Bleak House Charles Dickens (classic books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Dickens
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âIt may be, partly, because I know nothing of the value of money,â said Mr. Skimpole, âbut I often feel this. It seems so reasonable! My butcher says to me he wants that little bill. Itâs a part of the pleasant unconscious poetry of the manâs nature that he always calls it a âlittleâ billâ âto make the payment appear easy to both of us. I reply to the butcher, âMy good friend, if you knew it, you are paid. You havenât had the trouble of coming to ask for the little bill. You are paid. I mean it.âââ
âBut, suppose,â said my guardian, laughing, âhe had meant the meat in the bill, instead of providing it?â
âMy dear Jarndyce,â he returned, âyou surprise me. You take the butcherâs position. A butcher I once dealt with occupied that very ground. Says he, âSir, why did you eat spring lamb at eighteen pence a pound?â âWhy did I eat spring lamb at eighteen pence a pound, my honest friend?â said I, naturally amazed by the question. âI like spring lamb!â This was so far convincing. âWell, sir,â says he, âI wish I had meant the lamb as you mean the money!â âMy good fellow,â said I, âpray let us reason like intellectual beings. How could that be? It was impossible. You had got the lamb, and I have not got the money. You couldnât really mean the lamb without sending it in, whereas I can, and do, really mean the money without paying it!â He had not a word. There was an end of the subject.â
âDid he take no legal proceedings?â inquired my guardian.
âYes, he took legal proceedings,â said Mr. Skimpole. âBut in that he was influenced by passion, not by reason. Passion reminds me of Boythorn. He writes me that you and the ladies have promised him a short visit at his bachelor-house in Lincolnshire.â
âHe is a great favourite with my girls,â said Mr. Jarndyce, âand I have promised for them.â
âNature forgot to shade him off, I think,â observed Mr. Skimpole to Ada and me. âA little too boisterousâ âlike the sea. A little too vehementâ âlike a bull who has made up his mind to consider every colour scarlet. But I grant a sledgehammering sort of merit in him!â
I should have been surprised if those two could have thought very highly of one another, Mr. Boythorn attaching so much importance to many things and Mr. Skimpole caring so little for anything. Besides which, I had noticed Mr. Boythorn more than once on the point of breaking out into some strong opinion when Mr. Skimpole was referred to. Of course I merely joined Ada in saying that we had been greatly pleased with him.
âHe has invited me,â said Mr. Skimpole; âand if a child may trust himself in such handsâ âwhich the present child is encouraged to do, with the united tenderness of two angels to guard himâ âI shall go. He proposes to frank me down and back again. I suppose it will cost money? Shillings perhaps? Or pounds? Or something of that sort? By the by, Coavinses. You remember our friend Coavinses, Miss Summerson?â
He asked me as the subject arose in his mind, in his graceful, lighthearted manner and without the least embarrassment.
âOh, yes!â said I.
âCoavinses has been arrested by the Great Bailiff,â said Mr. Skimpole. âHe will never do violence to the sunshine any more.â
It quite shocked me to hear it, for I had already recalled with anything but a serious association the image of the man sitting on the sofa that night wiping his head.
âHis successor informed me of it yesterday,â said Mr. Skimpole. âHis successor is in my house nowâ âin possession, I think he calls it. He came yesterday, on my blue-eyed daughterâs birthday. I put it to him, âThis is unreasonable and inconvenient. If you had a blue-eyed daughter you wouldnât like me to come, uninvited, on her birthday?â But he stayed.â
Mr. Skimpole laughed at the pleasant absurdity and lightly touched the piano by which he was seated.
âAnd he told me,â he said, playing little chords where I shall put full stops, âThe Coavinses had left. Three children. No mother. And that Coavinsesâ profession. Being unpopular. The rising Coavinses. Were at a considerable disadvantage.â
Mr. Jarndyce got up, rubbing his head, and began to walk about. Mr. Skimpole played the melody of one of Adaâs favourite songs. Ada and I both looked at Mr. Jarndyce, thinking that we knew what was passing in his mind.
After walking and stopping, and several times leaving off rubbing his head, and beginning again, my guardian put his hand upon the keys and stopped Mr. Skimpoleâs playing. âI donât like this, Skimpole,â he said thoughtfully.
Mr. Skimpole, who had quite forgotten the subject, looked up surprised.
âThe man was necessary,â pursued my guardian, walking backward and forward in the very short space between the piano and the end of the room and rubbing his hair up from the back of his head as if a high east wind had blown it into that form. âIf
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