Bleak House Charles Dickens (classic books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Dickens
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âWell, George, old fellow,â says she, âand how do you do, this sunshiny morning?â
Giving him a friendly shake of the hand, Mrs. Bagnet draws a long breath after her walk and sits down to enjoy a rest. Having a faculty, matured on the tops of baggage-wagons and in other such positions, of resting easily anywhere, she perches on a rough bench, unties her bonnet-strings, pushes back her bonnet, crosses her arms, and looks perfectly comfortable.
Mr. Bagnet in the meantime has shaken hands with his old comrade and with Phil, on whom Mrs. Bagnet likewise bestows a good-humoured nod and smile.
âNow, George,â said Mrs. Bagnet briskly, âhere we are, Lignum and myselfââ âshe often speaks of her husband by this appellation, on account, as it is supposed, of Lignum Vitae having been his old regimental nickname when they first became acquainted, in compliment to the extreme hardness and toughness of his physiognomyâ ââjust looked in, we have, to make it all correct as usual about that security. Give him the new bill to sign, George, and heâll sign it like a man.â
âI was coming to you this morning,â observes the trooper reluctantly.
âYes, we thought youâd come to us this morning, but we turned out early and left Woolwich, the best of boys, to mind his sisters and came to you insteadâ âas you see! For Lignum, heâs tied so close now, and gets so little exercise, that a walk does him good. But whatâs the matter, George?â asks Mrs. Bagnet, stopping in her cheerful talk. âYou donât look yourself.â
âI am not quite myself,â returns the trooper; âI have been a little put out, Mrs. Bagnet.â
Her bright quick eye catches the truth directly. âGeorge!â holding up her forefinger. âDonât tell me thereâs anything wrong about that security of Lignumâs! Donât do it, George, on account of the children!â
The trooper looks at her with a troubled visage.
âGeorge,â says Mrs. Bagnet, using both her arms for emphasis and occasionally bringing down her open hands upon her knees. âIf you have allowed anything wrong to come to that security of Lignumâs, and if you have let him in for it, and if you have put us in danger of being sold upâ âand I see sold up in your face, George, as plain as printâ âyou have done a shameful action and have deceived us cruelly. I tell you, cruelly, George. There!â
Mr. Bagnet, otherwise as immovable as a pump or a lamppost, puts his large right hand on the top of his bald head as if to defend it from a shower-bath and looks with great uneasiness at Mrs. Bagnet.
âGeorge,â says that old girl, âI wonder at you! George, I am ashamed of you! George, I couldnât have believed you would have done it! I always knew you to be a rolling stone that gathered no moss, but I never thought you would have taken away what little moss there was for Bagnet and the children to lie upon. You know what a hardworking, steady-going chap he is. You know what Quebec and Malta and Woolwich are, and I never did think you would, or could, have had the heart to serve us so. Oh, George!â Mrs. Bagnet gathers up her cloak to wipe her eyes on in a very genuine manner, âHow could you do it?â
Mrs. Bagnet ceasing, Mr. Bagnet removes his hand from his head as if the shower-bath were over and looks disconsolately at Mr. George, who has turned quite white and looks distressfully at the grey cloak and straw bonnet.
âMat,â says the trooper in a subdued voice, addressing him but still looking at his wife, âI am sorry you take it so much to heart, because I do hope itâs not so bad as that comes to. I certainly have, this morning, received this letterââ âwhich he reads aloudâ ââbut I hope it may be set right yet. As to a rolling stone, why, what you say is true. I am a rolling stone, and I never rolled in anybodyâs way, I fully believe, that I rolled the least good to. But itâs impossible for an old vagabond comrade to like your wife and family better than I like âem, Mat, and I trust youâll look upon me as forgivingly as you can. Donât think Iâve kept anything from you. I havenât had the letter more than a quarter of an hour.â
âOld girl,â murmurs Mr. Bagnet after a short silence, âwill you tell him my opinion?â
âOh! Why didnât he marry,â Mrs. Bagnet answers, half laughing and half crying, âJoe Pouchâs widder in North America? Then he wouldnât have got himself into these troubles.â
âThe old girl,â says Mr. Bagnet, âputs it correctâ âwhy didnât you?â
âWell, she has a better husband by this time, I hope,â returns the trooper. âAnyhow, here I stand, this present day, not married to Joe Pouchâs widder. What shall I do? You see all I have got about me. Itâs not mine; itâs yours. Give the word, and Iâll sell off every morsel. If I could have hoped it would have brought in nearly the sum wanted, Iâd have sold all long ago. Donât believe that Iâll leave you or yours in the lurch, Mat. Iâd sell myself first. I only wish,â says the trooper, giving himself a disparaging blow in the chest, âthat I knew of anyone whoâd buy such
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