Bleak House Charles Dickens (classic books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Dickens
Book online «Bleak House Charles Dickens (classic books to read .TXT) đ». Author Charles Dickens
âTony,â says Mr. Guppy after considering a little with his legs crossed, âhe canât read yet, can he?â
âRead! Heâll never read. He can make all the letters separately, and he knows most of them separately when he sees them; he has got on that much, under me; but he canât put them together. Heâs too old to acquire the knack of it nowâ âand too drunk.â
âTony,â says Mr. Guppy, uncrossing and recrossing his legs, âhow do you suppose he spelt out that name of Hawdon?â
âHe never spelt it out. You know what a curious power of eye he has and how he has been used to employ himself in copying things by eye alone. He imitated it, evidently from the direction of a letter, and asked me what it meant.â
âTony,â says Mr. Guppy, uncrossing and recrossing his legs again, âshould you say that the original was a manâs writing or a womanâs?â
âA womanâs. Fifty to one a ladyâsâ âslopes a good deal, and the end of the letter ânâ long and hasty.â
Mr. Guppy has been biting his thumbnail during this dialogue, generally changing the thumb when he has changed the cross leg. As he is going to do so again, he happens to look at his coat-sleeve. It takes his attention. He stares at it, aghast.
âWhy, Tony, what on earth is going on in this house tonight? Is there a chimney on fire?â
âChimney on fire!â
âAh!â returns Mr. Guppy. âSee how the sootâs falling. See here, on my arm! See again, on the table here! Confound the stuff, it wonât blow offâ âsmears like black fat!â
They look at one another, and Tony goes listening to the door, and a little way upstairs, and a little way downstairs. Comes back and says itâs all right and all quiet, and quotes the remark he lately made to Mr. Snagsby about their cooking chops at the Solâs Arms.
âAnd it was then,â resumes Mr. Guppy, still glancing with remarkable aversion at the coat-sleeve, as they pursue their conversation before the fire, leaning on opposite sides of the table, with their heads very near together, âthat he told you of his having taken the bundle of letters from his lodgerâs portmanteau?â
âThat was the time, sir,â answers Tony, faintly adjusting his whiskers. âWhereupon I wrote a line to my dear boy, the Honourable William Guppy, informing him of the appointment for tonight and advising him not to call before, Boguey being a slyboots.â
The light vivacious tone of fashionable life which is usually assumed by Mr. Weevle sits so ill upon him tonight that he abandons that and his whiskers together, and after looking over his shoulder, appears to yield himself up a prey to the horrors again.
âYou are to bring the letters to your room to read and compare, and to get yourself into a position to tell him all about them. Thatâs the arrangement, isnât it, Tony?â asks Mr. Guppy, anxiously biting his thumbnail.
âYou canât speak too low. Yes. Thatâs what he and I agreed.â
âI tell you what, Tonyâ ââ
âYou canât speak too low,â says Tony once more. Mr. Guppy nods his sagacious head, advances it yet closer, and drops into a whisper.
âI tell you what. The first thing to be done is to make another packet like the real one so that if he should ask to see the real one while itâs in my possession, you can show him the dummy.â
âAnd suppose he detects the dummy as soon as he sees it, which with his biting screw of an eye is about five hundred times more likely than not,â suggests Tony.
âThen weâll face it out. They donât belong to him, and they never did. You found that, and you placed them in my handsâ âa legal friend of yoursâ âfor security. If he forces us to it, theyâll be producible, wonât they?â
âYe-es,â is Mr. Weevleâs reluctant admission.
âWhy, Tony,â remonstrates his friend, âhow you look! You donât doubt William Guppy? You donât suspect any harm?â
âI donât suspect anything more than I know, William,â returns the other gravely.
âAnd what do you know?â urges Mr. Guppy, raising his voice a little; but on his friendâs once more warning him, âI tell you, you canât speak too low,â he repeats his question without any sound at all, forming with his lips only the words, âWhat do you know?â
âI know three things. First, I know that here we are whispering in secrecy, a pair of conspirators.â
âWell!â says Mr. Guppy. âAnd we had better be that than a pair of noodles, which we should be if we were doing anything else, for itâs the only way of doing what we want to do. Secondly?â
âSecondly, itâs not made out to me how itâs likely to be profitable, after all.â
Mr. Guppy casts up his eyes at the portrait of Lady Dedlock over the mantelshelf and replies, âTony, you are asked to leave that to the honour of your friend. Besides its being calculated to serve that friend in those chords of the human mind whichâ âwhich need not be called into agonizing vibration on the present occasionâ âyour friend is no fool. Whatâs that?â
âItâs eleven oâclock striking by the bell of Saint Paulâs. Listen and youâll hear all the bells in the city jangling.â
Both sit silent, listening to the metal voices, near and distant, resounding from towers of various heights, in tones more various than their situations. When these at length cease, all seems more mysterious and quiet than before. One disagreeable result of whispering is that it seems to evoke an atmosphere of silence, haunted by the ghosts of soundâ âstrange cracks and tickings, the rustling of garments that have no substance in them, and the tread of dreadful feet that would leave no mark on the sea-sand or the winter snow. So sensitive the two friends happen to be that the air is full of these phantoms, and the two look over their shoulders by one consent to see that the door is shut.
âYes, Tony?â says Mr. Guppy, drawing nearer to the fire and biting his unsteady thumbnail. âYou were going
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