bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第212节
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in uncompromising colours！ From the sole of thy foot to the crown
of thy head； there is nothing interesting about thee。
He shuffles slowly into Mr George’s gallery； and stands huddled
together in a bundle； looking all about the floor。 He seems to know
that they have an inclination to shrink from him； partly for what
he is； and partly for what he has caused。 He； too； shrinks from
them。 He is not of the same order of things； not of the same place
in creation。 He is of no order and no place； neither of the beasts；
nor of humanity。
“Look here； Jo！” says Allan。 “This is Mr George。”
Jo searches the floor for some time longer； then looks up for a
moment； and then down again。
“He is a kind friend to you； for he is going to give you lodging…
room here。”
Jo makes a scoop with one hand； which is supposed to be a
bow。 After a little more consideration； and some backing and
changing of the foot on which he rests； he mutters that he is “wery
thankful。”
“You are quite safe here。 All you have to do at present is to be
obedient； and to get strong。 And mind you tell us the truth here；
whatever you do； Jo。”
“Wishermaydie if I don’t； sir；” says Jo； reverting to his favourite
declaration。 “I never done nothink yit； but wot you knows on； to
get myself into no trouble。 I never was in no other trouble at all；
sir—’sept not knowin’ nothink and starwation。”
“I believe it。 Now attend to Mr George。 I see he is going to
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speak to you。”
“My intention merely was； sir；” observes Mr George； amazingly
broad and upright； “to point out to him where he can lie down；
and get a thorough good dose of sleep。 Now； look here。” As the
trooper speaks； he conducts them to the other end of the gallery；
and opens one of the little cabins。 “There you are； you see！ Here is
a mattress； and here you may rest； on good behaviour； as long as
Mr； I ask your pardon； sir；” he refers apologetically to the card
Allan has given him； “Mr Woodcourt pleases。 Don’t you be
alarmed if you hear shots； they’ll be aimed at the target and not
you。 Now； there’s another thing I would recommend； sir；” says the
trooper； turning to his visitor。 “Phil； come here！”
Phil bears down upon them according to his usual tactics。
“Here is a man； sir； who was found； when a baby； in the gutter。
Consequently； it is to be expected that he takes a natural interest
in this poor creature。 You do； don’t you； Phil？”
“Certainly and surely I do； guv’ner；” is Phil’s reply。
“Now I was thinking； sir；” says Mr George； in a martial sort of
confidence； as if he were giving his opinion in a council of war at a
drum…head； “that if this man was to take him to a bath； and was to
lay out a few shillings in getting him one or two coarse articles—”
“Mr George； my considerate friend；” returns Allan； taking out
his purse； “it is the very favour I would have asked。”
Phil Squod and Jo are sent out immediately on this work of
improvement。 Miss Flite； quite enraptured by her success； makes
the best of her way to Court； having great fears that otherwise her
friend the Chancellor may be uneasy about her； or may give the
judgment she has so long expected； in her absence； and observing
“which you know； my dear physician； and general； after so many
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years； would be too absurdly unfortunate！” Allan takes the
opportunity of going out to procure some restorative medicines；
and obtaining them near at hand； soon returns to find the trooper
walking up and down the gallery and to fall into step and walk
with him。
“I take it； sir；” says Mr George； “that you know Miss
Summerson pretty well？”
Yes； it appears。
“Not related to her； sir？”
No； it appears。
“Excuse the apparent curiosity；” says Mr George。 “It seemed to
me probable that you might take more than a common interest in
this poor creature； because Miss Summerson had taken that
unfortunate interest in him。 ’Tis my case； sir； I assure you。”
“And mine； Mr George。”
The trooper looks sideways at Allan’s sunburnt cheek and
bright dark eye； rapidly measures his height and build； and seems
to approve of him。
“Since you have been out； sir； I have been thinking that I
unquestionably know the rooms in Lincoln’s Inn Fields； where
Bucket took the lad； according to his account。 Though he is not
acquainted with the name； I can help you to it。 It’s Tulkinghorn。
That’s what it is。”
Allan looks at him inquiringly； repeating the name。
“Tulkinghorn。 That’s the name； sir。 I know the man； and know
him to have been in communication with Bucket before；
respecting a deceased person who had given him offence。 I know
the man； sir。 To my sorrow。”
Allan naturally asks what kind of man he is？
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“What kind of man。 Do you mean to look at？”
“I think I know that much of him。 I mean to deal with。
Generally； what kind of man？”
“Why； then I’ll tell you； sir；” returns the trooper； stopping short；
and folding his arms on his square chest； so angrily； that his face
fires and flushes all over； “he is a confoundedly bad kind of man。
He is a slow…torturing kind of man。 He is no more like flesh and
blood； than a rusty old carbine is。 He is a kind of man—by
George！—that has caused me more restlessness； and more
uneasiness； and more dissatisfaction with myself； than all other
men put together。 That’s the kind of man Mr Tulkinghorn is！”
“I am sorry；” says Allan； “to have touched so sore a place。”
“Sore？” The trooper plants his legs wider apart； wets the palm
of his broad right hand； and lays it on his imaginary moustache。
“It’s no fault of yours； sir； but you shall judge。 He has got a power
over me。 He is the man I spoke of just now； as being able to tumble
me out of this place neck and crop。 He keeps me on a constant see…
saw。 He won’t hold off； and he won’t come on。 If I have a payment
to make him； or time to ask him for； or anything to go to him
about； he don’t see me； don’t hear me—passes me on to
Melchisedech’s in Clifford’s Inn； Melchisedech’s in Clifford’s Inn
passes me back again to him—he keeps me prowling and dangling
about him； as if I was made of the same stone as himself。 Why； I
spend half my life now； pretty well loitering and dodging about his
door。 What does he care？ Nothing。 Just as much as the rusty old
carbine I have compared him to。 He chafes and goads me； till—
Bah！ nonsense—I am forgetting myself。 Mr Woodcourt；” the
trooper resumes his march； “all I say is； he is an old man； but I am
glad I shall never have the chance of setting spurs to my horse；
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and riding at him in a fair field。 For if I had that chance； in one of
the humours he drives me into—he’d go down； sir！”
Mr George has been so excited； that he finds it necessary to
wipe his forehead on his shirt…sleeve。 Even while he whistles his
impetuosity away with the National Anthem； some involuntary
shakings of his head and heavings of his chest still linger behind；
not to mention an occasional hasty adjustment with both hands of
his open shirt…collar； as if it were scarcely open enough to prevent
his being troubled by
