hard times(艰难时世)-第7章
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craving grew within them for some physical relief—some
relaxation； encouraging good humour and good spirits； and giving
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them a vent—some recognised holiday； though it were but for an
honest dance to a stirring band of music；—some occasional light
pie in which even M’Choakumchild had no finger—which craving
must and would be satisfied aright； or must and would inevitably
go wrong； until the laws of the Creation were repealed？
“This man lives at Pod’s End； and I don’t quite know Pod’s
End；” said Mr Gradgrind。 “Which is it； Bounderby？”
Mr Bounderby knew it was somewhere down town； but knew
no more respecting it。 So they stopped for a moment； looking
about。
Almost as they did so； there came running round the corner of
the street at a quick pace and with a frightened look； a girl whom
Mr Gradgrind recognised。 “Halloa！” said he。 “Stop！ Where are you
going？ Stop！” Girl number twenty stopped then； palpitating； and
made him a curtsey。
“Why are you tearing about the streets；” said Mr Gradgrind； “in
this improper manner？”
“I was—I was run after； sir；” the girl panted； “and I wanted to
get away。”
“Run after？” repeated Mr Gradgrind。 “Who would run after
you？”
The question was unexpectedly and suddenly answered for her；
by the colourless boy； Bitzer； who came round the corner with
such blind speed and so little anticipating a stoppage on the
pavement； that he brought himself up against Mr Gradgrind’s
waistcoat and rebounded into the road。
“What do you mean； boy？” said Mr Gradgrind。 “What are you
doing？ How dare you dash against—everybody—in this manner？”
Bitzer picked up his cap； which the concussion had knocked off；
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and backing； and knuckling his forehead； pleaded that it was an
accident。
“Was this boy running after you； Jupe？” asked Mr Gradgrind。
“Yes； sir；” said the girl reluctantly。
“No； I wasn’t； sir！” cried Bitzer。 “Not till she run away from me。
But the horse…riders never mind what they say； sir； they’re famous
for it。 You know the horse…riders are famous for never minding
what they say；” addressing Sissy。 “It’s as well known in the town
as—please； sir； as the multiplication table isn’t known to the horse…
riders。” Bitzer tried Mr Bounderby with this。
“He frightened me so；” said the girl； “with his cruel faces！”
“Oh！” cried Bitzer。 “Oh！ An’t you one of the rest！ An’t you a
horse…rider！ I never looked at her； sir。 I asked her if she would
know how to define a horse tomorrow； and offered to tell her
again； and she ran away； and I ran after her； sir； that she might
know how to answer when she was asked。 You wouldn’t have
thought of saying such mischief if you hadn’t been a horse…rider！”
“Her calling seems to be pretty well known among ’em；”
observed Mr Bounderby。 “You’d have had the whole school
peeping in a row； in a week。”
“Truly； I think so；” returned his friend。 “Bitzer； turn you about
and take yourself home。 Jupe； stay here a moment。 Let me hear of
your running in this manner any more； boy； and you will hear of
me through the master of the school。 You understand what I
mean。 Go along。”
The boy stopped in his rapid blinking； knuckled his forehead
again； glanced at Sissy； turned about； and retreated。
“Now； girl；” said Mr Gradgrind； “take this gentleman and me to
your father’s； we are going there。 What have you got in that bottle
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you are carrying？”
“Gin；” said Mr Bounderby。
“Dear； no sir！ It’s the nine oils。”
“The what？” cried Mr Bounderby。
“The nine oils； sir。 To rub father with。”
“Then；” said Mr Bounderby； with a loud short laugh； “what the
devil do you rub your father with nine oils for？”
“It’s what our people always use； sir； when they get any hurts in
the ring；” replied the girl； looking over her shoulder； to assure
herself that her pursuer was gone。 “They bruise themselves very
bad sometimes。”
“Serve ’em right；” said Mr Bounderby； “for being idle。” She
glanced up at his face； with mingled astonishment and dread。
“By George！” said Mr Bounderby； “when I was four or five
years younger than you； I had worse bruises upon me than ten
oils； twenty oils； forty oils would have rubbed off。 I didn’t get ’em
by posture…making； but by being banged about。 There was no
rope…dancing for me； I danced on the bare ground and was
larruped with the rope。”
Mr Gradgrind； though hard enough； was by no means so rough
a man as Mr Bounderby。 His character was not unkind； all things
considered； it might have been a very kind one indeed； if he had
only made some round mistake in the arithmetic that balanced it；
years ago。 He said； in what he meant for a reassuring tone； as they
turned down a narrow road； “And this is Pod’s End； is it； Jupe？”
“This is it； sir； and—if you wouldn’t mind； sir—this is the
house。”
She stopped； at twilight； at the door of a mean little public
house； with dim red lights in it。 As haggard and as shabby； as if；
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for want of custom； it had itself taken to drinking； and had gone
the way all drunkards go； and was very near the end of it。
“It’s only crossing the bar； sir； and up the stairs； if you wouldn’t
mind； and waiting there for a moment till I get a candle。 If you
should hear a dog； sir； it’s only Merrylegs； and he only barks。”
“Merrylegs and nine oils； eh！” said Mr Bounderby； entering last
with his metallic laugh。 “Pretty well this； for a self…made man！”
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Chapter 6
Sleary’s Horsemanship
he name of the public house was the Pegasus’s Arms。 The
Pegasus’s legs might have been more to the purpose； but；
T
underneath the winged horse upon the signboard； the
Pegasus’s Arms was inscribed in Roman letters。 Beneath that
inscription again； in a flowing scroll； the painter had touched off
the lines：
Good malt makes good beer；
Walk in； and they’ll draw it here；
Good wine makes good brandy；
Give us a call； and you’ll find it handy。
Framed and glazed upon the wall behind the dingy little bar；
was another Pegasus—a theatrical one—with real gauze let in for
his wings； golden stars stuck on all over him； and his ethereal
harness made of red silk。
As it had grown too dusky without； to see the sign； and as it had
not grown light enough within to see the picture； Mr Gradgrind
and Mr Bounderby received no offence from these idealities。 They
followed the girl up some steep corner…stairs without meeting
anyone； and stopped in the dark while she went on for a candle。
They expected every moment to hear Merrylegs give tongue； but
the highly trained performing dog had not barked when the girl
and the candle appeared together。
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“Father is not in our room； sir；” she said； with a face of great
surprise。 “If you wouldn’t mind walking in； I’ll find him directly。”
They walked in； and Sissy； having set two chairs for them； sped
away with a quick light step。 It was a mean； shabbily furnished
room； with a bed in it。 The white night…cap； embellished with two
peacock’s feathers and a pigtail bolt upright； in which Signor Jupe
had that very afternoon enlivened the varied performances with
his chaste Shakespearean quips and retorts； hung upon a nail； but
no other portion of his wardrobe； or other token of himself or his
pursuits； was to be seen anywhere。 As to Merrylegs； that
respectable ancestor of the highly trained animal who went
aboard the ark； might have been accidentally shut out of it； for any
sign of the dog that was manifest to eye or ear in the Pegasus’s
Arms。
They heard the doors of rooms above； opening and shutting as
Sissy went from one to another in quest of her father； and
presently they heard voices expressing surprise。 She came
bounding down again in a great hurry； opened a battered and
mangy old hair trunk； found it empty； and looked round with her
hands clasped and her face full of terror。
“Father must have gone down to the Booth； sir。 I don’t know
why he should go there； but he must be there； I’ll bring him in a
minute！” She was gone directly； without her bonnet； with her
long； dark； childish hair streaming behind her。
“What does she mean！” said Mr Gradgrind。 “Back in a minute？
It’s more than a mile off。”
Before Mr Bounderby could reply； a young man appeared at
the door； and introducing himself with t
