Hard Times Charles Dickens (motivational books for men .TXT) 📖

born lady, and who, as I have not already told you, has had her own marriage misfortunes to the tune of tens of thousands of pounds⁠—tens of thousands of pounds!” (he repeated it with great relish). “Now, you have always been a steady hand hitherto; but my opinion is, and so I tell you plainly, that you are turning into the wrong road. You have been listening to some mischievous stranger or other⁠—they’re always about⁠—and the best thing you can do is, to come out of that. Now you know;” here his countenance expressed marvellous acuteness; “I can see as far into a grindstone as another man; farther than a good many, perhaps, because I had my nose well kept to it when I was young. I see traces of the turtle soup, and venison, and gold spoon in this. Yes, I do!” cried Mr. Bounderby, shaking his head with obstinate cunning. “By the Lord Harry, I do!”

With a very different shake of the head and deep sigh, Stephen said, “Thank you, sir, I wish you good day.” So he left Mr. Bounderby swelling at his own portrait on the wall, as if he were going to explode himself into it; and Mrs. Sparsit still ambling on with her foot in her stirrup, looking quite cast down by the popular vices.

XII The Old Woman

Old Stephen descended the two white steps, shutting the black door with the brazen doorplate, by the aid of the brazen full-stop, to which he gave a parting polish with the sleeve of his coat, observing that his hot hand clouded it. He crossed the street with his eyes bent upon the ground, and thus was walking sorrowfully away, when he felt a touch upon his arm.

It was not the touch he needed most at such a moment⁠—the touch that could calm the wild waters of his soul, as the uplifted hand of the sublimest love and patience could abate the raging of the sea⁠—yet it was a woman’s hand too. It was an old woman, tall and shapely still, though withered by time, on whom his eyes fell when he stopped and turned. She was very cleanly and plainly dressed, had country mud upon her shoes, and was newly come from a journey. The flutter of her manner, in the unwonted noise of the streets; the spare shawl, carried unfolded on her arm; the heavy umbrella, and little basket; the loose long-fingered gloves, to which her hands were unused; all bespoke an old woman from the country, in her plain holiday clothes, come into Coketown on an expedition of rare occurrence. Remarking this at a glance, with the quick observation of his class, Stephen Blackpool bent his attentive face⁠—his face, which, like the faces of many of his order, by dint of long working with eyes and hands in the midst of a prodigious noise, had acquired the concentrated look with which we are familiar in the countenances of the deaf⁠—the better to hear what she asked him.

“Pray, sir,” said the old woman, “didn’t I see you come out of that gentleman’s house?” pointing back to Mr. Bounderby’s. “I believe it was you, unless I have had the bad luck to mistake the person in following?”

“Yes, missus,” returned Stephen, “it were me.”

“Have you⁠—you’ll excuse an old woman’s curiosity⁠—have you seen the gentleman?”

“Yes, missus.”

“And how did he look, sir? Was he portly, bold, outspoken, and hearty?” As she straightened her own figure, and held up her head in adapting her action to her words, the idea crossed Stephen that he had seen this old woman before, and had not quite liked her.

“O yes,” he returned, observing her more attentively, “he were all that.”

“And healthy,” said the old woman, “as the fresh wind?”

“Yes,” returned Stephen. “He were ett’n and drinking⁠—as large and as loud as a Hummobee.”

“Thank you!” said the old woman, with infinite content. “Thank you!”

He certainly never had seen this old woman before. Yet there was a vague remembrance in his mind, as if he had more than once dreamed of some old woman like her.

She walked along at his side, and, gently accommodating himself to her humour, he said Coketown was a busy place, was it not? To which she answered “Eigh sure! Dreadful busy!” Then he said, she came from the country, he saw? To which she answered in the affirmative.

“By Parliamentary, this morning. I came forty mile by Parliamentary this morning, and I’m going back the same forty mile this afternoon. I walked nine mile to the station this morning, and if I find nobody on the road to give me a lift, I shall walk the nine mile back tonight. That’s pretty well, sir, at my age!” said the chatty old woman, her eye brightening with exultation.

“ ’Deed ’tis. Don’t do’t too often, missus.”

“No, no. Once a year,” she answered, shaking her head. “I spend my savings so, once every year. I come regular, to tramp about the streets, and see the gentlemen.”

“Only to see ’em?” returned Stephen.

“That’s enough for me,” she replied, with great earnestness and interest of manner. “I ask no more! I have been standing about, on this side of the way, to see that gentleman,” turning her head back towards Mr. Bounderby’s again, “come out. But, he’s late this year, and I have not seen him. You came out instead. Now, if I am obliged to go back without a glimpse of him⁠—I only want a glimpse⁠—well! I have seen you, and you have seen him, and I must make that do.” Saying this, she looked at Stephen as if to fix his features in her mind, and her eye was not so bright as it had been.

With a large allowance for difference of tastes, and with all submission to the patricians of Coketown, this seemed so extraordinary a source of interest to take so much trouble about, that it perplexed him. But they were passing the church now, and as his eye caught the clock, he quickened his pace.

He