Sharpeye; generally。  (In

the Move…on tone。)



'Nobody; surr; sure not a blessed sowl!'  (Irish feminine reply。)



'What do you mean by nobody?  Didn't I hear a woman's step go up…

stairs when my hand was on the latch?'



'Ah! sure thin you're right; surr; I forgot her!  'Tis on'y Betsy

White; surr。  Ah! you know Betsy; surr。  Come down; Betsy darlin';

and say the gintlemin。'



Generally; Betsy looks over the banisters (the steep staircase is

in the room) with a forcible expression in her protesting face; of

an intention to compensate herself for the present trial by

grinding Jack finer than usual when he does come。  Generally;

Sharpeye turns to Mr。 Superintendent; and says; as if the subjects

of his remarks were wax…work:



'One of the worst; sir; this house is。  This woman has been

indicted three times。  This man's a regular bad one likewise。  His

real name is Pegg。  Gives himself out as Waterhouse。'



'Never had sitch a name as Pegg near me back; thin; since I was in

this house; bee the good Lard!' says the woman。



Generally; the man says nothing at all; but becomes exceedingly

round…shouldered; and pretends to read his paper with rapt

attention。  Generally; Sharpeye directs our observation with a

look; to the prints and pictures that are invariably numerous on

the walls。  Always; Trampfoot and Quickear are taking notice on the

doorstep。  In default of Sharpeye being acquainted with the exact

individuality of any gentleman encountered; one of these two is

sure to proclaim from the outer air; like a gruff spectre; that

Jackson is not Jackson; but knows himself to be Fogle; or that

Canlon is Walker's brother; against whom there was not sufficient

evidence; or that the man who says he never was at sea since he was

a boy; came ashore from a voyage last Thursday; or sails tomorrow

morning。  'And that is a bad class of man; you see;' says Mr。

Superintendent; when he got out into the dark again; 'and very

difficult to deal with; who; when he has made this place too hot to

hold him; enters himself for a voyage as steward or cook; and is

out of knowledge for months; and then turns up again worse than

ever。'



When we had gone into many such houses; and had come out (always

leaving everybody relapsing into waiting for Jack); we started off

to a singing…house where Jack was expected to muster strong。



The vocalisation was taking place in a long low room up…stairs; at

one end; an orchestra of two performers; and a small platform;

across the room; a series of open pews for Jack; with an aisle down

the middle; at the other end a larger pew than the rest; entitled

SNUG; and reserved for mates and similar good company。  About the

room; some amazing coffee…coloured pictures varnished an inch deep;

and some stuffed creatures in cases; dotted among the audience; in

Sung and out of Snug; the 'Professionals;' among them; the

celebrated comic favourite Mr。 Banjo Bones; looking very hideous

with his blackened face and limp sugar…loaf hat; beside him;

sipping rum…and…water; Mrs。 Banjo Bones; in her natural colours … a

little heightened。



It was a Friday night; and Friday night was considered not a good

night for Jack。  At any rate; Jack did not show in very great force

even here; though the house was one to which he much resorts; and

where a good deal of money is taken。  There was British Jack; a

little maudlin and sleepy; lolling over his empty glass; as if he

were trying to read his fortune at the bottom; there was Loafing

Jack of the Stars and Stripes; rather an unpromising customer; with

his long nose; lank cheek; high cheek…bones; and nothing soft about

him but his cabbage…leaf hat; there was Spanish Jack; with curls of

black hair; rings in his ears; and a knife not far from his hand;

if you got into trouble with him; there were Maltese Jack; and Jack

of Sweden; and Jack the Finn; looming through the smoke of their

pipes; and turning faces that looked as if they were carved out of

dark wood; towards the young lady dancing the hornpipe:  who found

the platform so exceedingly small for it; that I had a nervous

expectation of seeing her; in the backward steps; disappear through

the window。  Still; if all hands had been got together; they would

not have more than half…filled the room。  Observe; however; said

Mr。 Licensed Victualler; the host; that it was Friday night; and;

besides; it was getting on for twelve; and Jack had gone aboard。  A

sharp and watchful man; Mr。 Licensed Victualler; the host; with

tight lips and a complete edition of Cocker's arithmetic in each

eye。  Attended to his business himself; he said。  Always on the

spot。  When he heard of talent; trusted nobody's account of it; but

went off by rail to see it。  If true talent; engaged it。  Pounds a

week for talent … four pound … five pound。  Banjo Bones was

undoubted talent。  Hear this instrument that was going to play … it

was real talent!  In truth it was very good; a kind of piano…

accordion; played by a young girl of a delicate prettiness of face;

figure; and dress; that made the audience look coarser。  She sang

to the instrument; too; first; a song about village bells; and how

they chimed; then a song about how I went to sea; winding up with

an imitation of the bagpipes; which Mercantile Jack seemed to

understand much the best。  A good girl; 

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