Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens (online e book reader .TXT) 📖
- Author: Charles Dickens
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Book online «The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens (online e book reader .TXT) 📖». Author Charles Dickens
‘Now old gentleman,’ said Isaac, looking round. ‘Do you know either of us? This side of the screen is private, sir.’
‘No offence, I hope,’ returned the old man.
‘But by G—, sir, there is offence,’ said the other, interrupting him, ‘when you intrude yourself upon a couple of gentlemen who are particularly engaged.’
‘I had no intention to offend,’ said the old man, looking anxiously at the cards. ‘I thought that—’
‘But you had no right to think, sir,’ retorted the other. ‘What the devil has a man at your time of life to do with thinking?’
‘Now bully boy,’ said the stout man, raising his eyes from his cards for the first time, ‘can’t you let him speak?’
The landlord, who had apparently resolved to remain neutral until he knew which side of the question the stout man would espouse, chimed in at this place with ‘Ah, to be sure, can’t you let him speak, Isaac List?’
‘Can’t I let him speak,’ sneered Isaac in reply, mimicking as nearly as he could, in his shrill voice, the tones of the landlord. ‘Yes, I can let him speak, Jemmy Groves.’
‘Well then, do it, will you?’ said the landlord.
Mr List’s squint assumed a portentous character, which seemed to threaten a prolongation of this controversy, when his companion, who had been looking sharply at the old man, put a timely stop to it.
‘Who knows,’ said he, with a cunning look, ‘but the gentleman may have civilly meant to ask if he might have the honour to take a hand with us!’
‘I did mean it,’ cried the old man. ‘That is what I mean. That is what I want now!’
‘I thought so,’ returned the same man. ‘Then who knows but the gentleman, anticipating our objection to play for love, civilly desired to play for money?’
The old man replied by shaking the little purse in his eager hand, and then throwing it down upon the table, and gathering up the cards as a miser would clutch at gold.
‘Oh! That indeed,’ said Isaac; ‘if that’s what the gentleman meant, I beg the gentleman’s pardon. Is this the gentleman’s little purse? A very pretty little purse. Rather a light purse,’ added Isaac, throwing it into the air and catching it dexterously, ‘but enough to amuse a gentleman for half an hour or so.’
‘We’ll make a four-handed game of it, and take in Groves,’ said the stout man. ‘Come, Jemmy.’
The landlord, who conducted himself like one who was well used to such little parties, approached the table and took his seat. The child, in a perfect agony, drew her grandfather aside, and implored him, even then, to come away.
‘Come; and we may be so happy,’ said the child.
‘We WILL be happy,’ replied the old man hastily. ‘Let me go, Nell. The means of happiness are on the cards and the dice. We must rise from little winnings to great. There’s little to be won here; but great will come in time. I shall but win back my own, and it’s all for thee, my darling.’
‘God help us!’ cried the child. ‘Oh! what hard fortune brought us here?’
‘Hush!’ rejoined the old man laying his hand upon her mouth, ‘Fortune will not bear chiding. We must not reproach her, or she shuns us; I have found that out.’
‘Now, mister,’ said the stout man. ‘If you’re not coming yourself, give us the cards, will you?’
‘I am coming,’ cried the old man. ‘Sit thee down, Nell, sit thee down and look on. Be of good heart, it’s all for thee—all— every penny. I don’t tell them, no, no, or else they wouldn’t play, dreading the chance that such a cause must give me. Look at them. See what they are and what thou art. Who doubts that we must win!’
‘The gentleman has thought better of it, and isn’t coming,’ said Isaac, making as though he would rise from the table. ‘I’m sorry the gentleman’s daunted—nothing venture, nothing have—but the gentleman knows best.’
‘Why I am ready. You have all been slow but me,’ said the old man. ‘I wonder who is more anxious to begin than I.’
As he spoke he drew a chair to the table; and the other three closing round it at the same time, the game commenced.
The child sat by, and watched its progress with a troubled mind. Regardless of the run of luck, and mindful only of the desperate passion which had its hold upon her grandfather, losses and gains were to her alike. Exulting in some brief triumph, or cast down by a defeat, there he sat so wild and restless, so feverishly and intensely anxious, so terribly eager, so ravenous for the paltry stakes, that she could have almost better borne to see him dead. And yet she was the innocent cause of all this torture, and he, gambling with such a savage thirst for gain as the most insatiable gambler never felt, had not one selfish thought!
On the contrary, the other three—knaves and gamesters by their trade—while intent upon their game, were yet as cool and quiet as if every virtue had been centered in their breasts. Sometimes one would look up to smile to another, or to snuff the feeble candle, or to glance at the lightning as it shot through the open window and fluttering curtain, or to listen to some louder peal of thunder than the rest, with a kind of momentary impatience, as if it put him out; but there they sat, with a calm indifference to everything but their cards, perfect philosophers in appearance, and with no greater show of passion or excitement than if they had been made of stone.
The storm had raged for full three hours; the lightning had grown fainter and less frequent; the thunder, from seeming to roll and break above their heads, had gradually died away into a deep hoarse distance; and still the game went on, and still the anxious child was quite forgotten.
At length the play came to an end, and Mr Isaac List rose the only winner. Mat and the landlord bore their losses with professional fortitude. Isaac pocketed his gains with the air of a man who had quite made up his mind to win, all along, and was neither surprised nor pleased.
Nell’s little purse was exhausted; but although it lay empty by his side, and the other players had now risen from the table, the old man sat poring over the cards, dealing them as they had been dealt before, and turning up the different hands to see what each man would have held if they had still been playing. He was quite absorbed in this occupation, when the child drew near and laid her hand upon his shoulder, telling him it was near midnight.
‘See the curse of poverty, Nell,’ he said, pointing to the packs he had spread out upon the table. ‘If I could have gone on a little longer, only a little longer, the luck would have turned on my side. Yes, it’s as plain as the marks upon the cards. See here— and there—and here again.’
‘Put them away,’ urged the child. ‘Try to forget them.’
‘Try to forget them!’ he rejoined, raising his haggard face to hers, and regarding her with an incredulous stare. ‘To forget them! How are we ever to grow rich if I forget them?’
The child could only shake her head.
‘No, no, Nell,’ said the old man, patting her cheek; ‘they must not be forgotten. We must make amends for this as soon as we can. Patience—patience, and we’ll right thee yet, I promise thee. Lose to-day, win to-morrow. And nothing can be won without anxiety and care—nothing. Come, I am ready.’
‘Do you know what the time is?’ said Mr Groves, who was smoking with his friends. ‘Past twelve o’clock—’
‘—And a rainy night,’ added the stout man.
‘The Valiant Soldier, by James Groves. Good beds. Cheap entertainment for man and beast,’ said Mr Groves, quoting his sign-board. ‘Half-past twelve o’clock.’
‘It’s very late,’ said the uneasy child. ‘I wish we had gone before. What will they think of us! It will be two o’clock by the time we get back. What would it cost, sir, if we stopped here?’
‘Two good beds, one-and-sixpence; supper and beer one shilling; total two shillings and sixpence,’ replied the Valiant Soldier.
Now, Nell had still the piece of gold sewn in her dress; and when she came to consider the lateness of the hour, and the somnolent habits of Mrs Jarley, and to imagine the state of consternation in which they would certainly throw that good lady by knocking her up in the middle of the night—and when she reflected, on the other hand, that if they remained where they were, and rose early in the morning, they might get back before she awoke, and could plead the violence of the storm by which they had been overtaken, as a good apology for their absence—she decided, after a great deal of hesitation, to remain. She therefore took her grandfather aside, and telling him that she had still enough left to defray the cost of their lodging, proposed that they should stay there for the night.
‘If I had had but that money before—If I had only known of it a few minutes ago!’ muttered the old man.
‘We will decide to stop here if you please,’ said Nell, turning hastily to the landlord.
‘I think that’s prudent,’ returned Mr Groves. ‘You shall have your suppers directly.’
Accordingly, when Mr Groves had smoked his pipe out, knocked out the ashes, and placed it carefully in a corner of the fireplace, with the bowl downwards, he brought in the bread and cheese, and beer, with many high encomiums upon their excellence, and bade his guests fall to, and make themselves at home. Nell and her grandfather ate sparingly, for both were occupied with their own reflections; the other gentlemen, for whose constitutions beer was too weak and tame a liquid, consoled themselves with spirits and tobacco.
As they would leave the house very early in the morning, the child was anxious to pay for their entertainment before they retired to bed. But as she felt the necessity of concealing her little hoard from her grandfather, and had to change the piece of gold, she took it secretly from its place of concealment, and embraced an opportunity of following the landlord when he went out of the room, and tendered it to him in the little bar.
‘Will you give me the change here, if you please?’ said the child.
Mr James Groves was evidently surprised, and looked at the money, and rang it, and looked at the child, and at the money again, as though he had a mind to inquire how she came by it. The coin being genuine, however, and changed at his house, he probably felt, like a wise landlord, that it was no business of his. At any rate, he counted out the change, and gave it her. The child was returning to the room where they had passed the evening, when she fancied she saw a figure just gliding in at the door. There was nothing but a long dark passage between this door and the place where she had changed the money, and, being very certain that no person had passed in or out while she stood there, the thought struck her that she had been watched.
But by whom? When she re-entered the room, she found its inmates exactly as she had left them. The stout fellow lay upon two chairs, resting his head on his hand, and the squinting man reposed in a similar attitude on the opposite side of
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