If we did by any chance diverge into another subject, we soon returned to this, and wondered what the house would be like, and when we should get there, and whether we should see Mr. Jarndyce as soon as we arrived or after a delay, and what he would say to us, and what we should say to him.

We wondered much about Mr. Jarndyce, and what the house would be like, and when we should get there.


All of which we wondered about, over and over again.


The roads were very heavy for the horses, but the pathway was generally good, so we alighted and walked up all the hills, and liked it so well that we prolonged our walk on the level ground when we got to the top.

The roads were very heavy for the horses, so we alighted and walked up all the hills.


At Barnet there were other horses waiting for us, but as they had only just been fed, we had to wait for them too, and got a long fresh walk over a common and an old battle-field before the carriage came up.

At Barnet there were other horses waiting for us, but as they had only just been fed, we had to wait for them too.


These delays so protracted the journey that the short day was spent and the long night had closed in before we came to St. Albans, near to which town Bleak House was, we knew.

These delays meant that the long night had closed in before we came to St. Albans, near to which Bleak House was.


By that time we were so anxious and nervous that even Richard confessed, as we rattled over the stones of the old street, to feeling an irrational desire to drive back again.

By that time we were anxious and nervous.


As to Ada and me, whom he had wrapped up with great care, the night being sharp and frosty, we trembled from head to foot.


When we turned out of the town, round a corner, and Richard told us that the post-boy, who had for a long time sympathized with our heightened expectation, was looking back and nodding, we both stood up in the carriage (Richard holding Ada lest she should be jolted down) and gazed round upon the open country and the starlight night for our destination.

We both stood up in the carriage (Richard holding Ada lest she should be jolted down) and gazed round upon the open country and the starlit night for our destination.


There was a light sparkling on the top of a hill before us, and the driver, pointing to it with his whip and crying, "That's Bleak House!"

There was a light sparkling on the top of a hill before us, and the driver pointed to it, crying, "That's Bleak House!"


put his horses into a canter and took us forward at such a rate, uphill though it was, that the wheels sent the road drift flying about our heads like spray from a water-mill.


Presently we lost the light, presently saw it, presently lost it, presently saw it, and turned into an avenue of trees and cantered up towards where it was beaming brightly.

; presently we turned into an avenue of trees and drove up towards the light.


It was in a window of what seemed to be an old-fashioned house with three peaks in the roof in front and a circular sweep leading to the porch.

It was in a window of what seemed to be an old-fashioned house with three peaks in the roof and a circular sweep leading to the porch.


A bell was rung as we drew up, and amidst the sound of its deep voice in the still air, and the distant barking of some dogs, and a gush of light from the opened door, and the smoking and steaming of the heated horses, and the quickened beating of our own hearts, we alighted in no inconsiderable confusion.

A bell was rung as we drew up. Amidst the sound of its deep voice in the still air, and the distant barking of some dogs, and a gush of light from the opened door, we alighted.


"Ada, my love, Esther, my dear, you are welcome.


Rick, if I had a hand to spare at present, I would give it you!"


The gentleman who said these words in a clear, bright, hospitable voice had one of his arms round Ada's waist and the other round mine, and kissed us both in a fatherly way, and bore us across the hall into a ruddy little room, all in a glow with a blazing fire.

The gentleman who said these words in a clear, bright, hospitable voice had one of his arms round Ada's waist and the other round mine, and kissed us both in a fatherly way. He bore us across the hall into a little room aglow with a blazing fire.


Here he kissed us again, and opening his arms, made us sit down side by side on a sofa ready drawn out near the hearth.

Here he kissed us again, and made us sit down side by side on a sofa near the hearth.


I felt that if we had been at all demonstrative, he would have run away in a moment.


A word in earnest is as good as a speech.


Richard shook him by both hands with an intuitive mixture of respect and frankness, and only saying (though with an earnestness that rather alarmed me, I was so afraid of Mr. Jarndyce's suddenly disappearing), "You are very kind, sir!

Richard shook him by both hands, saying (with an earnestness that rather alarmed me, I was so afraid of Mr. Jarndyce's suddenly disappearing), "You are very kind, sir!


laid aside his hat and coat and came up to the fire.


And how did you like Mrs. Jellyby, my dear?"


While Ada was speaking to him in reply, I glanced (I need not say with how much interest) at his face.

While Ada was replying, I glanced with interest at his face.


It was a handsome, lively, quick face, full of change and motion; and his hair was a silvered iron-grey.


I took him to be nearer sixty than fifty, but he was upright, hearty, and robust.


From the moment of his first speaking to us his voice had connected itself with an association in my mind that I could not define; but now, all at once, a something sudden in his manner and a pleasant expression in his eyes recalled the gentleman in the stagecoach six years ago on the memorable day of my journey to Reading.

When he first spoke to us his voice had connected itself with a memory that I could not define; but now, all at once, I recalled the gentleman in the stagecoach six years ago on the memorable day of my journey to Reading.


I never was so frightened in my life as when I made the discovery, for he caught my glance, and appearing to read my thoughts, gave such a look at the door that I thought we had lost him.

He caught my glance, and appearing to read my thoughts, gave such a look at the door that I thought we had lost him.


However, I am happy to say he remained where he was, and asked me what I thought of Mrs. Jellyby.


"She exerts herself very much for Africa, sir," I said.


"We rather thought," said I, glancing at Richard and Ada, who entreated me with their eyes to speak, "that perhaps she was a little unmindful of her home."

"We rather thought," said I, glancing at Richard and Ada, "that perhaps she was a little unmindful of her home."


I want to know your real thoughts, my dear.


"We thought that, perhaps," said I, hesitating, "it is right to begin with the obligations of home, sir; and that, perhaps, while those are overlooked and neglected, no other duties can possibly be substituted for them."

"We thought that, perhaps," said I, hesitating, "it is right to begin with the obligations of home, sir; and that, perhaps, if those are neglected, no other duties can be substituted for them."


"The little Jellybys," said Richard, coming to my relief, "are really--I can't help expressing myself strongly, sir--in a devil of a state."

"The little Jellybys," said Richard, coming to my relief, "are really in a devil of a state, sir."


"She means well," said Mr. Jarndyce hastily.


"It was in the north, sir, as we came down," observed Richard.


"My dear Rick," said Mr. Jarndyce, poking the fire, "I'll take an oath it's either in the east or going to be.

"My dear Rick," said Mr. Jarndyce, poking the fire, "it's either in the east or going to be.


I am always conscious of an uncomfortable sensation now and then when the wind is blowing in the east."

I am always conscious of an uncomfortable feeling when the wind is blowing in the east."


And so the little Jell--I had my doubts about 'em--are in a--oh, Lord, yes, it's easterly!"

And so the little Jell - oh, Lord, yes, it's easterly!"


He had taken two or three undecided turns up and down while uttering these broken sentences, retaining the poker in one hand and rubbing his hair with the other, with a good-natured vexation at once so whimsical and so lovable that I am sure we were more delighted with him than we could possibly have expressed in any words.

He took two or three undecided turns up and down, holding the poker in one hand and rubbing his hair with the other, with a good-natured vexation at once both whimsical and lovable.


He gave an arm to Ada and an arm to me, and bidding Richard bring a candle, was leading the way out when he suddenly turned us all back again.


Couldn't you--didn't you--now, if it had rained sugar-plums, or three-cornered raspberry tarts, or anything of that sort!"

Couldn't you - now, if it had rained sugar-plums, or raspberry tarts, or anything of that sort!"


"Then, cousin John--" Ada laughingly began again.

"Then, cousin John-" Ada laughingly began again.


"Why, cousin John," said Ada, clasping her hands upon his arm and shaking her head at me across him--for I wanted her to be quiet--"Esther was their friend directly.

"Why, cousin John," said Ada - though I wanted her to be quiet - "Esther was their friend at once.


Esther nursed them, coaxed them to sleep, washed and dressed them, told them stories, kept them quiet, bought them keepsakes"--My dear girl!

Esther nursed them, coaxed them to sleep, washed and dressed them, told them stories, kept them quiet, bought them keepsakes" - My dear girl!


I had only gone out with Peepy after he was found and given him a little, tiny horse!--"and, cousin John, she softened poor Caroline, the eldest one, so much and was so thoughtful for me and so amiable!

I had only gone out with Peepy after he was found and given him a little, tiny horse! - "and, cousin John, she softened poor Caroline, the eldest one, so much and was so thoughtful and amiable!


No, no, I won't be contradicted, Esther dear!

No, I won't be contradicted, Esther dear!


The warm-hearted darling leaned across her cousin John and kissed me, and then looking up in his face, boldly said, "At all events, cousin John, I WILL thank you for the companion you have given me."

The warm-hearted darling leaned over and kissed me, and then boldly said, "At all events, cousin John, I will thank you for the companion you have given me."


I felt as if she challenged him to run away.


It was one of those delightfully irregular houses where you go up and down steps out of one room into another, and where you come upon more rooms when you think you have seen all there are, and where there is a bountiful provision of little halls and passages, and where you find still older cottage-rooms in unexpected places with lattice windows and green growth pressing through them.

It was one of those delightfully irregular houses where you go up and down steps out of one room into another, and keep finding unexpected rooms, and little halls and passages, and still older cottage-rooms with lattice windows and green growth pressing through them.


Mine, which we entered first, was of this kind, with an up-and-down roof that had more corners in it than I ever counted afterwards and a chimney (there was a wood fire on the hearth) paved all around with pure white tiles, in every one of which a bright miniature of the fire was blazing.

Mine, which we entered first, was of this kind, with an up-and-down roof full of corners, and a chimney paved all around with pure white tiles, in each of which a bright miniature of the fire was blazing.


Out of this room, you went down two steps into a charming little sitting-room looking down upon a flower-garden, which room was henceforth to belong to Ada and me.

From this room, you went down two steps into a charming little sitting-room looking down upon a flower-garden.


Out of this you went up three steps into Ada's bedroom, which had a fine broad window commanding a beautiful view (we saw a great expanse of darkness lying underneath the stars), to which there was a hollow window-seat, in which, with a spring-lock, three dear Adas might have been lost at once.

Out of this you went up three steps into Ada's bedroom, which had a fine broad window commanding a beautiful view, and an enormous window-seat.


Out of this room you passed into a little gallery, with which the other best rooms (only two) communicated, and so, by a little staircase of shallow steps with a number of corner stairs in it, considering its length, down into the hall.

Out of this room you passed into a little gallery, and by a winding staircase down into the hall.


But if instead of going out at Ada's door you came back into my room, and went out at the door by which you had entered it, and turned up a few crooked steps that branched off in an unexpected manner from the stairs, you lost yourself in passages, with mangles in them, and three-cornered tables, and a native Hindu chair, which was also a sofa, a box, and a bedstead, and looked in every form something between a bamboo skeleton and a great bird-cage, and had been brought from India nobody knew by whom or when.

But if instead of going out at Ada's door you came back into my room, and went out at the door by which you had entered it, and turned up a few crooked steps, you lost yourself in passages with mangles in them, and three-cornered tables, and a Hindu chair.


From these you came on Richard's room, which was part library, part sitting-room, part bedroom, and seemed indeed a comfortable compound of many rooms.

From these you came to Richard's room, which was part library, part sitting-room, part comfortable bedroom.


Out of that you went straight, with a little interval of passage, to the plain room where Mr. Jarndyce slept, all the year round, with his window open, his bedstead without any furniture standing in the middle of the floor for more air, and his cold bath gaping for him in a smaller room adjoining.

Out of that you went down a passage, to the plain room where Mr. Jarndyce slept with his window open, his bedstead standing alone in the middle of the floor.


Out of that you came into another passage, where there were back-stairs and where you could hear the horses being rubbed down outside the stable and being told to "Hold up" and "Get over," as they slipped about very much on the uneven stones.

Out of that you came into another passage, where there were back-stairs and where you could hear the horses being rubbed down outside the stable.


Or you might, if you came out at another door (every room had at least two doors), go straight down to the hall again by half-a-dozen steps and a low archway, wondering how you got back there or had ever got out of it.

Or you might, if you came out at another door (every room had at least two doors), go straight down to the hall again through a low archway, wondering how you got back there or had ever got out of it.


The furniture, old-fashioned rather than old, like the house, was as pleasantly irregular.

The furniture, like the house, was old-fashioned and pleasantly irregular.


Ada's sleeping-room was all flowers--in chintz and paper, in velvet, in needlework, in the brocade of two stiff courtly chairs which stood, each attended by a little page of a stool for greater state, on either side of the fire-place.

Ada's bedroom was all flowers - in chintz and paper, velvet, needlework, and brocade.


Our sitting-room was green and had framed and glazed upon the walls numbers of surprising and surprised birds, staring out of pictures at a real trout in a case, as brown and shining as if it had been served with gravy; at the death of Captain Cook; and at the whole process of preparing tea in China, as depicted by Chinese artists.

Our sitting-room had framed upon the walls numbers of surprising and surprised birds; a real trout in a case; the death of Captain Cook; and the process of preparing tea in China, as depicted by Chinese artists.


In my room there were oval engravings of the months--ladies haymaking in short waists and large hats tied under the chin, for June; smooth-legged noblemen pointing with cocked-hats to village steeples, for October.

In my room there were oval engravings of the months - ladies haymaking in large hats tied under the chin, for June; noblemen pointing with cocked-hats to village steeples, for October.


Half-length portraits in crayons abounded all through the house, but were so dispersed that I found the brother of a youthful officer of mine in the china-closet and the grey old age of my pretty young bride, with a flower in her bodice, in the breakfast-room.


As substitutes, I had four angels, of Queen Anne's reign, taking a complacent gentleman to heaven, in festoons, with some difficulty; and a composition in needlework representing fruit, a kettle, and an alphabet.

I also had four angels, of Queen Anne's reign, taking a complacent gentleman to heaven, in festoons, with some difficulty; and a composition in needlework representing fruit, a kettle, and an alphabet.


All the movables, from the wardrobes to the chairs and tables, hangings, glasses, even to the pincushions and scent-bottles on the dressing-tables, displayed the same quaint variety.


They agreed in nothing but their perfect neatness, their display of the whitest linen, and their storing-up, wheresoever the existence of a drawer, small or large, rendered it possible, of quantities of rose-leaves and sweet lavender.

Everything was in a state of perfect neatness, with the whitest linen, and lavender sweetening every drawer.


Such, with its illuminated windows, softened here and there by shadows of curtains, shining out upon the starlight night; with its light, and warmth, and comfort; with its hospitable jingle, at a distance, of preparations for dinner; with the face of its generous master brightening everything we saw; and just wind enough without to sound a low accompaniment to everything we heard, were our first impressions of Bleak House.

Such, with its light, and warmth, and comfort; with the face of its generous master, and a faint wind blowing outside, were our first impressions of Bleak House.


"I am glad you like it," said Mr. Jarndyce when he had brought us round again to Ada's sitting-room.


"It makes no pretensions, but it is a comfortable little place, I hope, and will be more so with such bright young looks in it.

"It is a comfortable little place, I hope, and will be more so with such bright young looks in it.


You have barely half an hour before dinner.


There's no one here but the finest creature upon earth--a child."

There's no one else here but the finest creature upon earth - a child."


"I don't mean literally a child," pursued Mr. Jarndyce; "not a child in years.

"I don't mean literally a child," added Mr. Jarndyce; "not a child in years.


He is grown up--he is at least as old as I am--but in simplicity, and freshness, and enthusiasm, and a fine guileless inaptitude for all worldly affairs, he is a perfect child."

He is as old as I am - but in simplicity, and enthusiasm, and a fine guileless inaptitude for all worldly affairs, he is a perfect child."


We felt that he must be very interesting.


"He knows Mrs. Jellyby," said Mr. Jarndyce.


"He is a musical man, an amateur, but might have been a professional.


He is an artist too, an amateur, but might have been a professional.


He is a man of attainments and of captivating manners.


He has been unfortunate in his affairs, and unfortunate in his pursuits, and unfortunate in his family; but he don't care--he's a child!"

He has been unfortunate; but he don't care - he's a child!"


"Did you imply that he has children of his own, sir?"


"And have the children looked after themselves at all, sir?"


"Why, just as you may suppose," said Mr. Jarndyce, his countenance suddenly falling.

"Why," said Mr. Jarndyce, his face suddenly falling.


"It is said that the children of the very poor are not brought up, but dragged up.


"Harold Skimpole's children have tumbled up somehow or other.


The wind's getting round again, I am afraid.

The wind's getting round again, I am afraid!


Richard observed that the situation was exposed on a sharp night.


Our luggage having arrived and being all at hand, I was dressed in a few minutes and engaged in putting my worldly goods away when a maid (not the one in attendance upon Ada, but another, whom I had not seen) brought a basket into my room with two bunches of keys in it, all labelled.

Our luggage having arrived, I was dressed in a few minutes and was putting my things away when a maid brought a basket into my room with two bunches of keys in it, all labelled.


"For you, miss, if you please," said she.


I showed my surprise, for she added with some little surprise on her own part, "I was told to bring them as soon as you was alone, miss.


Miss Summerson, if I don't deceive myself?"


"The large bunch is the housekeeping, and the little bunch is the cellars, miss.


Any time you was pleased to appoint to-morrow morning, I was to show you the presses and things they belong to."

Any time you was pleased to appoint tomorrow morning, I was to show you the cupboards and things they belong to."


I said I would be ready at half-past six, and after she was gone, stood looking at the basket, quite lost in the magnitude of my trust.


Ada found me thus and had such a delightful confidence in me when I showed her the keys and told her about them that it would have been insensibility and ingratitude not to feel encouraged.

Ada found me thus, and showed a delightful confidence in me when I told her about the keys.


I knew, to be sure, that it was the dear girl's kindness, but I liked to be so pleasantly cheated.

I knew, to be sure, that it was only the dear girl's kindness, but I liked to be so encouraged.


When we went downstairs, we were presented to Mr. Skimpole, who was standing before the fire telling Richard how fond he used to be, in his school-time, of football.

When we went downstairs, we were presented to Mr. Skimpole, who was standing before the fire.


He was a little bright creature with a rather large head, but a delicate face and a sweet voice, and there was a perfect charm in him.


All he said was so free from effort and spontaneous and was said with such a captivating gaiety that it was fascinating to hear him talk.

He spoke with such a captivating gaiety that it was fascinating to hear him talk.


Being of a more slender figure than Mr. Jarndyce and having a richer complexion, with browner hair, he looked younger.

Being more slender than Mr. Jarndyce and less grey, he looked younger.


Indeed, he had more the appearance in all respects of a damaged young man than a well-preserved elderly one.

Indeed, he had more the appearance of a damaged young man rather than a well-preserved elderly one.


There was an easy negligence in his manner and even in his dress (his hair carelessly disposed, and his neck-kerchief loose and flowing, as I have seen artists paint their own portraits) which I could not separate from the idea of a romantic youth who had undergone some unique process of depreciation.

There was an easy negligence in his manner and his dress which made me think of a romantic youth.


It struck me as being not at all like the manner or appearance of a man who had advanced in life by the usual road of years, cares, and experiences.

It was not at all like the manner of a man who had experienced life's usual cares.


I gathered from the conversation that Mr. Skimpole had been educated for the medical profession and had once lived, in his professional capacity, in the household of a German prince.

I gathered from the conversation that Mr. Skimpole had been educated for the medical profession and had once been doctor in the household of a German prince.


He told us, however, that as he had always been a mere child in point of weights and measures and had never known anything about them (except that they disgusted him), he had never been able to prescribe with the requisite accuracy of detail.

He told us, however, that as he had always been a mere child in point of weights and measures and had never known anything about them, he had never been able to prescribe accurately.


In fact, he said, he had no head for detail.


And he told us, with great humour, that when he was wanted to bleed the prince or physic any of his people, he was generally found lying on his back in bed, reading the newspapers or making fancy-sketches in pencil, and couldn't come.

And he told us, with great humour, that when he was wanted to tend the prince, he was generally found lying on his bed, reading the newspapers or sketching, and couldn't come.


The prince, at last, objecting to this, "in which," said Mr. Skimpole, in the frankest manner, "he was perfectly right," the engagement terminated, and Mr. Skimpole having (as he added with delightful gaiety) "nothing to live upon but love, fell in love, and married, and surrounded himself with rosy cheeks."

When the prince objected to this, the post ended, and Mr. Skimpole having (as he added with delightful gaiety) "nothing to live upon but love, fell in love, and married, and surrounded himself with rosy cheeks."


His good friend Jarndyce and some other of his good friends then helped him, in quicker or slower succession, to several openings in life, but to no purpose, for he must confess to two of the oldest infirmities in the world: one was that he had no idea of time, the other that he had no idea of money.

His good friend Jarndyce and some other friends helped him to several openings in life, but to no purpose, for he must confess that he had no idea of time, and no idea of money.


In consequence of which he never kept an appointment, never could transact any business, and never knew the value of anything!

In consequence of which he never kept an appointment, could never do any business, and never knew the value of anything!


So he had got on in life, and here he was!


He was very fond of reading the papers, very fond of making fancy-sketches with a pencil, very fond of nature, very fond of art.

He was very fond of reading the papers, and sketching with a pencil, very fond of nature and of art.


All he asked of society was to let him live.


Give him the papers, conversation, music, mutton, coffee, landscape, fruit in the season, a few sheets of Bristol-board, and a little claret, and he asked no more.

Give him the papers, conversation, music, mutton, coffee, landscape, fruit in the season, a few sheets of Bristol-board, and a little wine, and he asked no more.


He was a mere child in the world, but he didn't cry for the moon.


He said to the world, "Go your several ways in peace!


Wear red coats, blue coats, lawn sleeves; put pens behind your ears, wear aprons; go after glory, holiness, commerce, trade, any object you prefer; only--let Harold Skimpole live!"


All this and a great deal more he told us, not only with the utmost brilliancy and enjoyment, but with a certain vivacious candour--speaking of himself as if he were not at all his own affair, as if Skimpole were a third person, as if he knew that Skimpole had his singularities but still had his claims too, which were the general business of the community and must not be slighted.

All this he told us, with the utmost brilliancy, enjoyment, and candour - speaking of himself as if Skimpole were a third person, who had his singularities but had his claims too, which must not be slighted.


If I felt at all confused at that early time in endeavouring to reconcile anything he said with anything I had thought about the duties and accountabilities of life (which I am far from sure of), I was confused by not exactly understanding why he was free of them.

, although I was confused by not exactly understanding why he was free of the duties of life.


That he WAS free of them, I scarcely doubted; he was so very clear about it himself.

That he was free of them, I did not doubt; he was so very clear about it himself.


"I covet nothing," said Mr. Skimpole in the same light way.


Here is my friend Jarndyce's excellent house.


I feel obliged to him for possessing it.


When I am here, I have sufficient possession of it and have neither trouble, cost, nor responsibility.


My steward's name, in short, is Jarndyce, and he can't cheat me.


There is a bright-eyed woman, of a strong will and immense power of business detail, who throws herself into objects with surprising ardour!

There is a woman of strong will and immense power of business detail!


I don't regret that I have not a strong will and an immense power of business detail to throw myself into objects with surprising ardour.


those qualities; I can admire her without envy.


I can lie down on the grass--in fine weather--and float along an African river, embracing all the natives I meet, as sensible of the deep silence and sketching the dense overhanging tropical growth as accurately as if I were there.

I can lie down on the grass - in fine weather - and float along an African river, embracing all the natives I meet.


I don't know that it's of any direct use my doing so, but it's all I can do, and I do it thoroughly.

I don't know that it's of any use, but it's all I can do, and I do it thoroughly.


Then, for heaven's sake, having Harold Skimpole, a confiding child, petitioning you, the world, an agglomeration of practical people of business habits, to let him live and admire the human family, do it somehow or other, like good souls, and suffer him to ride his rocking-horse!"

Then, for heaven's sake, let Harold Skimpole live and admire the human family, like good souls, and allow him to ride his rocking-horse!"


It was plain enough that Mr. Jarndyce had not been neglectful of the adjuration.

It was plain enough that Mr. Jarndyce had not neglected this advice.


Mr. Skimpole's general position there would have rendered it so without the addition of what he presently said.


"It's only you, the generous creatures, whom I envy," said Mr. Skimpole, addressing us, his new friends, in an impersonal manner.

"It's only you, the generous creatures, whom I envy," said Mr. Skimpole.


"I envy you your power of doing what you do.


I don't feel any vulgar gratitude to you.


I almost feel as if YOU ought to be grateful to ME for giving you the opportunity of enjoying the luxury of generosity.

I almost feel as if you ought to be grateful to me for giving you the opportunity of enjoying the luxury of generosity.


For anything I can tell, I may have come into the world expressly for the purpose of increasing your stock of happiness.

For anything I can tell, I may have come into the world expressly for the purpose of increasing your happiness


I may have been born to be a benefactor to you by sometimes giving you an opportunity of assisting me in my little perplexities.


Why should I regret my incapacity for details and worldly affairs when it leads to such pleasant consequences?

Why should I regret my incapacity for worldly affairs when it leads to such pleasant consequences?"


Of all his playful speeches (playful, yet always fully meaning what they expressed) none seemed to be more to the taste of Mr. Jarndyce than this.

Of all his playful speeches none seemed to be more agreeable to Mr. Jarndyce than this; Mr.


I had often new temptations, afterwards, to wonder whether it was really singular, or only singular to me, that he, who was probably the most grateful of mankind upon the least occasion, should so desire to escape the gratitude of others.

Jarndyce being probably the most grateful of mankind for the smallest reasons, yet desiring to escape the gratitude of others.


I felt it a merited tribute to the engaging qualities of Ada and Richard that Mr. Skimpole, seeing them for the first time, should be so unreserved and should lay himself out to be so exquisitely agreeable.


They (and especially Richard) were naturally pleased, for similar reasons, and considered it no common privilege to be so freely confided in by such an attractive man.

Richard especially was pleased to be so freely confided in by such an attractive man.


The more we listened, the more gaily Mr. Skimpole talked.


And what with his fine hilarious manner and his engaging candour and his genial way of lightly tossing his own weaknesses about, as if he had said, "I am a child, you know!


You are designing people compared with me" (he really made me consider myself in that light) "but I am gay and innocent; forget your worldly arts and play with me!"


He was so full of feeling too and had such a delicate sentiment for what was beautiful or tender that he could have won a heart by that alone.


In the evening, when I was preparing to make tea and Ada was touching the piano in the adjoining room and softly humming a tune to her cousin Richard, which they had happened to mention, he came and sat down on the sofa near me and so spoke of Ada that I almost loved him.

In the evening, when I was preparing to make tea and Ada was touching the piano in the adjoining room and softly humming a tune to her cousin Richard, he came and sat down near me and so spoke of Ada that I almost loved him.


"With that golden hair, those blue eyes, and that fresh bloom on her cheek, she is like the summer morning.


We will not call such a lovely young creature as that, who is a joy to all mankind, an orphan.

We will not call such a lovely young creature an orphan.


Mr. Jarndyce, I found, was standing near us with his hands behind him and an attentive smile upon his face.

Mr. Jarndyce, I found, was standing near us, smiling.


"The universe," he observed, "makes rather an indifferent parent, I am afraid."


"You know the world (which in your sense is the universe), and I know nothing of it, so you shall have your way.

"I know nothing of the world, so you shall have your way.


But if I had mine," glancing at the cousins, "there should be no brambles of sordid realities in such a path as that.

But if I had mine, there should be no brambles of sordid realities in such a path as that.


It should be strewn with roses; it should lie through bowers, where there was no spring, autumn, nor winter, but perpetual summer.

It should be strewn with roses; it should live in perpetual summer.


The base word money should never be breathed near it!"


Mr. Jarndyce patted him on the head with a smile, as if he had been really a child, and passing a step or two on, and stopping a moment, glanced at the young cousins.

Mr. Jarndyce patted him on the head with a smile, as if he had been really a child, and glanced at the young cousins.


His look was thoughtful, but had a benignant expression in it which I often (how often!)

His look was thoughtful, but had a benign expression which I often


saw again, which has long been engraven on my heart.

saw again, and which has long been engraven on my heart.


The room in which they were, communicating with that in which he stood, was only lighted by the fire.


Ada sat at the piano; Richard stood beside her, bending down.

Ada sat at the piano; Richard stood beside her.


Upon the wall, their shadows blended together, surrounded by strange forms, not without a ghostly motion caught from the unsteady fire, though reflecting from motionless objects.

Upon the wall, their shadows blended together, shifting with the firelight.


Ada touched the notes so softly and sang so low that the wind, sighing away to the distant hills, was as audible as the music.

Ada touched the notes so softly and sang so low that the sighing wind was as audible as the music.


The mystery of the future and the little clue afforded to it by the voice of the present seemed expressed in the whole picture.

The mystery of the future seemed expressed in the whole picture.


But it is not to recall this fancy, well as I remember it, that I recall the scene.


First, I was not quite unconscious of the contrast in respect of meaning and intention between the silent look directed that way and the flow of words that had preceded it.


Secondly, though Mr. Jarndyce's glance as he withdrew it rested for but a moment on me, I felt as if in that moment he confided to me--and knew that he confided to me and that I received the confidence--his hope that Ada and Richard might one day enter on a dearer relationship.

Mr. Jarndyce's glance then rested for a moment on me. I felt as if in that moment he confided to me his hope that Ada and Richard might one day enter on a dearer relationship.


Mr. Skimpole could play on the piano and the violoncello, and he was a composer--had composed half an opera once, but got tired of it--and played what he composed with taste.

Mr. Skimpole could play the piano and the cello, and he was a composer - had composed half an opera once, but got tired of it - and played with taste.


After tea we had quite a little concert, in which Richard--who was enthralled by Ada's singing and told me that she seemed to know all the songs that ever were written--and Mr. Jarndyce, and I were the audience.

After tea we had quite a little concert, in which Richard - who was enthralled by Ada's singing - and Mr. Jarndyce and I were the audience.


After a little while I missed first Mr. Skimpole and afterwards Richard, and while I was thinking how could Richard stay away so long and lose so much, the maid who had given me the keys looked in at the door, saying, "If you please, miss, could you spare a minute?"

After a little while first Mr. Skimpole and then Richard disappeared, and while I was wondering how he could stay away so long, the maid looked in at the door, saying, "If you please, miss, could you spare a minute?"


When I was shut out with her in the hall, she said, holding up her hands, "Oh, if you please, miss, Mr. Carstone says would you come upstairs to Mr. Skimpole's room.

When I was shut out with her in the hall, she said, holding up her hands, "Please, miss, Mr. Carstone says would you come upstairs to Mr. Skimpole's room.


I was apprehensive that his illness might be of a dangerous kind, but of course I begged her to be quiet and not disturb any one and collected myself, as I followed her quickly upstairs, sufficiently to consider what were the best remedies to be applied if it should prove to be a fit.

I was worried that he might be dangerously ill, but of course I collected myself as I followed her quickly upstairs, considering the best remedies if it should prove to be a fit.


She threw open a door and I went into a chamber, where, to my unspeakable surprise, instead of finding Mr. Skimpole stretched upon the bed or prostrate on the floor, I found him standing before the fire smiling at Richard, while Richard, with a face of great embarrassment, looked at a person on the sofa, in a white great-coat, with smooth hair upon his head and not much of it, which he was wiping smoother and making less of with a pocket-handkerchief.

She threw open a door and I went into a chamber, where, to my surprise, instead of finding Mr. Skimpole stretched upon the bed, he was standing before the fire smiling at Richard, while Richard, embarrassed, looked at a person on the sofa, in a white great-coat, wiping his head with a pocket-handkerchief.


"Miss Summerson," said Richard hurriedly, "I am glad you are come.


Our friend Mr. Skimpole--don't be alarmed!--is arrested for debt."

Our friend Mr. Skimpole - don't be alarmed! - is arrested for debt."


"And really, my dear Miss Summerson," said Mr. Skimpole with his agreeable candour, "I never was in a situation in which that excellent sense and quiet habit of method and usefulness, which anybody must observe in you who has the happiness of being a quarter of an hour in your society, was more needed."

"And really, my dear Miss Summerson," said Mr. Skimpole with his agreeable candour, "I never was in a situation in which your excellent sense and quiet usefulness were more needed."


The person on the sofa, who appeared to have a cold in his head, gave such a very loud snort that he startled me.

The person on the sofa gave such a very loud snort that he startled me.


"My dear Miss Summerson," said he, shaking his head pleasantly, "I don't know.


Some pounds, odd shillings, and halfpence, I think, were mentioned."


"It's twenty-four pound, sixteen, and sevenpence ha'penny," observed the stranger.


"And it sounds--somehow it sounds," said Mr. Skimpole, "like a small sum?"

"And is that a small sum?" said Mr. Skimpole.


The strange man said nothing but made another snort.


It was such a powerful one that it seemed quite to lift him out of his seat.


"Mr. Skimpole," said Richard to me, "has a delicacy in applying to my cousin Jarndyce because he has lately--I think, sir, I understood you that you had lately--"

"Mr. Skimpole," said Richard to me, "is reluctant to apply to my cousin Jarndyce because he has lately-"


"Though I forgot how much it was and when it was.


Jarndyce would readily do it again, but I have the epicure-like feeling that I would prefer a novelty in help, that I would rather," and he looked at Richard and me, "develop generosity in a new soil and in a new form of flower."

Jarndyce would readily do it again, but I would rather develop generosity in a new soil and in a new form of flower."


"What do you think will be best, Miss Summerson?"


I ventured to inquire, generally, before replying, what would happen if the money were not produced.

I inquired what would happen if the money were not produced.


"Jail," said the strange man, coolly putting his handkerchief into his hat, which was on the floor at his feet.


Richard and I looked at one another again.


It was a most singular thing that the arrest was our embarrassment and not Mr. Skimpole's.


He observed us with a genial interest, but there seemed, if I may venture on such a contradiction, nothing selfish in it.


He had entirely washed his hands of the difficulty, and it had become ours.


"I thought," he suggested, as if good-naturedly to help us out, "that being parties in a Chancery suit concerning (as people say) a large amount of property, Mr. Richard or his beautiful cousin, or both, could sign something, or make over something, or give some sort of undertaking, or pledge, or bond?

"I thought," he suggested good-naturedly, "that being parties in a Chancery suit concerning (as people say) a large amount of property, Mr. Richard or his beautiful cousin, or both, could sign something, or make over something, or give some sort of undertaking?"


I don't know what the business name of it may be, but I suppose there is some instrument within their power that would settle this?"


"Not a bit on it," said the strange man.


"That seems odd, now, to one who is no judge of these things!"


"Odd or even," said the stranger gruffly, "I tell you, not a bit on it!"


"Keep your temper, my good fellow, keep your temper!"


Mr. Skimpole gently reasoned with him as he made a little drawing of his head on the fly-leaf of a book.


We can separate you from your office; we can separate the individual from the pursuit.


We are not so prejudiced as to suppose that in private life you are otherwise than a very estimable man, with a great deal of poetry in your nature, of which you may not be conscious."


The stranger only answered with another violent snort, whether in acceptance of the poetry-tribute or in disdainful rejection of it, he did not express to me.


"Now, my dear Miss Summerson, and my dear Mr. Richard," said Mr. Skimpole gaily, innocently, and confidingly as he looked at his drawing with his head on one side, "here you see me utterly incapable of helping myself, and entirely in your hands!

"Now, my dear Miss Summerson, and my dear Mr. Richard, here you see me utterly incapable of helping myself, and entirely in your hands!


Mankind will surely not deny to Harold Skimpole what it concedes to the butterflies!"


"My dear Miss Summerson," said Richard in a whisper, "I have ten pounds that I received from Mr. Kenge."


I possessed fifteen pounds, odd shillings, which I had saved from my quarterly allowance during several years.

I possessed fifteen pounds and some odd shillings, which I had saved from my allowance during several years.


I had always thought that some accident might happen which would throw me suddenly, without any relation or any property, on the world and had always tried to keep some little money by me that I might not be quite penniless.

I had always tried to keep some money so that in case of some accident I might not be quite penniless.


I told Richard of my having this little store and having no present need of it, and I asked him delicately to inform Mr. Skimpole, while I should be gone to fetch it, that we would have the pleasure of paying his debt.

I told Richard of my little store and asked him delicately to inform Mr. Skimpole, while I should be gone to fetch it, that we would have the pleasure of paying his debt.


When I came back, Mr. Skimpole kissed my hand and seemed quite touched.


Not on his own account (I was again aware of that perplexing and extraordinary contradiction), but on ours, as if personal considerations were impossible with him and the contemplation of our happiness alone affected him.

Not on his own account, but as if the contemplation of our happiness alone affected him.


Richard, begging me, for the greater grace of the transaction, as he said, to settle with Coavinses (as Mr. Skimpole now jocularly called him), I counted out the money and received the necessary acknowledgment.

I counted out the money to the stranger in the white coat (whom Mr. Skimpole now jocularly called Coavinses).


His compliments were so delicately administered that I blushed less than I might have done and settled with the stranger in the white coat without making any mistakes.


He put the money in his pocket and shortly said, "Well, then, I'll wish you a good evening, miss.

He put the money in his pocket and shortly said, "Well, I'll wish you a good evening, miss."


"My friend," said Mr. Skimpole, standing with his back to the fire after giving up the sketch when it was half finished, "I should like to ask you something, without offence."

"My friend Coavinses," said Mr. Skimpole,


I think the reply was, "Cut away, then!"


"Did you know this morning, now, that you were coming out on this errand?"

"Did you know this morning that you were coming out on this errand?"


"Know'd it yes'day aft'noon at tea-time," said Coavinses.

"Know'd it yes'day aft'noon," said Coavinses.


"I know'd if you wos missed to-day, you wouldn't be missed to-morrow.

"I know'd if you was missed today, you wouldn't be missed tomorrow."


"But when you came down here," proceeded Mr. Skimpole, "it was a fine day.


The sun was shining, the wind was blowing, the lights and shadows were passing across the fields, the birds were singing."

The sun was shining, the birds were singing.


"Nobody said they warn't, in MY hearing," returned Coavinses.


growled Coavinses with an appearance of strong resentment.


I've got enough to do, and little enough to get for it without thinking.


"Then you didn't think, at all events," proceeded Mr. Skimpole, "to this effect: 'Harold Skimpole loves to see the sun shine, loves to hear the wind blow, loves to watch the changing lights and shadows, loves to hear the birds, those choristers in Nature's great cathedral.

Didn't you think, 'Harold Skimpole loves to see the sun shine, loves to hear the birds, those choristers in Nature's great cathedral.


And does it seem to me that I am about to deprive Harold Skimpole of his share in such possessions, which are his only birthright!'

And I am about to deprive Harold Skimpole of his share in such possessions!'


"I--certainly--did--NOT," said Coavinses, whose doggedness in utterly renouncing the idea was of that intense kind that he could only give adequate expression to it by putting a long interval between each word, and accompanying the last with a jerk that might have dislocated his neck.

"I - certainly - did - not," said Coavinses doggedly.


"Very odd and very curious, the mental process is, in you men of business!"


As our absence had been long enough already to seem strange downstairs, I returned at once and found Ada sitting at work by the fireside talking to her cousin John.

I returned downstairs and found Ada sitting by the fireside talking to her cousin John.


Mr. Skimpole presently appeared, and Richard shortly after him.

Mr. Skimpole presently appeared, and Richard shortly after.


I was sufficiently engaged during the remainder of the evening in taking my first lesson in backgammon from Mr. Jarndyce, who was very fond of the game and from whom I wished of course to learn it as quickly as I could in order that I might be of the very small use of being able to play when he had no better adversary.

That evening I took my first lesson in backgammon from Mr. Jarndyce, who was very fond of the game.


But I thought, occasionally, when Mr. Skimpole played some fragments of his own compositions or when, both at the piano and the violoncello, and at our table, he preserved with an absence of all effort his delightful spirits and his easy flow of conversation, that Richard and I seemed to retain the transferred impression of having been arrested since dinner and that it was very curious altogether.

But I thought, occasionally, when Mr. Skimpole played some fragments of his own compositions or when he kept up an effortless flow of conversation, that Richard and I seemed to retain the transferred impression of having been arrested and that it was very curious altogether.


It was late before we separated, for when Ada was going at eleven o'clock, Mr. Skimpole went to the piano and rattled hilariously that the best of all ways to lengthen our days was to steal a few hours from night, my dear!

It was late before we separated, for when Ada was going to bed at eleven, Mr. Skimpole went to the piano and rattled hilariously that the best of all ways to lengthen our days was to steal a few hours from night, my dear!


It was past twelve before he took his candle and his radiant face out of the room, and I think he might have kept us there, if he had seen fit, until daybreak.

It was past twelve before he took his candle and his radiant face out of the room.


Ada and Richard were lingering for a few moments by the fire, wondering whether Mrs. Jellyby had yet finished her dictation for the day, when Mr. Jarndyce, who had been out of the room, returned.

Ada and Richard were lingering for a few moments by the fire, when Mr. Jarndyce, who had been out of the room, returned.


"Oh, dear me, what's this, what's this!"

"Oh, dear me, what's this, what's this they tell me?"


he said, rubbing his head and walking about with his good-humoured vexation.

he said, walking about with his good-humoured vexation.


"Rick, my boy, Esther, my dear, what have you been doing?


We neither of us quite knew what to answer.


Oh, Lord, yes, it's due east - must be!"


"Really, sir," said Richard, "I don't think it would be honourable in me to tell you.


said Mr. Jarndyce, giving his head a great rub and stopping short.


And he'll be in the same scrape again next week!"

"He'll be in the same scrape again next week.


said Mr. Jarndyce, walking again at a great pace, with a candle in his hand that had gone out.


I verily believe that the announcement in the newspapers when his mother was confined was 'On Tuesday last, at her residence in Botheration Buildings, Mrs. Skimpole of a son in difficulties.'"


Richard laughed heartily but added, "Still, sir, I don't want to shake his confidence or to break his confidence, and if I submit to your better knowledge again, that I ought to keep his secret, I hope you will consider before you press me any more.

Richard laughed but added, "Still, sir, I don't want to break his confidence, and I hope you will consider before you press me any more."


Of course, if you do press me, sir, I shall know I am wrong and will tell you."


cried Mr. Jarndyce, stopping again, and making several absent endeavours to put his candlestick in his pocket.


I don't know what I am about with it; it's all the wind--invariably has that effect--I won't press you, Rick; you may be right.

"I won't press you, Rick; you may be right.


But really--to get hold of you and Esther--and to squeeze you like a couple of tender young Saint Michael's oranges!

But really - to get hold of you and Esther - and to squeeze you like a couple of tender young oranges!


It'll blow a gale in the course of the night!"


He was now alternately putting his hands into his pockets as if he were going to keep them there a long time, and taking them out again and vehemently rubbing them all over his head.

He was now alternately putting his hands into his pockets and taking them out again and rubbing them all over his head.


I ventured to take this opportunity of hinting that Mr. Skimpole, being in all such matters quite a child--


said Mr. Jarndyce, catching at the word.


"Being quite a child, sir," said I, "and so different from other people--"

being quite a child, sir," said I, "and so different from other people-"


I told you he was a child, you know, when I first mentioned him."


asked Mr. Jarndyce, brightening more and more.


"When you come to think of it, it's the height of childishness in you--I mean me--" said Mr. Jarndyce, "to regard him for a moment as a man.

"When you come to think of it, it's the height of childishness to regard him as a man.


The idea of Harold Skimpole with designs or plans, or knowledge of consequences!


It was so delicious to see the clouds about his bright face clearing, and to see him so heartily pleased, and to know, as it was impossible not to know, that the source of his pleasure was the goodness which was tortured by condemning, or mistrusting, or secretly accusing any one, that I saw the tears in Ada's eyes, while she echoed his laugh, and felt them in my own.

It was delicious to see the clouds about his bright face clearing. I knew that his goodness was tortured by condemning or mistrusting anyone; and I saw the tears in Ada's eyes, and felt them in my own.


"Why, what a cod's head and shoulders I am," said Mr. Jarndyce, "to require reminding of it!


The whole business shows the child from beginning to end.

the whole business shows the child from beginning to end.


Nobody but a child would have thought of singling YOU two out for parties in the affair!


Nobody but a child would have thought of YOUR having the money!

Nobody but a child would have thought of your having the money!"


If it had been a thousand pounds, it would have been just the same!"


said Mr. Jarndyce with his whole face in a glow.


We all confirmed it from our night's experience.


"However, Rick, Esther, and you too, Ada, for I don't know that even your little purse is safe from his inexperience--I must have a promise all round that nothing of this sort shall ever be done any more.

"However, I must have a promise that nothing of this sort shall ever be done any more.


We all promised faithfully, Richard with a merry glance at me touching his pocket as if to remind me that there was no danger of OUR transgressing.

We all promised faithfully, Richard giving me a merry glance and touching his pocket as if to remind me that there was no danger of our transgressing.


"As to Skimpole," said Mr. Jarndyce, "a habitable doll's house with good board and a few tin people to get into debt with and borrow money of would set the boy up in life.


He is in a child's sleep by this time, I suppose; it's time I should take my craftier head to my more worldly pillow.

he is in a child's sleep by this time, I suppose; it's time I went to bed too.


He peeped in again, with a smiling face, before we had lighted our candles, and said, "Oh!


I have been looking at the weather-cock.


I find it was a false alarm about the wind.


Ada and I agreed, as we talked together for a little while upstairs, that this caprice about the wind was a fiction and that he used the pretence to account for any disappointment he could not conceal, rather than he would blame the real cause of it or disparage or depreciate any one.

Ada and I agreed, as we talked together for a little while upstairs, that this caprice about the wind was a fiction to account for any disappointment he could not conceal.


We thought this very characteristic of his eccentric gentleness and of the difference between him and those petulant people who make the weather and the winds (particularly that unlucky wind which he had chosen for such a different purpose) the stalking-horses of their splenetic and gloomy humours.

We thought this very characteristic of his eccentric gentleness.


Indeed, so much affection for him had been added in this one evening to my gratitude that I hoped I already began to understand him through that mingled feeling.

Indeed, so much affection for him had been added in this one evening to my gratitude that I hoped I already began to understand him.


Any seeming inconsistencies in Mr. Skimpole or in Mrs. Jellyby I could not expect to be able to reconcile, having so little experience or practical knowledge.


Neither did I try, for my thoughts were busy when I was alone, with Ada and Richard and with the confidence I had seemed to receive concerning them.

Once I was alone, my thoughts were busy not just with him, but with Ada and Richard and with the confidence I had seemed to receive about them.


My fancy, made a little wild by the wind perhaps, would not consent to be all unselfish, either, though I would have persuaded it to be so if I could.


It wandered back to my godmother's house and came along the intervening track, raising up shadowy speculations which had sometimes trembled there in the dark as to what knowledge Mr. Jarndyce had of my earliest history--even as to the possibility of his being my father, though that idle dream was quite gone now.

wandered back to my godmother's house, raising shadowy speculations as to what Mr. Jarndyce knew of my earliest history. In the past I had pondered the possibility of his being my father, though that idle dream was quite gone now.


It was all gone now, I remembered, getting up from the fire.


It was not for me to muse over bygones, but to act with a cheerful spirit and a grateful heart.


So I said to myself, "Esther, Esther, Esther!


and gave my little basket of housekeeping keys such a shake that they sounded like little bells and rang me hopefully to bed.

and gave my basket of housekeeping keys such a shake that, like little bells, they rang me hopefully to bed.


"Now, what," says Mr. George, "may this be?


An open letter is the subject of the trooper's speculations, and it seems to perplex him mightily.

The trooper is holding an open letter, which seems to perplex him mightily.


He looks at it at arm's length, brings it close to him, holds it in his right hand, holds it in his left hand, reads it with his head on this side, with his head on that side, contracts his eyebrows, elevates them, still cannot satisfy himself.

He looks at it at arm's length, brings it close, reads it with his head on one side, contracts his eyebrows, and still cannot satisfy himself.


He smooths it out upon the table with his heavy palm, and thoughtfully walking up and down the gallery, makes a halt before it every now and then to come upon it with a fresh eye.

He smooths it out upon the table, and thoughtfully walking up and down the gallery, halts before it every now and then.


"Is it," Mr. George still muses, "blank cartridge or ball?"


Phil Squod, with the aid of a brush and paint-pot, is employed in the distance whitening the targets, softly whistling in quick-march time and in drum-and-fife manner that he must and will go back again to the girl he left behind him.

Phil Squod, with the aid of a brush and paint-pot, is employed in whitening the targets, softly whistling in quick-march time.


Phil approaches in his usual way, sidling off at first as if he were going anywhere else and then bearing down upon his commander like a bayonet-charge.

Phil approaches in his usual way, sidling off at first and then bearing down upon his commander like a bayonet-charge.


Certain splashes of white show in high relief upon his dirty face, and he scrapes his one eyebrow with the handle of the brush.

Splashes of white show in high relief upon his dirty face.


Allow me to remind you (though there is no legal necessity for my doing so, as you are aware) that the bill at two months' date drawn on yourself by Mr. Matthew Bagnet, and by you accepted, for the sum of ninety-seven pounds four shillings and ninepence, will become due to-morrow, when you will please be prepared to take up the same on presentation.

Allow me to remind you that the bill at two months' date drawn on yourself by Mr. Matthew Bagnet, and by you accepted, for the sum of ninety-seven pounds four shillings and ninepence, will become due tomorrow, when you will please be prepared to take up the same on presentation.


"I think," replies Phil after pensively tracing out a cross-wrinkle in his forehead with the brush-handle, "that mischeevious consequences is always meant when money's asked for."


"Lookye, Phil," says the trooper, sitting on the table.

"Lookee, Phil," says the trooper, sitting on the table.


"First and last, I have paid, I may say, half as much again as this principal in interest and one thing and another."

"I have paid half as much again as this principal in interest and one thing and another.


Phil intimates by sidling back a pace or two, with a very unaccountable wrench of his wry face, that he does not regard the transaction as being made more promising by this incident.


"And lookye further, Phil," says the trooper, staying his premature conclusions with a wave of his hand.


"There has always been an understanding that this bill was to be what they call renewed.

There has always been an understanding that this bill was to be renewed.


And it has been renewed no end of times."


"I say that I think the times is come to a end at last."

"I think the times is come to a end at last."


"Joshua Smallweed is him that was brought here in a chair?"


"Guv'ner," says Phil with exceeding gravity, "he's a leech in his dispositions, he's a screw and a wice in his actions, a snake in his twistings, and a lobster in his claws."

"Guv'ner," says Phil with exceeding gravity, "he's a leech in his actions, a snake in his twistings, and a lobster in his claws."


Having thus expressively uttered his sentiments, Mr. Squod, after waiting a little to ascertain if any further remark be expected of him, gets back by his usual series of movements to the target he has in hand and vigorously signifies through his former musical medium that he must and he will return to that ideal young lady.


George, having folded the letter, walks in that direction.


"There IS a way, commander," says Phil, looking cunningly at him, "of settling this."


There IS a way," says Phil with a highly artistic turn of his brush; "what I'm a-doing at present."


Do you know what would become of the Bagnets in that case?

"Do you know what would become of the Bagnets if I don't pay up?


Do you know they would be ruined to pay off my old scores?

They would be ruined to pay off my old scores!"


YOU'RE a moral character," says the trooper, eyeing him in his large way with no small indignation; "upon my life you are, Phil!"


Phil, on one knee at the target, is in course of protesting earnestly, though not without many allegorical scoops of his brush and smoothings of the white surface round the rim with his thumb, that he had forgotten the Bagnet responsibility and would not so much as injure a hair of the head of any member of that worthy family when steps are audible in the long passage without, and a cheerful voice is heard to wonder whether George is at home.

Phil is starting to reply when steps are audible in the passage without, and a cheerful voice is heard to wonder whether George is at home.


Phil, with a look at his master, hobbles up, saying, "Here's the guv'ner, Mrs. Bagnet!

Phil, with a look at his master, says, "Here's the guv'ner, Mrs. Bagnet!"


and the old girl herself, accompanied by Mr. Bagnet, appears.


The old girl never appears in walking trim, in any season of the year, without a grey cloth cloak, coarse and much worn but very clean, which is, undoubtedly, the identical garment rendered so interesting to Mr. Bagnet by having made its way home to Europe from another quarter of the globe in company with Mrs. Bagnet and an umbrella.

The old girl is in her usual grey cloak, coarse and much worn but very clean, which is, undoubtedly, the identical garment which made its way home to Europe once in company with Mrs. Bagnet and an umbrella.


The latter faithful appendage is also invariably a part of the old girl's presence out of doors.


It is of no colour known in this life and has a corrugated wooden crook for a handle, with a metallic object let into its prow, or beak, resembling a little model of a fanlight over a street door or one of the oval glasses out of a pair of spectacles, which ornamental object has not that tenacious capacity of sticking to its post that might be desired in an article long associated with the British army.


The old girl's umbrella is of a flabby habit of waist and seems to be in need of stays--an appearance that is possibly referable to its having served through a series of years at home as a cupboard and on journeys as a carpet bag.

umbrella is also present, though Mrs. Bag


She never puts it up, having the greatest reliance on her well-proved cloak with its capacious hood, but generally uses the instrument as a wand with which to point out joints of meat or bunches of greens in marketing or to arrest the attention of tradesmen by a friendly poke.

net never puts it up, having the greatest reliance on her well-proved cloak and hood. She generally uses the umbrella as a wand to point out joints of meat or bunches of greens in the market.


Without her market-basket, which is a sort of wicker well with two flapping lids, she never stirs abroad.

Without her market-basket, a sort of wicker well, she never stirs abroad.


Attended by these her trusty companions, therefore, her honest sunburnt face looking cheerily out of a rough straw bonnet, Mrs. Bagnet now arrives, fresh-coloured and bright, in George's Shooting Gallery.

Attended by these trusty companions, therefore, Mrs. Bagnet now arrives, fresh-coloured and bright, in George's Shooting Gallery.


"Well, George, old fellow," says she, "and how do YOU do, this sunshiny morning?"

"Well, George, old fellow," says she, "and how do you do, this sunshiny morning?"


Giving him a friendly shake of the hand, Mrs. Bagnet draws a long breath after her walk and sits down to enjoy a rest.

Giving him a friendly shake of the hand, Mrs. Bagnet sits down.


Having a faculty, matured on the tops of baggage-waggons and in other such positions, of resting easily anywhere, she perches on a rough bench, unties her bonnet-strings, pushes back her bonnet, crosses her arms, and looks perfectly comfortable.


Mr. Bagnet in the meantime has shaken hands with his old comrade and with Phil, on whom Mrs. Bagnet likewise bestows a good-humoured nod and smile.

Mr. Bagnet likewise shakes hands with his old comrade and with Phil,


"Now, George," said Mrs. Bagnet briskly, "here we are, Lignum and myself"--she often speaks of her husband by this appellation, on account, as it is supposed, of Lignum Vitae having been his old regimental nickname when they first became acquainted, in compliment to the extreme hardness and toughness of his physiognomy--"just looked in, we have, to make it all correct as usual about that security.

"Now, George," said Mrs. Bagnet briskly, "here we are, Lignum and myself" - she often speaks of her husband by this old regimental nickname, Lignum Vitae, after that toughest of timbers - "We've just looked in to make it all correct as usual about that security.


Give him the new bill to sign, George, and he'll sign it like a man."


"I was coming to you this morning," observes the trooper reluctantly.


"Yes, we thought you'd come to us this morning, but we turned out early and left Woolwich, the best of boys, to mind his sisters and came to you instead--as you see!


For Lignum, he's tied so close now, and gets so little exercise, that a walk does him good.


asks Mrs. Bagnet, stopping in her cheerful talk.


"I am not quite myself," returns the trooper; "I have been a little put out, Mrs. Bagnet."


Her bright quick eye catches the truth directly.


"Don't tell me there's anything wrong about that security of Lignum's!


Don't do it, George, on account of the children!"


The trooper looks at her with a troubled visage.

The trooper looks at her with a troubled face.


"George," says Mrs. Bagnet, using both her arms for emphasis and occasionally bringing down her open hands upon her knees.

"George," says Mrs. Bagnet, using both her arms for emphasis.


"If you have allowed anything wrong to come to that security of Lignum's, and if you have let him in for it, and if you have put us in danger of being sold up--and I see sold up in your face, George, as plain as print--you have done a shameful action and have deceived us cruelly.

"If you have allowed anything wrong to come to that security of Lignum's, and if you have put us in danger of being sold up - and I see sold up in your face, George, as plain as print - you have done a shameful action and have deceived us cruelly.


Mr. Bagnet, otherwise as immovable as a pump or a lamp-post, puts his large right hand on the top of his bald head as if to defend it from a shower-bath and looks with great uneasiness at Mrs. Bagnet.

Mr. Bagnet puts his large hand on top of his bald head as if to defend it from a shower and looks uneasily at Mrs. Bagnet.


"George," says that old girl, "I wonder at you!


George, I couldn't have believed you would have done it!


I always knew you to be a rolling stone that gathered no moss, but I never thought you would have taken away what little moss there was for Bagnet and the children to lie upon.


You know what a hard-working, steady-going chap he is.


You know what Quebec and Malta and Woolwich are, and I never did think you would, or could, have had the heart to serve us so.


Mrs. Bagnet gathers up her cloak to wipe her eyes on in a very genuine manner, "How could you do it?"

Mrs. Bagnet gathers up her cloak to wipe her eyes. "How could you do it?"


Mrs. Bagnet ceasing, Mr. Bagnet removes his hand from his head as if the shower-bath were over and looks disconsolately at Mr. George, who has turned quite white and looks distressfully at the grey cloak and straw bonnet.


"Mat," says the trooper in a subdued voice, addressing him but still looking at his wife, "I am sorry you take it so much to heart, because I do hope it's not so bad as that comes to.

"Mat," he says in a subdued voice, addressing Mr. Bagnet but still looking at his wife, "I do hope it's not so bad as that.


I certainly have, this morning, received this letter"--which he reads aloud--"but I hope it may be set right yet.

I certainly have, this morning, received this letter" - which he reads aloud - "but I hope it may be set right yet.


As to a rolling stone, why, what you say is true.


I AM a rolling stone, and I never rolled in anybody's way, I fully believe, that I rolled the least good to.

I am a rolling stone, and I never rolled the least good to anybody.


But it's impossible for an old vagabond comrade to like your wife and family better than I like 'em, Mat, and I trust you'll look upon me as forgivingly as you can.

But I trust you'll look upon me as forgivingly as you can.


Don't think I've kept anything from you.


I haven't had the letter more than a quarter of an hour."


"Old girl," murmurs Mr. Bagnet after a short silence, "will you tell him my opinion?"


Why didn't he marry," Mrs. Bagnet answers, half laughing and half crying, "Joe Pouch's widder in North America?


Then he wouldn't have got himself into these troubles."


"The old girl," says Mr. Bagnet, "puts it correct--why didn't you?"

"The old girl," says Mr. Bagnet, "puts it correct - why didn't you?"


"Well, she has a better husband by this time, I hope," returns the trooper.


"Anyhow, here I stand, this present day, NOT married to Joe Pouch's widder.


Give the word, and I'll sell off every morsel.


If I could have hoped it would have brought in nearly the sum wanted, I'd have sold all long ago.

If I thought it would have brought in enough, I'd have sold it all long ago.


Don't believe that I'll leave you or yours in the lurch, Mat.


I only wish," says the trooper, giving himself a disparaging blow in the chest, "that I knew of any one who'd buy such a second-hand piece of old stores."


"Old girl," murmurs Mr. Bagnet, "give him another bit of my mind."


"George," says the old girl, "you are not so much to be blamed, on full consideration, except for ever taking this business without the means."

"George," says the old girl, "you are not so much to be blamed, on full consideration, except for ever taking on this business without the means.


observes the penitent trooper, shaking his head.


The old girl," says Mr. Bagnet, "is correct--in her way of giving my opinions--hear me out!"


"That was when you never ought to have asked for the security, George, and when you never ought to have got it, all things considered.

You never ought to have asked for the security, George.


You are always an honourable and straightforward fellow, as far as lays in your power, though a little flighty.

You are an honourable and straightforward fellow, though a little flighty.


On the other hand, you can't admit but what it's natural in us to be anxious with such a thing hanging over our heads.

On the other hand, it's natural in us to be anxious with such a thing hanging over our heads.


So forget and forgive all round, George.


Mrs. Bagnet, giving him one of her honest hands and giving her husband the other, Mr. George gives each of them one of his and holds them while he speaks.

Mrs. Bagnet gives him one of her honest hands and gives her husband the other.


"I do assure you both, there's nothing I wouldn't do to discharge this obligation.

"I do assure you both, there's nothing I wouldn't do to discharge this obligation," says George.


But whatever I have been able to scrape together has gone every two months in keeping it up.


"We have lived plainly enough here, Phil and I.


But the gallery don't quite do what was expected of it, and it's not--in short, it's not the mint.

But the gallery don't quite do what was expected of it - in short, it's not the mint.


But I was in a manner drawn into that step, and I thought it might steady me, and set me up, and you'll try to overlook my having such expectations, and upon my soul, I am very much obliged to you, and very much ashamed of myself."

I thought it might steady me, and set me up, and upon my soul, I am very much obliged to you, and very much ashamed of myself."


With these concluding words, Mr. George gives a shake to each of the hands he holds, and relinquishing them, backs a pace or two in a broad-chested, upright attitude, as if he had made a final confession and were immediately going to be shot with all military honours.

Mr. George shakes both their hands, and then backs up a pace or two in a broad-chested attitude, as if he had made a final confession and were immediately going to be shot.


Mr. Bagnet, being in this singular manner heard out, has merely to observe that the letter must be attended to without any delay, that it is advisable that George and he should immediately wait on Mr. Smallweed in person, and that the primary object is to save and hold harmless Mr. Bagnet, who had none of the money.

Mrs. Bagnet observes that the letter must be attended to without any delay; that George and Mr. Bagnet should immediately visit Mr. Smallweed.


Mr. George, entirely assenting, puts on his hat and prepares to march with Mr. Bagnet to the enemy's camp.

Mr. George, assenting, puts on his hat and prepares to march with Mr. Bagnet to the enemy's camp.


"Don't you mind a woman's hasty word, George," says Mrs. Bagnet, patting him on the shoulder.


"I trust my old Lignum to you, and I am sure you'll bring him through it."


The trooper returns that this is kindly said and that he WILL bring Lignum through it somehow.


Upon which Mrs. Bagnet, with her cloak, basket, and umbrella, goes home, bright-eyed again, to the rest of her family, and the comrades sally forth on the hopeful errand of mollifying Mr. Smallweed.

Mrs. Bagnet goes home to her family, and the comrades sally forth on the hopeful errand of mollifying Mr. Smallweed.


Whether there are two people in England less likely to come satisfactorily out of any negotiation with Mr. Smallweed than Mr. George and Mr. Matthew Bagnet may be very reasonably questioned.

Whether there are two people in England less likely to come satisfactorily out of any negotiation with Mr. Smallweed than this pair may be questioned.


Also, notwithstanding their martial appearance, broad square shoulders, and heavy tread, whether there are within the same limits two more simple and unaccustomed children in all the Smallweedy affairs of life.

Despite their martial appearance and heavy tread, there are not two simpler children in all the Smallweedy affairs of life.


As they proceed with great gravity through the streets towards the region of Mount Pleasant, Mr. Bagnet, observing his companion to be thoughtful, considers it a friendly part to refer to Mrs. Bagnet's late sally.

As they proceed with great gravity through the streets, Mr. Bagnet speaks.


"George, you know the old girl--she's as sweet and as mild as milk.

"George, you know the old girl - she's as mild as milk.


But touch her on the children--or myself--and she's off like gunpowder."

But touch her on the children or myself - and she's off like gunpowder."


"George," says Mr. Bagnet, looking straight before him, "the old girl--can't do anything--that don't do her credit.

"George," says Mr. Bagnet, "the old girl - can't do anything - that don't do her credit.


"She's worth her weight in gold," says the trooper.


The old girl's weight--is twelve stone six.


Would I take that weight--in any metal--for the old girl?


Because the old girl's metal is far more precious--than the preciousest metal.


"When she took me--and accepted of the ring--she 'listed under me and the children--heart and head, for life.


She's that earnest," says Mr. Bagnet, "and true to her colours--that, touch us with a finger--and she turns out--and stands to her arms.

"She's true to her colours - and stands to her arms.


If the old girl fires wide--once in a way--at the call of duty--look over it, George.

If the old girl fires wide - once in a way - at the call of duty - overlook it, George.


"Why, bless her, Mat," returns the trooper, "I think the higher of her for it!"


says Mr. Bagnet with the warmest enthusiasm, though without relaxing the rigidity of a single muscle.


"Think as high of the old girl--as the rock of Gibraltar--and still you'll be thinking low--of such merits.


These encomiums bring them to Mount Pleasant and to Grandfather Smallweed's house.

They arrive at Grandfather Smallweed's house.


The door is opened by the perennial Judy, who, having surveyed them from top to toe with no particular favour, but indeed with a malignant sneer, leaves them standing there while she consults the oracle as to their admission.

The door is opened by Judy, who surveys them with a malignant sneer.


The oracle may be inferred to give consent from the circumstance of her returning with the words on her honey lips that they can come in if they want to it.


Thus privileged, they come in and find Mr. Smallweed with his feet in the drawer of his chair as if it were a paper foot-bath and Mrs. Smallweed obscured with the cushion like a bird that is not to sing.

Once she lets them in, they find Mr. Smallweed in his chair and Mrs. Smallweed obscured with the cushion like a bird that is not to sing.


"My dear friend," says Grandfather Smallweed with those two lean affectionate arms of his stretched forth.

"My dear friend," says Grandfather Smallweed with his lean affectionate arms stretched forth.


"Why this," returns George, not able to be very conciliatory at first, "is Matthew Bagnet, who has obliged me in that matter of ours, you know."

"Why this," returns George, "is Matthew Bagnet, who has obliged me in that matter of ours, you know."


The old man looks at him under his hand.


No chairs being offered, Mr. George brings one forward for Bagnet and one for himself.


They sit down, Mr. Bagnet as if he had no power of bending himself, except at the hips, for that purpose.


"Judy," says Mr. Smallweed, "bring the pipe."


"Why, I don't know," Mr. George interposes, "that the young woman need give herself that trouble, for to tell you the truth, I am not inclined to smoke it to-day."

"Why," Mr. George interposes, "I am not inclined to smoke it today.


"The fact is, Mr. Smallweed," proceeds George, "that I find myself in rather an unpleasant state of mind.

The fact is, Mr. Smallweed, that I find myself in rather an unpleasant state of mind.


It appears to me, sir, that your friend in the city has been playing tricks."


Well, I am glad to hear it, because I thought it might be HIS doing.

"I am glad to hear it, because I thought this letter might be his doing


Grandfather Smallweed smiles in a very ugly way in recognition of the letter.


Did you say what does it mean, my good friend?"


Now, come, come, you know, Mr. Smallweed," urges the trooper, constraining himself to speak as smoothly and confidentially as he can, holding the open letter in one hand and resting the broad knuckles of the other on his thigh, "a good lot of money has passed between us, and we are face to face at the present moment, and are both well aware of the understanding there has always been.

"You know, Mr. Smallweed," speaking as smoothly and confidentially as he can, "a good deal of money has passed between us, and we are both well aware of the understanding there has always been.


I am prepared to do the usual thing which I have done regularly and to keep this matter going.

I am prepared to do the usual thing to keep this matter going.


I never got a letter like this from you before, and I have been a little put about by it this morning, because here's my friend Matthew Bagnet, who, you know, had none of the money--"

I never got a letter like this from you before, and I have been a little put out by it this morning, because here's my friend Matthew Bagnet, who, you know, had none of the money-"


"I DON'T know it, you know," says the old man quietly.


"Why, con-found you--it, I mean--I tell you so, don't I?"


"Oh, yes, you tell me so," returns Grandfather Smallweed.


Mr. Smallweed replies with excellent temper, "Ah!


Mr. Bagnet's situation is all one, whether or no."


The unfortunate George makes a great effort to arrange the affair comfortably and to propitiate Mr. Smallweed by taking him upon his own terms.

The unfortunate George makes a great effort to propitiate Mr. Smallweed.


"As you say, Mr. Smallweed, here's Matthew Bagnet liable to be fixed whether or no.


Now, you see, that makes his good lady very uneasy in her mind, and me too, for whereas I'm a harum-scarum sort of a good-for-nought that more kicks than halfpence come natural to, why he's a steady family man, don't you see?

Now, you see, that makes his good lady very uneasy, and me too, for he's a steady family man, don't you see?


Now, Mr. Smallweed," says the trooper, gaining confidence as he proceeds in his soldierly mode of doing business, "although you and I are good friends enough in a certain sort of a way, I am well aware that I can't ask you to let my friend Bagnet off entirely."

Now, Mr. Smallweed," says the trooper, gaining confidence, "although you and I are good friends enough in a certain way, I am well aware that I can't ask you to let my friend Bagnet off entirely."


(There is an ogreish kind of jocularity in Grandfather Smallweed to-day.)

(There is an ogreish kind of jocularity in Grandfather Smallweed today.)


Or not you so much, perhaps, as your friend in the city?


In such a very hard manner and with eyes so particularly green that Mr. Bagnet's natural gravity is much deepened by the contemplation of that venerable man.

, in such a very hard manner that Mr. Bagnet's natural gravity is much deepened.


"I am glad to find we can be pleasant, because I want to arrange this pleasantly.


We'll settle the matter on the spot, if you please, Mr. Smallweed, in the usual way.


And you'll ease my friend Bagnet's mind, and his family's mind, a good deal if you'll just mention to him what our understanding is."

And you'll ease my friend Bagnet's mind if you'll just mention to him what our understanding is."


Here some shrill spectre cries out in a mocking manner, "Oh, good gracious!


Unless, indeed, it be the sportive Judy, who is found to be silent when the startled visitors look round, but whose chin has received a recent toss, expressive of derision and contempt.


Mr. Bagnet's gravity becomes yet more profound.


"But I think you asked me, Mr. George"--old Smallweed, who all this time has had the pipe in his hand, is the speaker now--"I think you asked me, what did the letter mean?"

"But I think you asked me, Mr. George, what did the letter mean?"


"Why, yes, I did," returns the trooper in his off-hand way, "but I don't care to know particularly, if it's all correct and pleasant."


Mr. Smallweed, purposely balking himself in an aim at the trooper's head, throws the pipe on the ground and breaks it to pieces.

Mr. Smallweed throws the pipe on the ground and breaks it to pieces.


The two friends rise and look at one another.


Mr. Bagnet's gravity has now attained its profoundest point.


"I'll have no more of your pipe-smokings and swaggerings.


Go to my lawyer (you remember where; you have been there before) and show your independence now, will you?


Come, my dear friend, there's a chance for you.


Open the street door, Judy; put these blusterers out!


He vociferates this so loudly that Mr. Bagnet, laying his hands on the shoulders of his comrade before the latter can recover from his amazement, gets him on the outside of the street door, which is instantly slammed by the triumphant Judy.

He shouts this so loudly that Mr. Bagnet, laying his hands on his comrade's shoulders, gets him outside the street door, which is instantly slammed by the triumphant Judy.


Utterly confounded, Mr. George awhile stands looking at the knocker.

Utterly confounded, Mr. George stands looking at the knocker.


Mr. Bagnet, in a perfect abyss of gravity, walks up and down before the little parlour window like a sentry and looks in every time he passes, apparently revolving something in his mind.

Mr. Bagnet, in a perfect abyss of gravity, walks up and down like a sentry, apparently revolving something in his mind.


"Come, Mat," says Mr. George when he has recovered himself, "we must try the lawyer.

"Come, Mat," says Mr. George, "we must try the lawyer.


Mr. Bagnet, stopping to take a farewell look into the parlour, replies with one shake of his head directed at the interior, "If my old girl had been here--I'd have told him!"

Mr. Bagnet replies with one shake of his head, "If my old girl had been here - I'd have told him!"


Having so discharged himself of the subject of his cogitations, he falls into step and marches off with the trooper, shoulder to shoulder.

Then he falls into step and marches off with the trooper, shoulder to shoulder.


When they present themselves in Lincoln's Inn Fields, Mr. Tulkinghorn is engaged and not to be seen.

When they present themselves in Lincoln's Inn Fields, Mr. Tulkinghorn is engaged.


He is not at all willing to see them, for when they have waited a full hour, and the clerk, on his bell being rung, takes the opportunity of mentioning as much, he brings forth no more encouraging message than that Mr. Tulkinghorn has nothing to say to them and they had better not wait.

He is not at all willing to see them, for when they have waited a full hour, the clerk tells them that Mr. Tulkinghorn has nothing to say to them and they had better not wait.


They do wait, however, with the perseverance of military tactics, and at last the bell rings again and the client in possession comes out of Mr. Tulkinghorn's room.

They do wait, however, with military perseverance, and at last the bell rings again and the client comes out of Mr. Tulkinghorn's room.


The client is a handsome old lady, no other than Mrs. Rouncewell, housekeeper at Chesney Wold.


She comes out of the sanctuary with a fair old-fashioned curtsy and softly shuts the door.

She comes out of the sanctuary with an old-fashioned curtsy and softly shuts the door.


She is treated with some distinction there, for the clerk steps out of his pew to show her through the outer office and to let her out.

The clerk steps out of his pew to show her through the outer office.


The old lady is thanking him for his attention when she observes the comrades in waiting.


"I beg your pardon, sir, but I think those gentlemen are military?"


The clerk referring the question to them with his eye, and Mr. George not turning round from the almanac over the fire-place.


Mr. Bagnet takes upon himself to reply, "Yes, ma'am.


My heart warms, gentlemen, at the sight of you.


You'll excuse an old woman, but I had a son once who went for a soldier.


A fine handsome youth he was, and good in his bold way, though some people did disparage him to his poor mother.

A fine handsome youth he was, and good in his bold way.


I ask your pardon for troubling you, sir.


returns Mr. Bagnet with right good will.


There is something very touching in the earnestness of the old lady's voice and in the tremble that goes through her quaint old figure.

There is something very touching in the earnestness of the old lady's voice.


But Mr. George is so occupied with the almanac over the fire-place (calculating the coming months by it perhaps) that he does not look round until she has gone away and the door is closed upon her.

But Mr. George is so preoccupied that he does not look round until she has gone away and the door is closed.


"George," Mr. Bagnet gruffly whispers when he does turn from the almanac at last.


'Why, soldiers, why--should we be melancholy, boys?'


The clerk having now again gone in to say that they are still there and Mr. Tulkinghorn being heard to return with some irascibility, "Let 'em come in then!"

The clerk having now again gone in, Mr. Tulkinghorn is heard to say with some irascibility, "Let 'em come in then!"


they pass into the great room with the painted ceiling and find him standing before the fire.

They pass into the great room and find him standing before the fire.


Sergeant, I told you the last time I saw you that I don't desire your company here."


Sergeant replies--dashed within the last few minutes as to his usual manner of speech, and even as to his usual carriage--that he has received this letter, has been to Mr. Smallweed about it, and has been referred there.


"I have nothing to say to you," rejoins Mr. Tulkinghorn.


"If you get into debt, you must pay your debts or take the consequences."


You have no occasion to come here to learn that, I suppose?"


Sergeant is sorry to say that he is not prepared with the money.


Then the other man--this man, if this is he--must pay it for you."

Then the other man must pay it for you."


Sergeant is sorry to add that the other man is not prepared with the money either.


Then you must pay it between you or you must both be sued for it and both suffer.

Then you must pay it between you or both be sued for it."


You have had the money and must refund it.


You are not to pocket other people's pounds, shillings, and pence and escape scot-free."


The lawyer sits down in his easy-chair and stirs the fire.

The lawyer sits down and stirs the fire.


Mr. George hopes he will have the goodness to--"I tell you, sergeant, I have nothing to say to you.

Mr. George hopes he will have the goodness to-
"I tell you, sergeant, I have nothing to say to you


I don't like your associates and don't want you here.


This matter is not at all in my course of practice and is not in my office.

This matter is not at all in my course of practice.


Mr. Smallweed is good enough to offer these affairs to me, but they are not in my way.


You must go to Melchisedech's in Clifford's Inn."


"I must make an apology to you, sir," says Mr. George, "for pressing myself upon you with so little encouragement--which is almost as unpleasant to me as it can be to you--but would you let me say a private word to you?"

"I apologise, sir," says Mr. George, "for pressing myself upon you - but would you let me say a private word to you?"


Mr. Tulkinghorn rises with his hands in his pockets and walks into one of the window recesses.

Mr. Tulkinghorn rises with his hands in his pockets and walks into a window recess.


In the midst of his perfect assumption of indifference, he directs a sharp look at the trooper, taking care to stand with his own back to the light and to have the other with his face towards it.


"Well, sir," says Mr. George, "this man with me is the other party implicated in this unfortunate affair--nominally, only nominally--and my sole object is to prevent his getting into trouble on my account.

"Well, sir," says Mr. George, "this man with me is the other party, and my sole object is to prevent his getting into trouble on my account.


He is a most respectable man with a wife and family, formerly in the Royal Artillery--"

He is a most respectable man with a wife and family, formerly in the Royal Artillery-"


"My friend, I don't care a pinch of snuff for the whole Royal Artillery establishment--officers, men, tumbrils, waggons, horses, guns, and ammunition."

"My friend, I don't care a pinch of snuff for the Royal Artillery."


But I care a good deal for Bagnet and his wife and family being injured on my account.

"But I care a good deal for Bagnet and his family, sir.


And if I could bring them through this matter, I should have no help for it but to give up without any other consideration what you wanted of me the other day."

If I could bring them through this matter, I should give up what you wanted the other day."


"Sergeant," the lawyer proceeds in his dry passionless manner, far more hopeless in the dealing with than any amount of vehemence, "make up your mind while I speak to you, for this is final.

"Sergeant," the lawyer proceeds in his dry passionless manner, "make up your mind while I speak to you, for this is final.


After I have finished speaking I have closed the subject, and I won't re-open it.

After I have finished speaking I have closed the subject.


You can leave here, for a few days, what you say you have brought here if you choose; you can take it away at once if you choose.

You can, for a few days, leave here what you say you have brought.


In case you choose to leave it here, I can do this for you--I can replace this matter on its old footing, and I can go so far besides as to give you a written undertaking that this man Bagnet shall never be troubled in any way until you have been proceeded against to the utmost, that your means shall be exhausted before the creditor looks to his.

If you do choose to leave it here, I can replace this matter on its old footing, and I can besides give you a written undertaking that this man Bagnet shall never be troubled until you have been proceeded against to the utmost, and your own means have been exhausted.


The trooper puts his hand into his breast and answers with a long breath, "I must do it, sir."

The trooper answers with a long breath, "I must do it, sir."


So Mr. Tulkinghorn, putting on his spectacles, sits down and writes the undertaking, which he slowly reads and explains to Bagnet, who has all this time been staring at the ceiling and who puts his hand on his bald head again, under this new verbal shower-bath, and seems exceedingly in need of the old girl through whom to express his sentiments.

So Mr. Tulkinghorn, putting on his spectacles, sits down and writes the undertaking, which he reads and explains to Bagnet, who has all this time been staring at the ceiling.


The trooper then takes from his breast-pocket a folded paper, which he lays with an unwilling hand at the lawyer's elbow.

The trooper then takes from his breast-pocket a folded paper, which he lays unwillingly at the lawyer's elbow.


"'Tis only a letter of instructions, sir.


Look at a millstone, Mr. George, for some change in its expression, and you will find it quite as soon as in the face of Mr. Tulkinghorn when he opens and reads the letter!

Mr. Tulkinghorn opens and reads the letter


He refolds it and lays it in his desk with a countenance as unperturbable as death.

; refolds it and lays it in his desk with a face as unperturbable as death.


Nor has he anything more to say or do but to nod once in the same frigid and discourteous manner and to say briefly, "You can go.

He nods once in the same frigid and discourteous manner. "You can go.


Being shown out, they repair to Mr. Bagnet's residence to dine.

Being shown out, they return to Mr. Bagnet's house to dine.


Boiled beef and greens constitute the day's variety on the former repast of boiled pork and greens, and Mrs. Bagnet serves out the meal in the same way and seasons it with the best of temper, being that rare sort of old girl that she receives Good to her arms without a hint that it might be Better and catches light from any little spot of darkness near her.

As Mrs. Bagnet serves out the boiled beef and greens, she seasons it with the best of temper.


The spot on this occasion is the darkened brow of Mr. George; he is unusually thoughtful and depressed.

But Mr. George is unusually thoughtful and depressed.


At first Mrs. Bagnet trusts to the combined endearments of Quebec and Malta to restore him, but finding those young ladies sensible that their existing Bluffy is not the Bluffy of their usual frolicsome acquaintance, she winks off the light infantry and leaves him to deploy at leisure on the open ground of the domestic hearth.

At first Mrs. Bagnet trusts to the endearments of Quebec and Malta to restore him, but finding that he is not the Bluffy of their usual frolicsome acquaintance, she withdraws them and leaves him to the domestic hearth.


He remains in close order, clouded and depressed.


During the lengthy cleaning up and pattening process, when he and Mr. Bagnet are supplied with their pipes, he is no better than he was at dinner.

During the lengthy cleaning up process, when he and Mr. Bagnet are supplied with their pipes, he