bleak house(凄凉的房子)-第93节
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stuffing； Polly；” （with an unearthly cock of his venerable eye）； Mr
Guppy and Mr Jobling give the like order。 Three pint pots of half…
and…half are superadded。 Quickly the waitress returns； bearing
what is apparently a model of the tower of Babel； but what is
really a pile of plates and flat tin dish…covers。 Mr Smallweed；
approving of what is set before him； conveys intelligent benignity
into his ancient eye； and winks upon her。 Then； amid a constant
coming in； and going out； and running about； and a clatter of
crockery； and a rumbling up and down of the machine which
brings the nice cuts from the kitchen； and a shrill crying for more
nice cuts down the speaking…pipe； and a shrill reckoning of the
cost of nice cuts that have been disposed of； and a general flush
and steam of hot joints； cut and uncut； and a considerably heated
atmosphere in which the soiled knives and tablecloths seem to
break out spontaneously into eruptions of grease and blotches of
beer； the legal triumvirate appease their appetites。
Mr Jobling is buttoned up closer than mere adornment might
require。 His hat presents at the rims a peculiar appearance of a
glistening nature； as if it had been a favourite snail promenade。
The same phenomenon is visible on some parts of his coat； and
particularly at the seams。 He has the faded appearance of a
gentleman in embarrassed circumstances； even his light whiskers
droop with something of a shabby air。
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His appetite is so vigorous； that it suggests spare living for some
little time back。 He makes such a speedy end of his plate of veal
and ham； bringing it to a close while his companions are yet
midway in theirs； that Mr Guppy proposes another。 “Thank you；
Guppy；” says Mr Jobling； “I really don’t know but what I will take
another。”
Another being brought； he falls to with great good will。
Mr Guppy takes silent notice of him at intervals； until he is half
way through this second plate and stops to take an enjoying pull at
his pint pot of half…and…half （also renewed）； and stretches out his
legs and rubs his hands。 Beholding him in which glow of
contentment； Mr Guppy says：
“You are a man again； Tony！” “Well； not quite； yet；” says Mr
Jobling。 “Say； just born。”
“Will you take any other vegetables？ Grass？ Peas？ Summer
cabbage？”
“Thank you； Guppy；” says Mr Jobling。 “I really don’t know but
what I will take summer cabbage。”
Order given； with the sarcastic addition （from Mr Smallweed） of
“Without slugs； Polly！” And cabbage produced。
“I am growing up； Guppy；” says Mr Jobling； plying his knife
and fork with a relishing steadiness。
“Glad to hear it。”
“In fact； I have just turned into my teens；” says Mr Jobling。
He says no more until he has performed his task； which he
achieves as Messrs。 Guppy and Smallweed finish theirs； thus
getting over the ground in excellent style； and beating those two
gentlemen easily by a veal and ham and a cabbage。
“Now Small；” says Mr Guppy； “what would you recommend
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about pastry？”
“Marrow puddings；” says Mr Smallweed； instantly。
“Ay； ay！” cries Mr Jobling； with an arch look。 “You’re there； are
you？ Thank you； Guppy； I don’t know but what I will take a
marrow pudding。”
Three marrow puddings being produced； Mr Jobling adds； in a
pleasant humour； that he is coming of age fast。 To these succeed；
by command of Mr Smallweed； “three Cheshires；” and to those；
“three small rums。” This apex of the entertainment happily
reached； Mr Jobling puts up his legs on the carpeted seat （having
his own side of the box to himself）； leans against the wall； and says；
“I am grown up； now； Guppy。 I have arrived at maturity。”
“What do you think； now；” says Mr Guppy； “about—you don’t
mind Smallweed？”
“Not the least in the world。 I have the pleasure of drinking his
good health。”
“Sir； to you！” says Mr Smallweed。
“I was saying； what do you think now；” pursues Mr Guppy； “of
enlisting？”
“Why； what I may think after dinner；” returns Mr Jobling； “is
one thing； my dear Guppy； and what I may think before dinner is
another thing。 Still； even after dinner； I ask myself the question；
What am I to do？ How am I to live？ Ill fo manger； you know；” says
Mr Jobling； pronouncing that word as if he meant a necessary
fixture in an English stable。 “Ill fo manger。 That’s the French
saying； and mangering is as necessary to me as it is to a
Frenchman。 Or more so。”
Mr Smallweed is decidedly of opinion “much more so。”
“If any man had told me；” pursues Jobling； “even so lately as
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when you and I had the frisk down in Lincolnshire； Guppy； and
drove over to see that house at Castle Wold—”
Mr Smallweed corrects him—Chesney Wold。
“Chesney Wold。 （I thank my honourable friend for that cheer。）
If any man had told me； then； that I should be as hard up at the
present time as I literally find myself； I should have—well； I should
have pitched into him；” says Mr Jobling； taking a little rum…and…
water with an air of desperate resignation； “I should have let fly at
his head。”
“Still； Tony； you were on the wrong side of the post then；”
remonstrates Mr Guppy。 “You were talking about nothing else in
the gig。”
“Guppy；” says Mr Jobling； “I will not deny it。 I was on the
wrong side of the post。 But I trusted to things coming round。”
That very popular trust in flat things coming round！ Not in
their being beaten round； or worked round； but in their “coming”
round！ As though a lunatic should trust in the world’s “coming”
triangular！
“I had confident expectations that things would come round
and be all square；” says Mr Jobling； with some vagueness of
expression； and perhaps of meaning； too。 “But I was disappointed。
They never did。 And when it came to creditors making rows at the
office； and to people that the office dealt with making complaints
about dirty trifles of borrowed money； why there was an end of
that connection。 And of any new professional connection； too； for
if I was to give a reference tomorrow； it would be mentioned； and
would sew me up。 Then； what’s a fellow to do？ I have been
keeping out of the way； and living cheap； down about the market…
gardens； but what’s the use of living cheap when you have got no
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money？ You might as well live dear。”
“Better；” Mr Smallweed thinks。
“Certainly。 It’s the fashionable way； and fashion and whiskers
have been my weaknesses； and I don’t care who knows it；” says Mr
Jobling。 “They are great weaknesses—Damme； sir； they are great。
Well！” proceeds Mr Jobling； after a defiant visit to his rum…and…
water； “what can a fellow do； I ask you； but enlist？”
Mr Guppy comes more fully into the conversation； to state
what； in his opinion； a fellow can do。 His manner is the gravely
impressive manner of a man who has not committed himself in
life； otherwise than as he has become the victim of a tender sorrow
of the heart。
“Jobling；” says Mr Guppy； “myself a
