hard times(艰难时世)-第42章
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devotion of his best friend； of her unselfishness； of her sacrifice。
The return he makes her； within my observation； is a very poor
one。 What she has done for him demands his constant love and
gratitude； not his ill…humour and caprice。 Careless fellow as I am； I
am not so indifferent； Mrs Bounderby； as to be regardless of this
vice in your brother； or inclined to consider it a venial offence。”
The wood floated before her； for her eyes were suffused with
tears。 They rose from a deep well； long concealed； and her heart
was filled with acute pain that found no relief in them。
“In a word； it is to correct your brother in this； Mrs Bounderby；
that I must aspire。 My better knowledge of his circumstances； and
my direction and advice in extricating him—rather valuable； I
hope； as coming from a scapegrace on a much larger scale—will
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give me some influence over him； and all I gain I shall certainly
use towards this end。 I have said enough； and more than enough。 I
seem to be protesting that I am a sort of good fellow； when； upon
my honour； I have not the least intention to make any protestation
to that effect； and openly announce that I am nothing of the sort。
Yonder； among the trees；” he added； having lifted up his eyes and
looked about； for he had watched her closely until now； “is your
brother himself； no doubt； just come down。 As he seems to be
loitering in this direction； it may be as well； perhaps； to walk
towards him； and throw ourselves in his way。 He has been very
silent and doleful of late。 Perhaps his brotherly conscience is
touched—if there are such things as consciences。 Though； upon
my honour； I hear of them much too often to believe in them。”
He assisted her to rise； and she took his arm； and they
advanced to meet the whelp。 He was idly beating the branches as
he lounged along： or he stooped viciously to rip the moss from the
trees with his stick。 He was startled when they came upon him
while he was engaged in this latter pastime； and his colour
changed。
“Halloa！” he stammered； “I didn’t know you were here。”
“Whose name； Tom；” said Mr Harthouse； putting his hand upon
his shoulder and turning him； so that they all three walked
towards the house together； have you been carving on the trees？”
“Whose name？” returned Tom。 “Oh！ You mean what girl’s
name？”
“You have a suspicious appearance of inscribing some fair
creature’s on the bark； Tom。”
“Not much of that； Mr Harthouse； unless some fair creature
with a slashing fortune at her own disposal would take a fancy to
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me。 Or she might be as ugly as she was rich； without any fear of
losing me。 I’d carve her name as often as she liked。”
“I am afraid you are mercenary； Tom。”
“Mercenary；” repeated Tom。 “Who is not mercenary？ Ask my
sister。”
“Have you so proved it to be a failing of mine； Tom？” said
Louisa； showing no other sense of his discontent and ill…nature。
“You know whether the cap fits you； Loo；” returned her brother
sulkily。 “If it does； you can wear it。”
“Tom is misanthropical today； as all bored people are now and
then；” said Mr Harthouse。 “Don’t believe him； Mrs Bounderby。 He
knows much better。 I shall disclose some of his opinions of you；
privately expressed to me； unless he relents a little。
“At all events； Mr Harthouse；” said Tom； softening in his
admiration of his patron； but shaking his head sullenly too； “you
can’t tell her that I ever praised her for being mercenary。 I may
have praised her for being the contrary； and I should do it again if
I had as good reason。 However； never mind this now； it’s not very
interesting to you； and I am sick of the subject。”
They walked on to the house； where Louisa quitted her visitor’s
arm and went in。 He stood looking after her； as she ascended the
steps； and passed into the shadow of the door； then put his hand
upon her brother’s shoulder again； and invited him with a
confidential nod to a walk in the garden。
“Tom； my fine fellow； I want to have a word with you。”
They had stopped among a disorder of roses—it was part of Mr
Bounderby’s humility to keep Nickits’s roses on a reduced scale—
and Tom sat down on a terrace…parapet plucking buds and picking
them to pieces； while his powerful Familiar stood over him； with a
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foot upon the parapet； and his figure easily resting on the arm
supported by that knee。 They were just visible from her window。
Perhaps she saw them。
“Tom； what’s the matter？”
“Oh！ Mr Harthouse；” said Tom； with a groan； “I am hard up；
and bothered out of my life。”
“My good fellow； so am I。”
“You！” returned Tom。 “You are the picture of independence。
Mr Harthouse； I am in a horrible mess。 You have no idea what a
state I have got myself into—what a state my sister might have got
me out of； if she would only have done it。”
He took to biting the rosebuds now； and tearing them away
from his teeth with a hand that trembled like an infirm old man’s。
After one exceedingly observant look at him； his companion
relapsed into his lightest air。
“Tom； you are inconsiderate： you expect too much of your
sister。 You have had money of her； you dog； you know you have。”
“Well； Mr Harthouse； I know I have。 How else was I to get it？
Here’s old Bounderby always boasting that at my age he lived
upon two…pence a month； or something of that sort。 Here’s my
father drawing what he calls a line； and tying me down to it from a
baby； neck and heels。 Here’s my mother who never has anything
of her own； except her complaints。 What is a fellow to do for
money； and where am I to look for it； if not to my sister？”
He was almost crying； and scattered the buds about by dozens。
Mr Harthouse took him persuasively by the coat。
“But； my dear Tom； if your sister has not got it—”
“Not got it； Mr Harthouse？ I don’t say she has got it。 I may have
wanted more than she was likely to have got。 But then she ought
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to get it。 She could get it。 It’s of no use pretending to make a secret
of matters now； after what I have told you already： you know she
didn’t marry old Bounderby for her own sake； or for his sake； but
for my sake。 Then why doesn’t she get what I want； out of him； for
my sake？ She is not obliged to say what she is going to do with it；
she is sharp enough； she could manage to coax it out of him； if she
chose。 Then why doesn’t she choose； when I tell her of what
consequence it is？ But no。 There she sits in his company like a
stone； instead of making herself agreeable and getting it easily。 I
don’t know what you may call this； but I call it unnatural conduct。”
There was a piece of ornamental water immediately below the
parapet； on the other side； into which Mr James Harthouse had a
very strong inclination to pitch Mr Thomas Gradgrind Junior； as
the injured men of Coketown threatened to pitch their property
into the Atlantic。 But he preserved his easy attitude； and nothing
more solid went over the stone balustrades than the accumulated
rosebuds now floating about； a little surface…island。
“My dear Tom；” said Harthouse； “let me try to be your banker。”
“For God sake；” replied Tom； suddenly； “don’t talk about
bankers！” and very white he looked； in contrast with the roses。
Very white。
Mr Harthouse； as a thoroughly well bred man； accustomed to
the best society； was not to be surprised—he could as soon have
been affected—but he raised his eyelids a little more； as if they
were lifted by a feeble touch of wonder。 Albeit it was as much
against the precepts of his school to wonder； as it was against the
doctrines of the Gradgrind College。
“What is the present need； Tom？ Three figures？ Out with them。
Say what they are。”
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“Mr Harthouse；” returned Tom； now actually crying； and his
tears were better than his injuries； however pitiful a figure he
made； “it’s too late； the money is of no use to me at present。 I
should have had it before to be of use to me。 But I am very much
obliged to you； you’re a true friend。”
A true friend！ “Whelp； whelp！” thought Mr Harthouse； lazily；
“what an Ass you are！”
“And I take your offer as a great kindness；” said Tom grasping
his hand。 “As a great kindness； Mr Harthouse。”
“Well；” returned the other； “it may be of more use by and by。
And； my good fellow； if you will open your bedevilments to me
when they come thick upon you； I may show you better ways out
of them than you can find for yourself。”
“Thank you；” said Tom； shaking his head dismally； and
chewing rosebuds。 “I wish I had known you sooner； Mr
Harthouse。”
