Little Dorrit Charles Dickens (e reader for manga TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Dickens
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At the top of the steps, resisting Mrs. Plornishâs invitations to come and sit along with father in Happy Cottageâ âwhich to his relief were not so numerous as they would have been on any other night than Saturday, when the connection who so gallantly supported the business with everything but money gave their orders freelyâ âat the top of the steps Mr. Pancks remained until he beheld the Patriarch, who always entered the Yard at the other end, slowly advancing, beaming, and surrounded by suitors. Then Mr. Pancks descended and bore down upon him, with his utmost pressure of steam on.
The Patriarch, approaching with his usual benignity, was surprised to see Mr. Pancks, but supposed him to have been stimulated to an immediate squeeze instead of postponing that operation until Monday. The population of the Yard were astonished at the meeting, for the two powers had never been seen there together, within the memory of the oldest Bleeding Heart. But they were overcome by unutterable amazement when Mr. Pancks, going close up to the most venerable of men and halting in front of the bottle-green waistcoat, made a trigger of his right thumb and forefinger, applied the same to the brim of the broad-brimmed hat, and, with singular smartness and precision, shot it off the polished head as if it had been a large marble.
Having taken this little liberty with the Patriarchal person, Mr. Pancks further astounded and attracted the Bleeding Hearts by saying in an audible voice, âNow, you sugary swindler, I mean to have it out with you!â
Mr. Pancks and the Patriarch were instantly the centre of a press, all eyes and ears; windows were thrown open, and doorsteps were thronged.
âWhat do you pretend to be?â said Mr. Pancks. âWhatâs your moral game? What do you go in for? Benevolence, anât it? You benevolent!â Here Mr. Pancks, apparently without the intention of hitting him, but merely to relieve his mind and expend his superfluous power in wholesome exercise, aimed a blow at the bumpy head, which the bumpy head ducked to avoid. This singular performance was repeated, to the ever-increasing admiration of the spectators, at the end of every succeeding article of Mr. Pancksâs oration.
âI have discharged myself from your service,â said Pancks, âthat I may tell you what you are. Youâre one of a lot of impostors that are the worst lot of all the lots to be met with. Speaking as a sufferer by both, I donât know that I wouldnât as soon have the Merdle lot as your lot. Youâre a driver in disguise, a screwer by deputy, a wringer, and squeezer, and shaver by substitute. Youâre a philanthropic sneak. Youâre a shabby deceiver!â
(The repetition of the performance at this point was received with a burst of laughter.)
âAsk these good people whoâs the hard man here. Theyâll tell you Pancks, I believe.â
This was confirmed with cries of âCertainly,â and âHear!â
âBut I tell you, good peopleâ âCasby! This mound of meekness, this lump of love, this bottle-green smiler, this is your driver!â said Pancks. âIf you want to see the man who would flay you aliveâ âhere he is! Donât look for him in me, at thirty shillings a week, but look for him in Casby, at I donât know how much a year!â
âGood!â cried several voices. âHear Mr. Pancks!â
âHear Mr. Pancks?â cried that gentleman (after repeating the popular performance). âYes, I should think so! Itâs almost time to hear Mr. Pancks. Mr. Pancks has come down into the Yard tonight on purpose that you should hear him. Pancks is only the Works; but hereâs the Winder!â
The audience would have gone over to Mr. Pancks, as one man, woman, and child, but for the long, grey, silken locks, and the broad-brimmed hat.
âHereâs the Stop,â said Pancks, âthat sets the tune to be ground. And there is but one tune, and its name is Grind, Grind, Grind! Hereâs the Proprietor, and hereâs his Grubber. Why, good people, when he comes smoothly spinning through the Yard tonight, like a slow-going benevolent Humming-Top, and when you come about him with your complaints of the Grubber, you donât know what a cheat the Proprietor is! What do you think of his showing himself tonight, that I may have all the blame on Monday? What do you think of his having had me over the coals this very evening, because I donât squeeze you enough? What do you think of my being, at the present moment, under special orders to squeeze you dry on Monday?â
The reply was given in a murmur of âShame!â and âShabby!â
âShabby?â snorted Pancks. âYes, I should think so! The lot that your Casby belongs to, is the shabbiest of all the lots. Setting their Grubbers on, at a wretched pittance, to do what theyâre ashamed and afraid to do and pretend not to do, but what they will have done, or give a man no rest! Imposing on you to give their Grubbers nothing but blame, and to give them nothing but credit! Why, the worst-looking cheat in all this town who gets the value of eighteenpence under false pretences, anât half such a cheat as this signpost of The Casbyâs Head here!â
Cries of âThatâs true!â and âNo more he anât!â
âAnd see what you get of these fellows, besides,â said Pancks. âSee what more you get of these precious Humming-Tops, revolving among you with such smoothness that youâve no idea of the pattern painted on âem, or the little window in âem. I wish to call your attention to myself for a moment. I anât an agreeable style of chap, I know that very well.â
The auditory were divided on this point; its more uncompromising members crying, âNo, you are not,â and its politer materials, âYes, you are.â
âI am, in general,â said Mr. Pancks, âa dry, uncomfortable, dreary Plodder and Grubber. Thatâs your humble servant. Thereâs his full-length portrait, painted by himself and presented to you, warranted a likeness! But whatâs a man to be, with such a man
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