The Moonstone Wilkie Collins (ebook reader for manga .txt) đ
- Author: Wilkie Collins
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They first looked up the road, and down the road, and made sure that they were alone. Then they all three faced about, and stared hard in the direction of our house. Then they jabbered and disputed in their own language, and looked at each other like men in doubt. Then they all turned to their little English boy, as if they expected him to help them. And then the chief Indian, who spoke English, said to the boy, âHold out your hand.â
On hearing those dreadful words, my daughter Penelope said she didnât know what prevented her heart from flying straight out of her. I thought privately that it might have been her stays. All I said, however, was, âYou make my flesh creep.â (Nota bene: Women like these little compliments.)
Well, when the Indian said, âHold out your hand,â the boy shrunk back, and shook his head, and said he didnât like it. The Indian, thereupon, asked him (not at all unkindly), whether he would like to be sent back to London, and left where they had found him, sleeping in an empty basket in a marketâ âa hungry, ragged, and forsaken little boy. This, it seems, ended the difficulty. The little chap unwillingly held out his hand. Upon that, the Indian took a bottle from his bosom, and poured out of it some black stuff, like ink, into the palm of the boyâs hand. The Indianâ âfirst touching the boyâs head, and making signs over it in the airâ âthen said, âLook.â The boy became quite stiff, and stood like a statue, looking into the ink in the hollow of his hand.
(So far, it seemed to me to be juggling, accompanied by a foolish waste of ink. I was beginning to feel sleepy again, when Penelopeâs next words stirred me up.)
The Indians looked up the road and down the road once moreâ âand then the chief Indian said these words to the boy; âSee the English gentleman from foreign parts.â
The boy said, âI see him.â
The Indian said, âIs it on the road to this house, and on no other, that the English gentleman will travel today?â
The boy said, âIt is on the road to this house, and on no other, that the English gentleman will travel today.â The Indian put a second questionâ âafter waiting a little first. He said: âHas the English gentleman got It about him?â
The boy answeredâ âalso, after waiting a little firstâ ââYes.â
The Indian put a third and last question: âWill the English gentleman come here, as he has promised to come, at the close of day?â
The boy said, âI canât tell.â
The Indian asked why.
The boy said, âI am tired. The mist rises in my head, and puzzles me. I can see no more today.â
With that the catechism ended. The chief Indian said something in his own language to the other two, pointing to the boy, and pointing towards the town, in which (as we afterwards discovered) they were lodged. He then, after making more signs on the boyâs head, blew on his forehead, and so woke him up with a start. After that, they all went on their way towards the town, and the girls saw them no more.
Most things they say have a moral, if you only look for it. What was the moral of this?
The moral was, as I thought: First, that the chief juggler had heard Mr. Franklinâs arrival talked of among the servants out-of-doors, and saw his way to making a little money by it. Second, that he and his men and boy (with a view to making the said money) meant to hang about till they saw my lady drive home, and then to come back, and foretell Mr. Franklinâs arrival by magic. Third, that Penelope had heard them rehearsing their hocus-pocus, like actors rehearsing a play. Fourth, that I should do well to have an eye, that evening, on the plate-basket. Fifth, that Penelope would do well to cool down, and leave me, her father, to doze off again in the sun.
That appeared to me to be the sensible view. If you know anything of the ways of young women, you wonât be surprised to hear that Penelope wouldnât take it. The moral of the thing was serious, according to my daughter. She particularly reminded me of the Indianâs third question, Has the English gentleman got It about him? âOh, father!â says Penelope, clasping her hands, âdonât joke about this. What does âItâ mean?â
âWeâll ask Mr. Franklin, my dear,â I said, âif you can wait till Mr. Franklin comes.â I winked to show I meant that in joke. Penelope took it quite seriously. My girlâs earnestness tickled me. âWhat on earth should Mr. Franklin know about it?â I inquired. âAsk him,â says Penelope. âAnd see whether he thinks it a laughing matter, too.â With that parting shot, my daughter left me.
I settled it with myself, when she was gone, that I really would ask Mr. Franklinâ âmainly to set Penelopeâs mind at rest. What was said between us, when I did ask him, later on that same day, you will find set out fully in its proper place. But as I donât wish to raise your expectations and then disappoint them, I will take leave to warn you hereâ âbefore we go any furtherâ âthat you wonât find the ghost of a joke in our conversation on the subject of the jugglers. To my great surprise, Mr. Franklin, like Penelope, took the thing seriously. How seriously, you will
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