What I say is, it was all very well and we got on very well while I was a boy, utterly regardless of this same suit; but as soon as I began to take an interest in it and to look into it, then it was quite another thing.

We got on very well while I was a boy, utterly regardless of this suit; but as soon as I began to take an interest in it, then it was quite another thing.


Then John Jarndyce discovers that Ada and I must break off and that if I don't amend that very objectionable course, I am not fit for her.

Then John Jarndyce decides that Ada and I must break off and that if I don't amend that course, I am not fit for her.


Now, Esther, I don't mean to amend that very objectionable course: I will not hold John Jarndyce's favour on those unfair terms of compromise, which he has no right to dictate.

Now, Esther, I don't mean to amend that course: John Jarndyce has no right to dictate those terms.


Whether it pleases him or displeases him, I must maintain my rights and Ada's.

Whether it pleases him or not, I must maintain my rights and Ada's.


I have been thinking about it a good deal, and this is the conclusion I have come to."


He had indeed been thinking about it a good deal.


His face, his voice, his manner, all showed that too plainly.

His face and manner showed that all too plainly.


"So I tell him honourably (you are to know I have written to him about all this) that we are at issue and that we had better be at issue openly than covertly.

"So I have written to him telling him honourably that we disagree and that we had better disagree openly.


I thank him for his goodwill and his protection, and he goes his road, and I go mine.

I thank him for his goodwill, and he goes his road, and I go mine.


The fact is, our roads are not the same.


Under one of the wills in dispute, I should take much more than he."


I don't mean to say that it is the one to be established, but there it is, and it has its chance."


"I have not to learn from you, my dear Richard," said I, "of your letter.

"I had already heard of your letter, my dear Richard," said I, "


I had heard of it already without an offended or angry word."


"I am glad I said he was an honourable man, out of all this wretched affair.

"I am glad I said he was an honourable man.


But I always say that and have never doubted it.


Now, my dear Esther, I know these views of mine appear extremely harsh to you, and will to Ada when you tell her what has passed between us.

Now, my dear Esther, I know my views appear harsh to you, and will to Ada when you tell her.


But if you had gone into the case as I have, if you had only applied yourself to the papers as I did when I was at Kenge's, if you only knew what an accumulation of charges and counter-charges, and suspicions and cross-suspicions, they involve, you would think me moderate in comparison."

But if you had gone into the case as I have, if you had only applied yourself to the papers as I did when I was at Kenge's, if you only knew how many charges and counter-charges, and suspicions and cross-suspicions, they involve, you would think me moderate."


"But do you think that, among those many papers, there is much truth and justice, Richard?"


"There is truth and justice somewhere in the case, Esther--"

"There is truth and justice somewhere in the case, Esther-"


"Is--is--must be somewhere," pursued Richard impetuously, "and must be brought out.

"Is - must be, somewhere," pursued Richard impetuously, "and must be brought out.


To allow Ada to be made a bribe and hush-money of is not the way to bring it out.

To make Ada a bribe is not the way to bring it out.


You say the suit is changing me; John Jarndyce says it changes, has changed, and will change everybody who has any share in it.

You say the suit is changing me; John Jarndyce says it changes everybody who has any share in it.


Then the greater right I have on my side when I resolve to do all I can to bring it to an end."


Do you think that in these many years no others have done all they could?

Do you think that over the years no others have done all they could?"


Has the difficulty grown easier because of so many failures?"


"It can't last for ever," returned Richard with a fierceness kindling in him which again presented to me that last sad reminder.

"It can't last for ever," returned Richard with a fierceness kindling in him.


"I am young and earnest, and energy and determination have done wonders many a time.

"I am young and have energy and determination.


Others have only half thrown themselves into it.


"Oh, Richard, my dear, so much the worse, so much the worse!"

"Oh, Richard, my dear, so much the worse!"


"No, no, no, don't you be afraid for me," he returned affectionately.

"No, no, don't you be afraid for me," he returned affectionately.


"You're a dear, good, wise, quiet, blessed girl; but you have your prepossessions.


I tell you, my good Esther, when he and I were on those terms which he found so convenient, we were not on natural terms."

I tell you, my good Esther, when John Jarndyce and I were on those terms which he found so convenient, we were not on natural terms."


"Are division and animosity your natural terms, Richard?"


I mean that all this business puts us on unnatural terms, with which natural relations are incompatible.

I mean that all this business puts us on unnatural terms.


I may find out when it's over that I have been mistaken in John Jarndyce.


My head may be clearer when I am free of it, and I may then agree with what you say to-day.

I may then agree with what you say today.


Then I shall acknowledge it and make him reparation."


Everything postponed to that imaginary time!


Everything held in confusion and indecision until then!


"Now, my best of confidantes," said Richard, "I want my cousin Ada to understand that I am not captious, fickle, and wilful about John Jarndyce, but that I have this purpose and reason at my back.

"Now," said Richard, "I want my cousin Ada to understand that I am not fickle, and wilful about John Jarndyce, but that I have this purpose.


I wish to represent myself to her through you, because she has a great esteem and respect for her cousin John; and I know you will soften the course I take, even though you disapprove of it; and--and in short," said Richard, who had been hesitating through these words, "I--I don't like to represent myself in this litigious, contentious, doubting character to a confiding girl like Ada."

She has a great respect for her cousin John; and I know you will soften the course I take, even though you disapprove of it; and - and in short," said Richard, hesitating, "I - I don't like to represent myself in this litigious, doubting character to a confiding girl like Ada."


I told him that he was more like himself in those latter words than in anything he had said yet.


"Why," acknowledged Richard, "that may be true enough, my love.

"Why," acknowledged Richard, "that may be true.


But I shall be able to give myself fair-play by and by.


I shall come all right again, then, don't you be afraid."

I shall come all right again by and by, don't you fear."


I asked him if this were all he wished me to tell Ada.


"I am bound not to withhold from her that John Jarndyce answered my letter in his usual manner, addressing me as 'My dear Rick,' trying to argue me out of my opinions, and telling me that they should make no difference in him.


(All very well of course, but not altering the case.)


I also want Ada to know that if I see her seldom just now, I am looking after her interests as well as my own--we two being in the same boat exactly--and that I hope she will not suppose from any flying rumours she may hear that I am at all light-headed or imprudent; on the contrary, I am always looking forward to the termination of the suit, and always planning in that direction.

"I want Ada to know that if I see her seldom just now, I am looking after her interests as well as my own - we two being in the same boat - and that I hope she will not suppose from any rumours that I am light-headed or imprudent; on the contrary, I am always looking forward to the end of the suit, and always planning for it.


Being of age now and having taken the step I have taken, I consider myself free from any accountability to John Jarndyce; but Ada being still a ward of the court, I don't yet ask her to renew our engagement.

Being of age now, I consider myself free from any accountability to John Jarndyce; but as Ada is still a ward of the court, I don't yet ask her to renew our engagement.


When she is free to act for herself, I shall be myself once more and we shall both be in very different worldly circumstances, I believe.

When she is free to act for herself, I shall be myself once more and we shall both be in very different circumstances, I believe.


If you tell her all this with the advantage of your considerate way, you will do me a very great and a very kind service, my dear Esther; and I shall knock Jarndyce and Jarndyce on the head with greater vigour.

If you tell her all this in your considerate way, you will do me a very great service, my dear Esther; and I shall knock Jarndyce and Jarndyce on the head with greater vigour.


Of course I ask for no secrecy at Bleak House."


"Richard," said I, "you place great confidence in me, but I fear you will not take advice from me?"


"It's impossible that I can on this subject, my dear girl.


As if his whole career and character were not being dyed one colour!


"But I may ask you a question, Richard?"


"I don't know who may not, if you may not."


"You say, yourself, you are not leading a very settled life."


"How can I, my dear Esther, with nothing settled!"


"Why, of course I am," said Richard, astonished at my simplicity.


"I can't throw myself into an object so completely without expense.


You forget, or perhaps you don't know, that under either of the wills Ada and I take something.

You forget that under either of the wills Ada and I take something.


It's only a question between the larger sum and the smaller.


Bless your heart, my excellent girl," said Richard, quite amused with me, "I shall be all right!"


I felt so deeply sensible of the danger in which he stood that I tried, in Ada's name, in my guardian's, in my own, by every fervent means that I could think of, to warn him of it and to show him some of his mistakes.

I felt so deeply aware of the danger in which he stood that I tried, by every means that I could think of, to warn him.


He received everything I said with patience and gentleness, but it all rebounded from him without taking the least effect.

He took everything I said with patience, but it all rebounded from him without the least effect.


I could not wonder at this after the reception his preoccupied mind had given to my guardian's letter, but I determined to try Ada's influence yet.


So when our walk brought us round to the village again, and I went home to breakfast, I prepared Ada for the account I was going to give her and told her exactly what reason we had to dread that Richard was losing himself and scattering his whole life to the winds.

So when our walk brought us round to the village again, and I went home to breakfast, I gently told Ada what reason we had to dread that Richard was losing himself and scattering his whole life to the winds.


It made her very unhappy, of course, though she had a far, far greater reliance on his correcting his errors than I could have--which was so natural and loving in my dear!--and she presently wrote him this little letter:

It made her very unhappy, of course, though she had a far greater reliance on his correcting his errors than I could have; and she wrote him this little letter:


Esther has told me all you said to her this morning.


I write this to repeat most earnestly for myself all that she said to you and to let you know how sure I am that you will sooner or later find our cousin John a pattern of truth, sincerity, and goodness, when you will deeply, deeply grieve to have done him (without intending it) so much wrong.

I write this to repeat most earnestly all that she said to you and to let you know how sure I am that you will sooner or later find our cousin John a pattern of truth, sincerity, and goodness, when you will deeply grieve to have done him (without intending it) so much wrong.


I do not quite know how to write what I wish to say next, but I trust you will understand it as I mean it.

I do not quite know how to write what I wish to say next, but I trust you will understand.


I have some fears, my dearest cousin, that it may be partly for my sake you are now laying up so much unhappiness for yourself--and if for yourself, for me.

I fear, my dearest cousin, that it may be partly for my sake you are now laying up so much unhappiness for yourself - and if for yourself, for me.


In case this should be so, or in case you should entertain much thought of me in what you are doing, I most earnestly entreat and beg you to desist.

In case this should be so, I most earnestly beg you to desist.


You can do nothing for my sake that will make me half so happy as for ever turning your back upon the shadow in which we both were born.


Do not be angry with me for saying this.


Pray, pray, dear Richard, for my sake, and for your own, and in a natural repugnance for that source of trouble which had its share in making us both orphans when we were very young, pray, pray, let it go for ever.

Pray, dear Richard, for my sake, and for your own, pray let it go for ever.


We have reason to know by this time that there is no good in it and no hope, that there is nothing to be got from it but sorrow.


My dearest cousin, it is needless for me to say that you are quite free and that it is very likely you may find some one whom you will love much better than your first fancy.


I am quite sure, if you will let me say so, that the object of your choice would greatly prefer to follow your fortunes far and wide, however moderate or poor, and see you happy, doing your duty and pursuing your chosen way, than to have the hope of being, or even to be, very rich with you (if such a thing were possible) at the cost of dragging years of procrastination and anxiety and of your indifference to other aims.

I would greatly prefer to follow your fortunes far and wide, however moderate or poor, and see you happy, pursuing your chosen way, than to have the hope of being rich with you (if such a thing were possible) at the cost of dragging years of anxiety and of your indifference to other aims.


You may wonder at my saying this so confidently with so little knowledge or experience, but I know it for a certainty from my own heart.

I know this for a certainty from my own heart.


Ever, my dearest cousin, your most affectionate


This note brought Richard to us very soon, but it made little change in him if any.

This note brought Richard to us very soon, but it made little change in him.


We would fairly try, he said, who was right and who was wrong--he would show us--we should see!

We would see, he said, who was right and who was wrong!


He was animated and glowing, as if Ada's tenderness had gratified him; but I could only hope, with a sigh, that the letter might have some stronger effect upon his mind on re-perusal than it assuredly had then.

He was animated and glowing, as if Ada's tenderness had gratified him; but I could only hope, with a sigh, that the letter might have some stronger effect upon his mind on re-reading than it had then.


As they were to remain with us that day and had taken their places to return by the coach next morning, I sought an opportunity of speaking to Mr. Skimpole.

Before they left next day, I sought an opportunity of speaking to Mr. Skimpole.


Our out-of-door life easily threw one in my way, and I delicately said that there was a responsibility in encouraging Richard.


"Responsibility, my dear Miss Summerson?"


he repeated, catching at the word with the pleasantest smile.

he repeated, with the pleasantest smile.


"I am the last man in the world for such a thing.


I never was responsible in my life--I can't be."

I never was responsible in my life - I can't be."


"I am afraid everybody is obliged to be," said I timidly enough, he being so much older and more clever than I.


said Mr. Skimpole, receiving this new light with a most agreeable jocularity of surprise.

said Mr. Skimpole, receiving this new light with most agreeable surprise.


"But every man's not obliged to be solvent?


See, my dear Miss Summerson," he took a handful of loose silver and halfpence from his pocket, "there's so much money.


Call it four and ninepence--call it four pound nine.


I dare say I owe as much as good-natured people will let me owe.


There you have Harold Skimpole in little.


If that's responsibility, I am responsible."


The perfect ease of manner with which he put the money up again and looked at me with a smile on his refined face, as if he had been mentioning a curious little fact about somebody else, almost made me feel as if he really had nothing to do with it.

The perfect ease of manner with which he looked at me, with a smile on his refined face, almost made me feel as if we were talking about somebody else.


"Now, when you mention responsibility," he resumed, "I am disposed to say that I never had the happiness of knowing any one whom I should consider so refreshingly responsible as yourself.

"Now, when you mention responsibility," he resumed, "I must say that I never had the happiness of knowing any one so refreshingly responsible as yourself.


You appear to me to be the very touchstone of responsibility.


When I see you, my dear Miss Summerson, intent upon the perfect working of the whole little orderly system of which you are the centre, I feel inclined to say to myself--in fact I do say to myself very often--THAT'S responsibility!"

When I see you, my dear Miss Summerson, intent upon the whole little orderly system of which you are the centre, I say to myself - that's responsibility!"


It was difficult, after this, to explain what I meant; but I persisted so far as to say that we all hoped he would check and not confirm Richard in the sanguine views he entertained just then.

I persisted, saying we all hoped he would not confirm Richard in the sanguine views he held just then.


"Most willingly," he retorted, "if I could.


But, my dear Miss Summerson, I have no art, no disguise.


If he takes me by the hand and leads me through Westminster Hall in an airy procession after fortune, I must go.

If he takes me by the hand and leads me in an airy procession after fortune, I must go.


Common sense wouldn't, I know, but I have NO common sense."

Common sense wouldn't, I know, but I have no common sense."


It was very unfortunate for Richard, I said.


"Don't say that," returned Mr. Skimpole.


Let us suppose him keeping company with Common Sense--an excellent man--a good deal wrinkled--dreadfully practical--change for a ten-pound note in every pocket--ruled account-book in his hand--say, upon the whole, resembling a tax-gatherer.

"Let us suppose him keeping company with Common Sense - an excellent man - wrinkled - dreadfully practical - with an account book in his hand - resembling a tax-gatherer.


Our dear Richard, sanguine, ardent, overleaping obstacles, bursting with poetry like a young bud, says to this highly respectable companion, 'I see a golden prospect before me; it's very bright, it's very beautiful, it's very joyous; here I go, bounding over the landscape to come at it!'

Our dear ardent Richard says to this respectable companion, 'I see a golden prospect before me; it's very bright, it's very joyous; here I go, bounding over the landscape to come at it!'


The respectable companion instantly knocks him down with the ruled account-book; tells him in a literal, prosaic way that he sees no such thing; shows him it's nothing but fees, fraud, horsehair wigs, and black gowns.

The respectable companion instantly knocks him down with the account-book; tells him that he sees no such thing; shows him it's nothing but fees, fraud, horsehair wigs, and black gowns.


Now you know that's a painful change--sensible in the last degree, I have no doubt, but disagreeable.


I haven't got the ruled account-book, I have none of the tax-gathering elements in my composition, I am not at all respectable, and I don't want to be.

I haven't got the account-book, I have none of the tax-gathering elements in my composition, I am not respectable, and I don't want to be.


It was idle to say more, so I proposed that we should join Ada and Richard, who were a little in advance, and I gave up Mr. Skimpole in despair.

It was idle to say more, so I gave up in despair, and we joined Ada and Richard, walking ahead of us.


He had been over the Hall in the course of the morning and whimsically described the family pictures as we walked.

Mr. Skimpole had been over the Hall in the morning and whimsically described the family pictures as we walked.


There were such portentous shepherdesses among the Ladies Dedlock dead and gone, he told us, that peaceful crooks became weapons of assault in their hands.

There were such portentous shepherdesses among the past Ladies Dedlock, he told us, that peaceful crooks became weapons of assault in their hands; and


They tended their flocks severely in buckram and powder and put their sticking-plaster patches on to terrify commoners as the chiefs of some other tribes put on their war-paint.


There was a Sir Somebody Dedlock, with a battle, a sprung-mine, volumes of smoke, flashes of lightning, a town on fire, and a stormed fort, all in full action between his horse's two hind legs, showing, he supposed, how little a Dedlock made of such trifles.

a Sir Somebody Dedlock had a battle, volumes of smoke, flashes of lightning and a town on fire behind him.


The whole race he represented as having evidently been, in life, what he called "stuffed people"--a large collection, glassy eyed, set up in the most approved manner on their various twigs and perches, very correct, perfectly free from animation, and always in glass cases.


I was not so easy now during any reference to the name but that I felt it a relief when Richard, with an exclamation of surprise, hurried away to meet a stranger whom he first descried coming slowly towards us.

I was uneasy now at any reference to the name of Dedlock, and felt it a relief when Richard, with an exclamation of surprise, hurried away to meet a stranger coming slowly towards us.


We asked if that were a friend of Richard's.


"Friend and legal adviser," said Mr. Skimpole.


"Now, my dear Miss Summerson, if you want common sense, responsibility, and respectability, all united--if you want an exemplary man--Vholes is THE man."

"Now, my dear Miss Summerson, if you want common sense, responsibility, and respectability, all united - Vholes is the man.


We had not known, we said, that Richard was assisted by any gentleman of that name.


"When he emerged from legal infancy," returned Mr. Skimpole, "he parted from our conversational friend Kenge and took up, I believe, with Vholes.

When Richard left our friend Kenge, he took up, I believe, with Vholes.


Indeed, I know he did, because I introduced him to Vholes."

Indeed, I know he did, because I introduced them."


My dear Miss Clare, I had had that kind of acquaintance with him which I have had with several gentlemen of his profession.

My dear Miss Clare, I had the same acquaintance with him which I have had with several gentlemen of his profession.


He had done something or other in a very agreeable, civil manner--taken proceedings, I think, is the expression--which ended in the proceeding of his taking ME.

He had done something or other in a very civil manner - taken proceedings, I think is the expression, against me.


Somebody was so good as to step in and pay the money--something and fourpence was the amount; I forget the pounds and shillings, but I know it ended with fourpence, because it struck me at the time as being so odd that I could owe anybody fourpence--and after that I brought them together.

Somebody was so good as to step in and pay the money - something and fourpence; I forget the pounds and shillings - and after that I brought them together.


Vholes asked me for the introduction, and I gave it.


Now I come to think of it," he looked inquiringly at us with his frankest smile as he made the discovery, "Vholes bribed me, perhaps?

Now I come to think of it," he said with his frankest smile, "Vholes bribed me, perhaps?


He gave me something and called it commission.


Do you know, I think it MUST have been a five-pound note!"

Do you know, I think it must have been!"


His further consideration of the point was prevented by Richard's coming back to us in an excited state and hastily representing Mr. Vholes--a sallow man with pinched lips that looked as if they were cold, a red eruption here and there upon his face, tall and thin, about fifty years of age, high-shouldered, and stooping.

Richard came back to us in an excited state, introducing Mr. Vholes - a sallow man with pinched lips and a red eruption here and there upon his face, tall and thin, about fifty years, high-shouldered, and stooping.


Dressed in black, black-gloved, and buttoned to the chin, there was nothing so remarkable in him as a lifeless manner and a slow, fixed way he had of looking at Richard.

Dressed in black and buttoned to the chin, he had a lifeless manner and a slow, fixed way of looking at Richard.


"I hope I don't disturb you, ladies," said Mr. Vholes, and now I observed that he was further remarkable for an inward manner of speaking.

"I hope I don't disturb you, ladies," said Mr. Vholes.


"I arranged with Mr. Carstone that he should always know when his cause was in the Chancellor's paper, and being informed by one of my clerks last night after post time that it stood, rather unexpectedly, in the paper for to-morrow, I put myself into the coach early this morning and came down to confer with him."

"I arranged with Mr. Carstone that he should always know when his cause was in the Chancellor's paper, and being informed by one of my clerks last night that it stood, rather unexpectedly, in the paper for tomorrow, I came down in the coach to confer with him."


"Yes," said Richard, flushed, and looking triumphantly at Ada and me, "we don't do these things in the old slow way now.

"Yes," said Richard, flushed, and looking triumphantly at Ada and me, "we don't do these things in the old slow way.


Mr. Vholes, we must hire something to get over to the post town in, and catch the mail to-night, and go up by it!"

Mr. Vholes, we must hire something to get over to the post, and catch the mail tonight!"


"Anything you please, sir," returned Mr. Vholes.


"Let me see," said Richard, looking at his watch.


"If I run down to the Dedlock, and get my portmanteau fastened up, and order a gig, or a chaise, or whatever's to be got, we shall have an hour then before starting.

"If I run down to the Dedlock Arms, and get my luggage, and order a gig, or a chaise, we shall have an hour before starting.


Cousin Ada, will you and Esther take care of Mr. Vholes when I am gone?"

Cousin Ada, will you and Esther take care of Mr. Vholes while I am gone?"


He was away directly, in his heat and hurry, and was soon lost in the dusk of evening.

He was away directly, and was lost in the dusk of evening.


We who were left walked on towards the house.


"Is Mr. Carstone's presence necessary to-morrow, Sir?"

"Is Mr. Carstone's presence necessary tomorrow, Sir?"


Both Ada and I expressed our regret that he should go, then, only to be disappointed.


"Mr. Carstone has laid down the principle of watching his own interests," said Mr. Vholes, "and when a client lays down his own principle, and it is not immoral, it devolves upon me to carry it out.

But Mr. Carstone has laid down the principle of watching his own interests, and when a client lays down his own principle, it devolves upon me to carry it out.


I wish in business to be exact and open.


I am a widower with three daughters--Emma, Jane, and Caroline--and my desire is so to discharge the duties of life as to leave them a good name.

I am a widower with three daughters and my desire is so to discharge the duties of life as to leave them a good name.


This appears to be a pleasant spot, miss."


The remark being made to me in consequence of my being next him as we walked, I assented and enumerated its chief attractions.


"I have the privilege of supporting an aged father in the Vale of Taunton--his native place--and I admire that country very much.

"I have the privilege of supporting an aged father in the Vale of Taunton and I admire that country very much.


I had no idea there was anything so attractive here."


To keep up the conversation, I asked Mr. Vholes if he would like to live altogether in the country.


"There, miss," said he, "you touch me on a tender string.


My health is not good (my digestion being much impaired), and if I had only myself to consider, I should take refuge in rural habits, especially as the cares of business have prevented me from ever coming much into contact with general society, and particularly with ladies' society, which I have most wished to mix in.

My health is not good (my digestion being much impaired), and if I had only myself to consider, I should take refuge in rural habits.


But with my three daughters, Emma, Jane, and Caroline--and my aged father--I cannot afford to be selfish.

But with my three daughters and my aged father, I cannot afford to be selfish.


It is true I have no longer to maintain a dear grandmother who died in her hundred and second year, but enough remains to render it indispensable that the mill should be always going."

It is indispensable that the mill should be always going."


It required some attention to hear him on account of his inward speaking and his lifeless manner.

It required some attention to hear him on account of his low voice and lifeless manner.


"You will excuse my having mentioned my daughters," he said.


I wish to leave the poor girls some little independence, as well as a good name."


We now arrived at Mr. Boythorn's house, where the tea-table, all prepared, was awaiting us.

We arrived at Mr. Boythorn's house, where the tea-table was awaiting us.


Richard came in restless and hurried shortly afterwards, and leaning over Mr. Vholes's chair, whispered something in his ear.

Richard hurried in shortly afterwards, and leaning over Mr. Vholes's chair, whispered something.


Mr. Vholes replied aloud--or as nearly aloud I suppose as he had ever replied to anything--"You will drive me, will you, sir?

Mr. Vholes replied aloud - or as nearly aloud I suppose as he had ever replied to anything - "You will drive, sir?


We understood from what followed that Mr. Skimpole was to be left until the morning to occupy the two places which had been already paid for.

We understood that Mr. Skimpole was to occupy the two places on the coach which had been already paid for the next morning.


As Ada and I were both in low spirits concerning Richard and very sorry so to part with him, we made it as plain as we politely could that we should leave Mr. Skimpole to the Dedlock Arms and retire when the night-travellers were gone.

Both Ada and I were in low spirits and very sorry to part with Richard.


Richard's high spirits carrying everything before them, we all went out together to the top of the hill above the village, where he had ordered a gig to wait and where we found a man with a lantern standing at the head of the gaunt pale horse that had been harnessed to it.

But Richard's high spirits carrying everything before them, we all went out to the hill above the village, where he had ordered a gig to wait and where we found a man with a lantern standing at the head of the gaunt pale horse that had been harnessed to it.


I never shall forget those two seated side by side in the lantern's light, Richard all flush and fire and laughter, with the reins in his hand; Mr. Vholes quite still, black-gloved, and buttoned up, looking at him as if he were looking at his prey and charming it.

I never shall forget those two seated side by side in the lantern's light, Richard all flush and laughter, with the reins in his hand; Mr. Vholes quite still, black-gloved, and buttoned up, looking at him as if he were looking at his prey.


I have before me the whole picture of the warm dark night, the summer lightning, the dusty track of road closed in by hedgerows and high trees, the gaunt pale horse with his ears pricked up, and the driving away at speed to Jarndyce and Jarndyce.

I can see the whole picture of the warm dark night, the dusty road closed in by hedgerows and high trees, the gaunt pale horse, and the carriage driving away at speed.


My dear girl told me that night how Richard's being thereafter prosperous or ruined, befriended or deserted, could only make this difference to her, that the more he needed love from one unchanging heart, the more love that unchanging heart would have to give him; how he thought of her through his present errors, and she would think of him at all times--never of herself if she could devote herself to him, never of her own delights if she could minister to his.

My dear girl told me that night how Richard's being thereafter prosperous or ruined could only make this difference to her - that the more he needed love from one unchanging heart, the more love that unchanging heart would give him. He thought of her through his present errors, and she would think of him at all times - never of herself if she could devote herself to him, never of her own delights if she could minister to his.


I look along the road before me, where the distance already shortens and the journey's end is growing visible; and true and good above the dead sea of the Chancery suit and all the ashy fruit it cast ashore, I think I see my darling.

I look along the road before me, where the journey's end is growing visible; and true and good above the dead sea of the Chancery suit, I think I see my darling.


A great annual occasion has come round in the establishment of Mr. Matthew Bagnet, otherwise Lignum Vitae, ex-artilleryman and present bassoon-player.

A great annual occasion has come round in the house of Mr. Matthew Bagnet


The celebration of a birthday in the family.

: the celebration of a birthday in the family.


Mr. Bagnet merely distinguishes that epoch in the musical instrument business by kissing the children with an extra smack before breakfast, smoking an additional pipe after dinner, and wondering towards evening what his poor old mother is thinking about it--a subject of infinite speculation, and rendered so by his mother having departed this life twenty years.


Some men rarely revert to their father, but seem, in the bank-books of their remembrance, to have transferred all the stock of filial affection into their mother's name.


Perhaps his exalted appreciation of the merits of the old girl causes him usually to make the noun-substantive "goodness" of the feminine gender.


It is not the birthday of one of the three children.

nor the birthday of one of the three children.


Those occasions are kept with some marks of distinction, but they rarely overleap the bounds of happy returns and a pudding.


On young Woolwich's last birthday, Mr. Bagnet certainly did, after observing on his growth and general advancement, proceed, in a moment of profound reflection on the changes wrought by time, to examine him in the catechism, accomplishing with extreme accuracy the questions number one and two, "What is your name?"


but there failing in the exact precision of his memory and substituting for number three the question "And how do you like that name?"


which he propounded with a sense of its importance, in itself so edifying and improving as to give it quite an orthodox air.


This, however, was a speciality on that particular birthday, and not a general solemnity.


It is the old girl's birthday, and that is the greatest holiday and reddest-letter day in Mr. Bagnet's calendar.


The auspicious event is always commemorated according to certain forms settled and prescribed by Mr. Bagnet some years since.

The auspicious event is always commemorated according to certain customs settled by Mr. Bagnet some years since.


Mr. Bagnet, being deeply convinced that to have a pair of fowls for dinner is to attain the highest pitch of imperial luxury, invariably goes forth himself very early in the morning of this day to buy a pair; he is, as invariably, taken in by the vendor and installed in the possession of the oldest inhabitants of any coop in Europe.

Mr. Bagnet, being deeply convinced that to have a pair of fowls for dinner is the highest pitch of imperial luxury, invariably goes forth himself very early in the morning to buy a pair. He is, as invariably, taken in by the vendor and sold the oldest inhabitants of any chicken-coop in Europe.


Returning with these triumphs of toughness tied up in a clean blue and white cotton handkerchief (essential to the arrangements), he in a casual manner invites Mrs. Bagnet to declare at breakfast what she would like for dinner.

Returning with these triumphs of toughness tied up in a handkerchief, he casually invites Mrs. Bagnet to declare at breakfast what she would like for dinner.


Mrs. Bagnet, by a coincidence never known to fail, replying fowls, Mr. Bagnet instantly produces his bundle from a place of concealment amidst general amazement and rejoicing.


He further requires that the old girl shall do nothing all day long but sit in her very best gown and be served by himself and the young people.

He further requires that the old girl shall do nothing all day but sit in her very best gown and be served by himself and the young people.


As he is not illustrious for his cookery, this may be supposed to be a matter of state rather than enjoyment on the old girl's part, but she keeps her state with all imaginable cheerfulness.


On this present birthday, Mr. Bagnet has accomplished the usual preliminaries.


He has bought two specimens of poultry, which, if there be any truth in adages, were certainly not caught with chaff, to be prepared for the spit; he has amazed and rejoiced the family by their unlooked-for production; he is himself directing the roasting of the poultry; and Mrs. Bagnet, with her wholesome brown fingers itching to prevent what she sees going wrong, sits in her gown of ceremony, an honoured guest.

bought two specimens of poultry; he has amazed and rejoiced the family by their production; he is himself directing the roasting; and Mrs. Bagnet, with her fingers itching to prevent what she sees going wrong, sits in her gown of ceremony, an honoured guest.


Quebec and Malta lay the cloth for dinner, while Woolwich, serving, as beseems him, under his father, keeps the fowls revolving.

Quebec and Malta lay the cloth for dinner, while Woolwich, serving under his father, keeps the fowls revolving on the spit.


To these young scullions Mrs. Bagnet occasionally imparts a wink, or a shake of the head, or a crooked face, as they made mistakes.

To these young scullions Mrs. Bagnet occasionally imparts a wink, or a shake of the head, or a crooked face, as they make mistakes.


Mrs. Bagnet, with anguish, beholds one of them at a standstill before the fire and beginning to burn.


"You shall have a dinner, old girl," says Mr. Bagnet.


Mrs. Bagnet shows her white teeth cheerfully, but to the perception of her son, betrays so much uneasiness of spirit that he is impelled by the dictates of affection to ask her, with his eyes, what is the matter, thus standing, with his eyes wide open, more oblivious of the fowls than before, and not affording the least hope of a return to consciousness.

Mrs. Bagnet smiles, but to the perception of her son, betrays so much uneasiness that he stares at her, more oblivious of the fowls than before.


Fortunately his elder sister perceives the cause of the agitation in Mrs. Bagnet's breast and with an admonitory poke recalls him.

Fortunately his elder sister perceives the cause of Mrs. Bagnet's agitation and with an poke recalls him.


The stopped fowls going round again, Mrs. Bagnet closes her eyes in the intensity of her relief.

The fowls going round again, Mrs. Bagnet closes her eyes in relief.


"George will look us up," says Mr. Bagnet.


"Ah, Lignum, Lignum, as many as make an old woman of a young one, I begin to think.

"Ah, Lignum, Lignum, as many as make an old woman of a young one, I think


Just about that, and no less," returns Mrs. Bagnet, laughing and shaking her head.


"Old girl," says Mr. Bagnet, "never mind.


Quebec and Malta here exclaim, with clapping of hands, that Bluffy is sure to bring mother something, and begin to speculate on what it will be.


"Do you know, Lignum," says Mrs. Bagnet, casting a glance on the table-cloth, and winking "salt!"


at Malta with her right eye, and shaking the pepper away from Quebec with her head, "I begin to think George is in the roving way again.

"I begin to think George is in the roving way again."


"George," returns Mr. Bagnet, "will never desert.


But if he could get over this money trouble of his, I believe he would be off."


"Well," returns his wife, considering, "George seems to me to be getting not a little impatient and restless.

He seems to be getting a little impatient and restless.


I don't say but what he's as free as ever.


Of course he must be free or he wouldn't be George, but he smarts and seems put out."


"There's something in that," his wife assents; "but so it is, Lignum."

"There's something in that," his wife agrees.


Further conversation is prevented, for the time, by the necessity under which Mr. Bagnet finds himself of directing the whole force of his mind to the dinner, which is a little endangered by the dry humour of the fowls in not yielding any gravy, and also by the made gravy acquiring no flavour and turning out of a flaxen complexion.

Further conversation is prevented, as Mr. Bagnet needs to direct the whole force of his mind to the dinner, which is a little endangered by the fowls not yielding any gravy.


With a similar perverseness, the potatoes crumble off forks in the process of peeling, upheaving from their centres in every direction, as if they were subject to earthquakes.

With a similar perverseness, the potatoes crumble in the process of peeling.


The legs of the fowls, too, are longer than could be desired, and extremely scaly.

The legs of the fowls, too, are extremely scaly.


Overcoming these disadvantages to the best of his ability, Mr. Bagnet at last dishes and they sit down at table, Mrs. Bagnet occupying the guest's place at his right hand.

Overcoming these disadvantages to the best of his ability, Mr. Bagnet at last serves up and they sit down at table.


It is well for the old girl that she has but one birthday in a year, for two such indulgences in poultry might be injurious.

It is well for the old girl that she has but one birthday in a year, for two such indulgences might be harmful.


Every kind of finer tendon and ligament that is in the nature of poultry to possess is developed in these specimens in the singular form of guitar-strings.

Every kind of tendon and ligament that poultry possesses is developed in these specimens in the singular form of guitar-strings.


Their limbs appear to have struck roots into their breasts and bodies, as aged trees strike roots into the earth.


Their legs are so hard as to encourage the idea that they must have devoted the greater part of their long and arduous lives to pedestrian exercises and the walking of matches.

Their legs are as hard as if they devoted their long and arduous lives to walking matches.


But Mr. Bagnet, unconscious of these little defects, sets his heart on Mrs. Bagnet eating a most severe quantity of the delicacies before her; and as that good old girl would not cause him a moment's disappointment on any day, least of all on such a day, for any consideration, she imperils her digestion fearfully.

But Mr. Bagnet, unconscious of these little defects, sets his heart on Mrs. Bagnet eating a severe quantity of the delicacies before her; and as that good old girl would not cause him a moment's disappointment, she imperils her digestion fearfully.


How young Woolwich cleans the drum-sticks without being of ostrich descent, his anxious mother is at a loss to understand.

How young Woolwich cleans the chicken drum-sticks, his anxious mother is at a loss to understand.


The old girl has another trial to undergo after the conclusion of the repast in sitting in state to see the room cleared, the hearth swept, and the dinner-service washed up and polished in the backyard.

The old girl has another trial to undergo after the meal, in sitting in state to see the room cleared, the hearth swept, and the dinner-service washed and polished in the backyard.


The great delight and energy with which the two young ladies apply themselves to these duties, turning up their skirts in imitation of their mother and skating in and out on little scaffolds of pattens, inspire the highest hopes for the future, but some anxiety for the present.

The great delight and energy with which the two young ladies apply themselves to these duties inspire the highest hopes for the future, but some anxiety for the present.


The same causes lead to confusion of tongues, a clattering of crockery, a rattling of tin mugs, a whisking of brooms, and an expenditure of water, all in excess, while the saturation of the young ladies themselves is almost too moving a spectacle for Mrs. Bagnet to look upon with the calmness proper to her position.

The saturation of the young ladies is almost too moving for Mrs. Bagnet to look upon with calmness.


At last the various cleansing processes are triumphantly completed; Quebec and Malta appear in fresh attire, smiling and dry; pipes, tobacco, and something to drink are placed upon the table; and the old girl enjoys the first peace of mind she ever knows on the day of this delightful entertainment.


When Mr. Bagnet takes his usual seat, the hands of the clock are very near to half-past four; as they mark it accurately, Mr. Bagnet announces, "George!

When Mr. Bagnet takes his usual seat, the hands of the clock are very near to half-past four; and he announces, "George!


It is George, and he has hearty congratulations for the old girl (whom he kisses on the great occasion), and for the children, and for Mr. Bagnet.

George arrives, and has hearty congratulations for the old girl.


cries Mrs. Bagnet, looking at him curiously.


You are so white, George--for you--and look so shocked.


"George," says Mr. Bagnet, "tell the old girl.


"I didn't know I looked white," says the trooper, passing his hand over his brow, "and I didn't know I looked shocked, and I'm sorry I do.

"I didn't know I looked white," says the trooper, passing his hand over his brow, "and I didn't know I looked shocked.


But the truth is, that boy who was taken in at my place died yesterday afternoon, and it has rather knocked me over."


"I didn't mean to say anything about it, for it's not birthday talk, but you have got it out of me, you see, before I sit down.


I should have roused up in a minute," says the trooper, making himself speak more gaily, "but you're so quick, Mrs. Bagnet."


"And what's more, she's the subject of the day, and we'll stick to her," cries Mr. George.

"She's the subject of the day, and we'll stick to her," cries Mr. George.


"See here, I have brought a little brooch along with me.


It's a poor thing, you know, but it's a keepsake.


That's all the good it is, Mrs. Bagnet."


Mr. George produces his present, which is greeted with admiring leapings and clappings by the young family, and with a species of reverential admiration by Mr. Bagnet.

Mr. George produces his present, which is greeted with admiring clappings by the young family.


"It's the beautifullest thing that ever was seen!"


"It's so pretty, George," cries Mrs. Bagnet, turning it on all sides and holding it out at arm's length, "that it seems too choice for me."

"It's so pretty, George," cries Mrs. Bagnet, turning it over, "that it seems too choice for me."


"But whatever it is, a hundred thousand thanks, old fellow," says Mrs. Bagnet, her eyes sparkling with pleasure and her hand stretched out to him; "and though I have been a crossgrained soldier's wife to you sometimes, George, we are as strong friends, I am sure, in reality, as ever can be.

"A hundred thousand thanks, old fellow," says Mrs. Bagnet, her eyes sparkling with pleasure and her hand stretched out to him; "and though I have been a crossgrained soldier's wife to you sometimes, George, we are as strong friends as ever can be.


Now you shall fasten it on yourself, for good luck, if you will, George."

Now you shall fasten it on yourself, for good luck, George."


The children close up to see it done, and Mr. Bagnet looks over young Woolwich's head to see it done with an interest so maturely wooden, yet pleasantly childish, that Mrs. Bagnet cannot help laughing in her airy way and saying, "Oh, Lignum, Lignum, what a precious old chap you are!"


But the trooper fails to fasten the brooch.


His hand shakes, he is nervous, and it falls off.

's hand shakes, and the brooch falls off.


says he, catching it as it drops and looking round.


"I am so out of sorts that I bungle at an easy job like this!"

"I am so out of sorts that I bungle an easy job like this!"


Mrs. Bagnet concludes that for such a case there is no remedy like a pipe, and fastening the brooch herself in a twinkling, causes the trooper to be inducted into his usual snug place and the pipes to be got into action.

Mrs. Bagnet concludes that for such a case there is no remedy like a pipe, and fastening the brooch herself, causes the trooper to sit in his usual snug place and the pipes to be got into action.


"If that don't bring you round, George," says she, "just throw your eye across here at your present now and then, and the two together MUST do it."


"You ought to do it of yourself," George answers; "I know that very well, Mrs. Bagnet.


I'll tell you how, one way and another, the blues have got to be too many for me.

The blues have got too many for me," admits George.


'Twas dull work to see him dying as he did, and not be able to help him."


"I helped him so far, but that's little.


I mean, Mrs. Bagnet, there he was, dying without ever having been taught much more than to know his right hand from his left.


And he was too far gone to be helped out of that."


"Then," says the trooper, not yet lighting his pipe, and passing his heavy hand over his hair, "that brought up Gridley in a man's mind.


His was a bad case too, in a different way.


Then the two got mixed up in a man's mind with a flinty old rascal who had to do with both.

Then the two got mixed up in a my mind with a flinty old rascal who had to do with both.


And to think of that rusty carbine, stock and barrel, standing up on end in his corner, hard, indifferent, taking everything so evenly--it made flesh and blood tingle, I do assure you."

Hard, indifferent, taking everything so evenly - it made flesh and blood tingle, I do assure you."


"My advice to you," returns Mrs. Bagnet, "is to light your pipe and tingle that way.


It's wholesomer and comfortabler, and better for the health altogether."


"You're right," says the trooper, "and I'll do it."


So he does it, though still with an indignant gravity that impresses the young Bagnets, and even causes Mr. Bagnet to defer the ceremony of drinking Mrs. Bagnet's health, always given by himself on these occasions in a speech of exemplary terseness.


But the young ladies having composed what Mr. Bagnet is in the habit of calling "the mixtur," and George's pipe being now in a glow, Mr. Bagnet considers it his duty to proceed to the toast of the evening.

Once George's pipe is in a glow, Mr. Bagnet proceeds to the toast of the evening.


He addresses the assembled company in the following terms.


The toast having been drunk with enthusiasm, Mrs. Bagnet returns thanks in a neat address of corresponding brevity.

The toast having been drunk with enthusiasm, Mrs. Bagnet returns thanks in a neat address of equal brevity


This model composition is limited to the three words "And wishing yours!"


which the old girl follows up with a nod at everybody in succession and a well-regulated swig of the mixture.

which she follows up with a nod at everybody and a swig of the mixture.


This she again follows up, on the present occasion, by the wholly unexpected exclamation, "Here's a man!"

This she again follows up by the wholly unexpected exclamation, "Here's a man!"


Here IS a man, much to the astonishment of the little company, looking in at the parlour-door.

Here is a man, much to everyone's astonishment, looking in at the parlour-door.


He is a sharp-eyed man--a quick keen man--and he takes in everybody's look at him, all at once, individually and collectively, in a manner that stamps him a remarkable man.

He is a sharp-eyed man - a quick keen man - and he takes in everybody's look at him, all at once, in a remarkable manner.


"George," says the man, nodding, "how do you find yourself?"


"Yes," says the man, coming in and closing the door.


"I was going down the street here when I happened to stop and look in at the musical instruments in the shop-window--a friend of mine is in want of a second-hand wiolinceller of a good tone--and I saw a party enjoying themselves, and I thought it was you in the corner; I thought I couldn't be mistaken.

"I was going down the street here when I happened to stop and look in at the musical instruments in the shop-window - a friend of mine is in want of a second-hand cello - and I saw a party enjoying themselves, and I thought it was you in the corner.


How goes the world with you, George, at the present moment?


And Lord," says Mr. Bucket, opening his arms, "here's children too!


You may do anything with me if you only show me children.


No occasion to inquire who YOUR father and mother is.

No occasion to inquire who your father and mother is.


Mr. Bucket, not unwelcome, has sat himself down next to Mr. George and taken Quebec and Malta on his knees.


"You pretty dears," says Mr. Bucket, "give us another kiss; it's the only thing I'm greedy in.


And what may be the ages of these two, ma'am?


I should put 'em down at the figures of about eight and ten."

I should put 'em at about eight and ten."


"You're very near, sir," says Mrs. Bagnet.


"I generally am near," returns Mr. Bucket, "being so fond of children.


A friend of mine has had nineteen of 'em, ma'am, all by one mother, and she's still as fresh and rosy as the morning.


Not so much so as yourself, but, upon my soul, she comes near you!


And what do you call these, my darling?"


pursues Mr. Bucket, pinching Malta's cheeks.


Do you think father could recommend a second-hand wiolinceller of a good tone for Mr. Bucket's friend, my dear?

And do you think father could recommend a second-hand cello for Mr. Bucket's friend, my dear?


These blandishments have entirely won the family heart.


Mrs. Bagnet forgets the day to the extent of filling a pipe and a glass for Mr. Bucket and waiting upon him hospitably.

Mrs. Bagnet fills a pipe and a glass for Mr. Bucket and


She would be glad to receive so pleasant a character under any circumstances, but she tells him that as a friend of George's she is particularly glad to see him this evening, for George has not been in his usual spirits.


You don't intend to tell me you've been out of spirits.


You haven't got anything on your mind, you know."


"Nothing particular," returns the trooper.


"I should think not," rejoins Mr. Bucket.


"What could you have on your mind, you know!


And have these pets got anything on THEIR minds, eh?


Not they, but they'll be upon the minds of some of the young fellows, some of these days, and make 'em precious low-spirited.

'll be upon the minds of some of the young fellows, some of these days.


I ain't much of a prophet, but I can tell you that, ma'am."


Mrs. Bagnet, quite charmed, hopes Mr. Bucket has a family of his own.


My wife and a lodger constitute my family.


Mrs. Bucket is as fond of children as myself and as wishful to have 'em, but no.


Worldly goods are divided unequally, and man must not repine.


"I should have thought there might have been.


Well, I don't know as I ever saw a backyard that took my fancy more.

Well, I don't know as I ever saw a backyard that took my fancy more," says Mr. Bucket.


But what a very good-proportioned yard it is!"


Having cast his sharp eye all about it, Mr. Bucket returns to his chair next his friend Mr. George and pats Mr. George affectionately on the shoulder.

Mr. Bucket returns to his chair and pats Mr. George affectionately on the shoulder.


"Why should you ever have been otherwise?


"A man of your fine figure and constitution has no right to be out of spirits.


That ain't a chest to be out of spirits, is it, ma'am?


And you haven't got anything on your mind, you know, George; what could you have on your mind!"

And you haven't got anything on your mind, you know, George!


Somewhat harping on this phrase, considering the extent and variety of his conversational powers, Mr. Bucket twice or thrice repeats it to the pipe he lights, and with a listening face that is particularly his own.


But the sun of his sociality soon recovers from this brief eclipse and shines again.


And this is your brother, is it, my dears?"


says Mr. Bucket, referring to Quebec and Malta for information on the subject of young Woolwich.

he says to Quebec and Malta, referring to young Woolwich.


"And a nice brother he is--half-brother I mean to say.


For he's too old to be your boy, ma'am."


"I can certify at all events that he is not anybody else's," returns Mrs. Bagnet, laughing.

"He is not anybody else's," returns Mrs. Bagnet, laughing.


But about what you may call the brow, you know, THERE his father comes out!"


Mr. Bucket compares the faces with one eye shut up, while Mr. Bagnet smokes in stolid satisfaction.


This is an opportunity for Mrs. Bagnet to inform him that the boy is George's godson.

Mrs. Bagnet informs him that the boy is George's godson.


rejoins Mr. Bucket with extreme cordiality.


"I must shake hands over again with George's godson.

"I must shake hands with George's godson.


Godfather and godson do credit to one another.


And what do you intend to make of him, ma'am?


Does he show any turn for any musical instrument?"


Mr. Bagnet suddenly interposes, "Plays the fife.


"Would you believe it, governor," says Mr. Bucket, struck by the coincidence, "that when I was a boy I played the fife myself?


Not in a scientific way, as I expect he does, but by ear.


'British Grenadiers'--there's a tune to warm an Englishman up!

'British Grenadiers' - there's a tune to warm an Englishman up!


COULD you give us 'British Grenadiers,' my fine fellow?"

Could you give us 'British Grenadiers,' my fine fellow?"


Nothing could be more acceptable to the little circle than this call upon young Woolwich, who immediately fetches his fife and performs the stirring melody, during which performance Mr. Bucket, much enlivened, beats time and never fails to come in sharp with the burden, "British Gra-a-anadeers!"

Nothing could be more acceptable to the little circle. Woolwich immediately fetches his fife and performs the stirring melody, while Mr. Bucket beats time and comes in sharp with the chorus, "British Gra-a-anadeers!"


In short, he shows so much musical taste that Mr. Bagnet actually takes his pipe from his lips to express his conviction that he is a singer.


Mr. Bucket receives the harmonious impeachment so modestly, confessing how that he did once chaunt a little, for the expression of the feelings of his own bosom, and with no presumptuous idea of entertaining his friends, that he is asked to sing.

Mr. Bucket modestly confesses, and is asked to sing.


Not to be behindhand in the sociality of the evening, he complies and gives them "Believe Me, if All Those Endearing Young Charms."

He complies and gives them "Believe Me, if All Those Endearing Young Charms."


This ballad, he informs Mrs. Bagnet, he considers to have been his most powerful ally in moving the heart of Mrs. Bucket when a maiden, and inducing her to approach the altar--Mr. Bucket's own words are "to come up to the scratch."


This sparkling stranger is such a new and agreeable feature in the evening that Mr. George, who testified no great emotions of pleasure on his entrance, begins, in spite of himself, to be rather proud of him.

This sparkling stranger is such a new and agreeable feature in the evening that Mr. George begins, in spite of himself, to be rather proud of him.


He is so friendly, is a man of so many resources, and so easy to get on with, that it is something to have made him known there.


Mr. Bagnet becomes, after another pipe, so sensible of the value of his acquaintance that he solicits the honour of his company on the old girl's next birthday.

Mr. Bagnet asks for the honour of his company on the old girl's next birthday.


If anything can more closely cement and consolidate the esteem which Mr. Bucket has formed for the family, it is the discovery of the nature of the occasion.

On discovering the nature of the occasion, Mr. Bucket


He drinks to Mrs. Bagnet with a warmth approaching to rapture, engages himself for that day twelvemonth more than thankfully, makes a memorandum of the day in a large black pocket-book with a girdle to it, and breathes a hope that Mrs. Bucket and Mrs. Bagnet may before then become, in a manner, sisters.

drinks to Mrs. Bagnet with warmth, makes a memorandum of the day in a large black pocket-book, and breathes a hope that Mrs. Bucket and Mrs. Bagnet may before then become, in a manner, sisters.


As he says himself, what is public life without private ties?


He is in his humble way a public man, but it is not in that sphere that he finds happiness.


No, it must be sought within the confines of domestic bliss.


It is natural, under these circumstances, that he, in his turn, should remember the friend to whom he is indebted for so promising an acquaintance.

It is natural that he, in his turn, should remember the friend to whom he is indebted for this acquaintance.


Whatever the subject of the conversation, he keeps a tender eye upon him.


He is interested in his very boots and observes even them attentively as Mr. George sits smoking cross-legged in the chimney-corner.


At the same moment Mr. Bucket, with the secret sympathy of friendship, also rises.

At the same moment Mr. Bucket also rises.


He dotes upon the children to the last and remembers the commission he has undertaken for an absent friend.

He remembers the commission he has undertaken.


"Respecting that second-hand wiolinceller, governor--could you recommend me such a thing?"

"Respecting that second-hand cello, governor - could you recommend me such a thing?"


"I am obliged to you," returns Mr. Bucket, squeezing his hand.


Ecod, he saws away at Mozart and Handel and the rest of the big-wigs like a thorough workman.


And you needn't," says Mr. Bucket in a considerate and private voice, "you needn't commit yourself to too low a figure, governor.

And you needn't commit yourself to too low a figure, governor.


I don't want to pay too large a price for my friend, but I want you to have your proper percentage and be remunerated for your loss of time.

I don't want to pay too large a price for my friend, but I want you to have your proper percentage.


Mr. Bagnet shakes his head at the old girl to the effect that they have found a jewel of price.


"Suppose I was to give you a look in, say, at half arter ten to-morrow morning.

Suppose I was to look in, say, at half arter ten tomorrow morning?"


Perhaps you could name the figures of a few wiolincellers of a good tone?"


Mr. and Mrs. Bagnet both engage to have the requisite information ready and even hint to each other at the practicability of having a small stock collected there for approval.

Mr. and Mrs. Bagnet engage to have the information ready and even hint at having a small stock of instruments collected there for approval.


"Thank you," says Mr. Bucket, "thank you.


I am much obliged to you for one of the pleasantest evenings I ever spent in my life."


They, on the contrary, are much obliged to him for the pleasure he has given them in his company; and so they part with many expressions of goodwill on both sides.

So they part with many expressions of goodwill on both sides.


"Now George, old boy," says Mr. Bucket, taking his arm at the shop-door, "come along!"


As they go down the little street and the Bagnets pause for a minute looking after them, Mrs. Bagnet remarks to the worthy Lignum that Mr. Bucket "almost clings to George like, and seems to be really fond of him."

As they go away down the little street, Mrs. Bagnet remarks that Mr. Bucket "almost clings to George, and seems to be really fond of him."


The neighbouring streets being narrow and ill-paved, it is a little inconvenient to walk there two abreast and arm in arm.

The neighbouring streets being narrow and ill-paved, it is a little inconvenient to walk there two abreast.


Mr. George therefore soon proposes to walk singly.


But Mr. Bucket, who cannot make up his mind to relinquish his friendly hold, replies, "Wait half a minute, George.

But Mr. Bucket, without relinquishing his friendly hold, replies, "Wait half a minute, George.


Immediately afterwards, he twists him into a public-house and into a parlour, where he confronts him and claps his own back against the door.

He twists him into a public-house and into a parlour, where he confronts him and claps his own back against the door.


"Now, George," says Mr. Bucket, "duty is duty, and friendship is friendship.


I never want the two to clash if I can help it.


I have endeavoured to make things pleasant to-night, and I put it to you whether I have done it or not.

I have endeavoured to make things pleasant tonight,


You must consider yourself in custody, George."

but you must consider yourself in custody, George."


"Now, George," says Mr. Bucket, urging a sensible view of the case upon him with his fat forefinger, "duty, as you know very well, is one thing, and conversation is another.


It's my duty to inform you that any observations you may make will be liable to be used against you.

it's my duty to inform you that any observations you may make will be liable to be used against you.


Therefore, George, be careful what you say.


You don't happen to have heard of a murder?"


"Now, George," says Mr. Bucket, keeping his forefinger in an impressive state of action, "bear in mind what I've said to you.

"Now, George," says Mr. Bucket, "bear in mind what I've said to you.


You've been in low spirits this afternoon.


I say, you don't happen to have heard of a murder?"


"Now, George," says Mr. Bucket, "don't you go and commit yourself.


I'm a-going to tell you what I want you for.


There has been a murder in Lincoln's Inn Fields--gentleman of the name of Tulkinghorn.

There has been a murder in Lincoln's Inn Fields - gentleman of the name of Tulkinghorn.


The trooper sinks upon a seat behind him, and great drops start out upon his forehead, and a deadly pallor overspreads his face.

The trooper sinks upon a seat, and great drops start out upon his forehead, and a deadly pallor overspreads his face.


It's not possible that Mr. Tulkinghorn has been killed and that you suspect ME?"

It's not possible that Mr. Tulkinghorn has been killed and that you suspect me?"


"George," returns Mr. Bucket, keeping his forefinger going, "it is certainly possible, because it's the case.

"George," returns Mr. Bucket, his forefinger wagging, "it is certainly possible, because it's the case.


This deed was done last night at ten o'clock.


Now, you know where you were last night at ten o'clock, and you'll be able to prove it, no doubt."


"Why, great heaven, I was there last night!"


"So I have understood, George," returns Mr. Bucket with great deliberation.


You've been seen hanging about the place, and you've been heard more than once in a wrangle with him, and it's possible--I don't say it's certainly so, mind you, but it's possible--that he may have been heard to call you a threatening, murdering, dangerous fellow."

"You've been seen hanging about the place, and you've been heard more than once in a wrangle with him, and it's possible - I don't say it's certainly so, mind you, but it's possible - that he may have been heard to call you a threatening, murdering, dangerous fellow."


The trooper gasps as if he would admit it all if he could speak.


"Now, George," continues Mr. Bucket, putting his hat upon the table with an air of business rather in the upholstery way than otherwise, "my wish is, as it has been all the evening, to make things pleasant.

"Now, George," continues Mr. Bucket, putting his hat upon the table, "my wish is, as it has been all the evening, to make things pleasant.


I tell you plainly there's a reward out, of a hundred guineas, offered by Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet.

There's a reward out, of a hundred guineas, offered by Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet.


You and me have always been pleasant together; but I have got a duty to discharge; and if that hundred guineas is to be made, it may as well be made by me as any other man.


On all of which accounts, I should hope it was clear to you that I must have you, and that I'm damned if I don't have you.

On all of which accounts, I hope it was clear to you that I must arrest you.


Am I to call in any assistance, or is the trick done?"

Am I to call in any assistance, or is it done?"


Mr. George has recovered himself and stands up like a soldier.


"George," continues Mr. Bucket, "wait a bit!"


With his upholsterer manner, as if the trooper were a window to be fitted up, he takes from his pocket a pair of handcuffs.

Mr. Bucket takes from his pocket a pair of handcuffs.


"This is a serious charge, George, and such is my duty."


The trooper flushes angrily and hesitates a moment, but holds out his two hands, clasped together, and says, "There!

The trooper flushes angrily and hesitates, but holds out his two hands. "There!


If not, say so, for I wish to make things as pleasant as is consistent with my duty, and I've got another pair in my pocket."

If not, say so, for I wish to make things as pleasant as is consistent with my duty.


This remark he offers like a most respectable tradesman anxious to execute an order neatly and to the perfect satisfaction of his customer.


Now, you see, George"--he takes a cloak from a corner and begins adjusting it about the trooper's neck--"I was mindful of your feelings when I come out, and brought this on purpose.

Now, you see, George" - he takes a cloak from a corner and adjusts it about the trooper's neck - "I was mindful of your feelings when I come out, and brought this on purpose.


"Only I," returns the trooper, "but as I know it, do me one more good turn and pull my hat over my eyes."

"Only I," returns the trooper. "Do me one more good turn and pull my hat over my eyes."


"I can't look chance men in the face with these things on," Mr. George hurriedly replies.


"Do, for God's sake, pull my hat forward."


So strongly entreated, Mr. Bucket complies, puts his own hat on, and conducts his prize into the streets, the trooper marching on as steadily as usual, though with his head less erect, and Mr. Bucket steering him with his elbow over the crossings and up the turnings.

Mr. Bucket complies, puts his own hat on, and conducts his prize into the streets, the trooper marching on as steadily as usual, and Mr. Bucket steering him with his elbow over the crossings and up the turnings.


As the winter wore itself away, Mr. Cheesacre, happy as he was amidst the sports of Norfolk, and prosperous as he might be with the augean spoils of Oileymead, fretted himself with an intense anxiety to bring to a close that affair which he had on his hands with the widow Greenow.

As the winter passed, Mr. Cheesacre fretted anxiously about the widow Greenow.


There were two special dangers which disturbed him.

There were two dangers which disturbed him.


She would give herself and all her money to that adventurer, Bellfield; or else she would spend her own money so fast before he got hold upon it, that the prize would be greatly damaged.

She would give herself and all her money to Bellfield; or else she would spend her own money so fast before he got hold of it, that the prize would be greatly damaged.


"I'm ---- if she hasn't been and set up a carriage!"

"I'm --- if she hasn't set up a carriage!"


he said to himself one day, as standing on the pavement of Tombland, in Norwich, he saw Mrs. Greenow issue forth from the Close in a private brougham, accompanied by one of the Fairstairs girls.

he said to himself one day in Norwich, on seeing Mrs. Greenow in a private brougham, accompanied by one of the Fairstairs girls.


"She's been and set up her carriage as sure as my name's Cheesacre!"


Whatever reason he might have to fear the former danger, we may declare that he had none whatever as to the latter.


However, Mrs. Greenow knew what she was doing with her money as well as any lady in England.


The private carriage was only a hired brougham taken by the month, and as to that boy in buttons whom she had lately established, why should she not keep a young servant, and call him a page, if it gave her any comfort to do so?

The private carriage was only hired by the month, and as to that boy in buttons, why should she not keep a young servant, and call him a page, if she wished?


If Mr. Cheesacre had also known that she had lent the Fairstairs family fifty pounds to help them through with some difficulty which Joe had encountered with the Norwich tradespeople, he would have been beside himself with dismay.

If Mr. Cheesacre had also known that she had lent the Fairstairs family fifty pounds to help them through some difficulty, he would have been beside himself with dismay.


He desired to obtain the prize unmutilated,--in all its fair proportions.

He desired to obtain the prize unmutilated.


Any such clippings he regarded as robberies against himself.


But he feared Bellfield more than he feared the brougham.


That all is fair in love and war was no doubt, at this period, Captain Bellfield's maxim, and we can only trust that he found in it some consolation, or ease to his conscience, in regard to the monstrous lies which he told his friend.

That all is fair in love and war was no doubt Captain Bellfield's maxim; at any rate he told some monstrous lies to his friend.


In war, no doubt, all stratagems are fair.


The one general is quite justified in making the other believe that he is far to the right, when in truth he is turning his enemy's left flank.


If successful, he will be put upon a pedestal for his clever deceit, and crowned with laurels because of his lie.


If Bellfield could only be successful, and achieve for himself the mastery over those forty thousand pounds, the world would forgive him and place, on his brow also, some not uncomfortable crown.

If Bellfield could only be successful, and achieve mastery over those forty thousand pounds, the world would forgive him.


In the mean time, his stratagems were as deep and his lies as profound as those of any general.

In the meantime, his stratagems were as deep and his lies as profound as those of any general.


It must not be supposed that Cheesacre ever believed him.


In the first place, he knew that Bellfield was not a man to be believed in any way.

In the first place, he knew that Bellfield was not a man to be believed.


Had he not been living on lies for the last ten years?


But then a man may lie in such a way as to deceive, though no one believe him.


Mr. Cheesacre was kept in an agony of doubt while Captain Bellfield occupied his lodgings in Norwich.

But Mr. Cheesacre was kept in an agony of doubt.


He even fee'd Charlie Fairstairs,--Miss Fairstairs I mean,--with gloves, and chickens from Oileymead, so that he might know whether that kite fluttered about his dovecoat, and of what nature were the flutterings.

He even paid Charlie Fairstairs with gloves, and chickens from Oileymead, so that he might know whether that hawk fluttered about his dovecote.


He went even further than this, and fee'd the Captain himself,--binding him down not to flutter as value given in return for such fees.

He went further, and paid the Captain himself, making him promise not to flutter in return for money.


He attempted even to fee the widow,--cautioning her against the fluttering, as he tendered to her, on his knees, a brooch as big as a breast-plate.

He even attempted to pay the widow - cautioning her against the fluttering, as he offered her, on his knees, a brooch as big as a plate.


She waved aside the breast-plate, declaring that the mourning ring which contained poor Greenow's final grey lock of hair, was the last article from a jeweller's shop which should ever find a place about her person.

She waved the brooch aside, declaring that her mourning ring was the only jewellery she would ever wear.


At the same time she declared that Captain Bellfield was nothing to her; Mr. Cheesacre need have no fears in that quarter.

She also declared that Captain Bellfield was nothing to her; Mr. Cheesacre need have no fears.


But then, she added, neither was he to have any hope.

But, she added, neither was he to have any hope.


Her affections were all buried under the cold sod.

Her affections were all buried under the cold earth.


Nevertheless, though no absolute satisfaction was to be attained in the wooing of Mrs. Greenow, there was a pleasantness in the occupation which ought to have reconciled her suitors to their destiny.

Nevertheless, though they could get no satisfaction in wooing Mrs. Greenow, the pleasantness of the occupation ought to have reconciled her suitors to their destiny.


With most ladies, when a gentleman has been on his knees before one of them in the morning, with outspoken protestations of love, with clearly defined proffers of marriage, with a minute inventory of the offerer's worldly wealth,--down even to the "mahogany-furnitured" bed-chambers, as was the case with Mr. Cheesacre, and when all these overtures have been peremptorily declined,--a gentleman in such a case, I say, would generally feel some awkwardness in sitting down to tea with the lady at the close of such a performance.

When a gentleman has been on his knees before a lady, and has been peremptorily refused, he would generally feel some awkwardness in sitting down to tea with the lady afterwards.


But with Mrs. Greenow there was no such awkwardness.


After an hour's work of the nature above described she would play the hostess with a genial hospitality, that eased off all the annoyance of disappointment; and then at the end of the evening, she would accept a squeeze of the hand, a good, palpable, long-protracted squeeze, with that sort of "don't;--have done now," by which Irish young ladies allure their lovers.

She would play the hostess with a genial hospitality, and at the end of the evening she would accept a good long squeeze of the hand.


Mr. Cheesacre, on such occasions, would leave the Close, swearing that she should be his on the next market-day,--or at any rate, on the next Saturday.

Mr. Cheesacre, on such occasions, would leave the Close swearing that she should be his on the next market-day.


Then, on the Monday, tidings would reach him that Bellfield had passed all Sunday afternoon with his lady-love,--Bellfield, to whom he had lent five pounds on purpose that he might be enabled to spend that very Sunday with some officers of the Suffolk volunteers at Ipswich.

Then, on the Monday, news would reach him that Bellfield had passed all Sunday afternoon with his lady-love - Bellfield, to whom he had lent five pounds to spend that very Sunday with some officers at Ipswich.


And hearing this, he would walk out among those rich heaps, at the back of his farmyard, uttering deep curses against the falsehood of men and the fickleness of women.


Driven to despair, he at last resolved to ask Bellfield to come to Oileymead for a month.


That drilling at Norwich, or the part of it which was supposed to be profitable, was wearing itself out.


Funds were low with the Captain,--as he did not scruple to tell his friend Cheesacre, and he accepted the invitation.

Funds were low with the Captain, and he accepted the invitation.


"I'll mount you with the harriers, old fellow," Cheesacre had said; "and give you a little shooting.

"I'll hire you a horse, old fellow," Cheesacre had said; "and give you a little shooting.


Only I won't have you go out when I'm not with you."


Bellfield agreed, Each of them understood the nature of the bargain; though Bellfield, I think, had somewhat the clearer understanding in the matter.

Bellfield agreed. Each of them understood the nature of the bargain; though Bellfield, I think, understood it better.


He would not be so near the widow as he had been at Norwich, but he would not be less near than his kind host.

He would not be so near the widow as he had been at Norwich, but he would no further away than his kind host was.


And his host would no doubt watch him closely;--but then he also could watch his host.

His host would no doubt watch him closely; but he could also watch his host.


There was a railway station not two miles from Oileymead, and the journey thence into Norwich was one of half an hour.

There was a railway station two miles from Oileymead, and the journey into Norwich was only half an hour.


Mr. Cheesacre would doubtless be very jealous of such journeys, but with all his jealousy he could not prevent them.

Mr. Cheesacre could not prevent such journeys.


And then, in regard to this arrangement, Mr. Cheesacre paid the piper, whereas Captain Bellfield paid nothing.

And then he would pay for everything, while Captain Bellfield paid nothing.


Would it not be sweet to him if he could carry off his friend's prize from under the very eaves of his friend's house?

Would it not be sweet if he could carry off his friend's prize from under his friend's roof?


And Mrs. Greenow also understood the arrangement.


she said when Captain Bellfield came to tell her of his departure.


Charlie Fairstairs was with her, so that the Captain could not utilize the moment in any special way.

Charlie Fairstairs was with her, so that the Captain could not use the moment in any special way.


"It's quite delightful," continued the widow, "to see how fond you two gentlemen are of each other."


"I think gentlemen always like to go best to gentlemen's houses where there are no ladies," said Charlie Fairstairs, whose career in life had not as yet been satisfactory to her.


"As for that," said Bellfield, "I wish with all my heart that dear old Cheesy would get a wife.

"I wish with all my heart that dear old Cheesy would get a wife," said Bellfield.


He wants a wife badly, if ever a man did, with all that house full of blankets and crockery.

"He needs a wife badly, with that house full of blankets and crockery.


Why don't you set your cap at him, Miss Fairstairs?"


said Charlie who was particularly anxious that her dear friend, Mrs. Greenow, should not marry Mr. Cheesacre, and who weakly thought to belittle him accordingly.

said Charlie, who was particularly anxious that her dear friend Mrs. Greenow should not marry Mr. Cheesacre.


"Give him my kind love," said Mrs. Greenow, thereby resenting the impotent interference.

"Give him my kind love," said Mrs. Greenow.


"And look here, Captain Bellfield, suppose you both dine with me next Saturday.

"And, Captain Bellfield, suppose you both dine with me next Saturday.


He always comes in on Saturday, and you might as well come too."

He always comes on Saturday, and you might as well come too."


Captain Bellfield declared that he would only be too happy.


"And Charlie shall come to set her cap at Mr. Cheesacre," said the widow, turning a soft and gracious eye on the Captain.

"And Charlie shall come to set her cap at Mr. Cheesacre," said the widow.


"I shall be happy to come,"--said Charlie, quite delighted; "but not with that object.

"I shall be happy to come," said Charlie, quite delighted; "but not with that object


, though Mr. Cheesacre is very respectable, I'm sure."


Charlie's mother had been the daughter of a small squire who had let his land to tenants, and she was, therefore, justified by circumstances in looking down upon a farmer.


The matter was so settled,--pending the consent of Mr. Cheesacre; and Bellfield went out to Oileymead.


He knew the ways of the house, and was not surprised to find himself left alone till after dusk; nor was he much surprised when he learned that he was not put into one of the mahogany-furnitured chambers, but into a back room looking over the farm-yard in which there was no fire-place.

He was not much surprised to find himself put not into one of the mahogany-furnitured chambers, but into a back room overlooking the farm-yard, with no fire-place.


The Captain had already endured some of the evils of poverty, and could have put up with this easily had nothing been said about it.


As it was, Cheesacre brought the matter forward, and apologized, and made the thing difficult.


"You see, old fellow," he said, "there are the rooms, and of course they're empty.


But it's such a bore hauling out all the things and putting up the curtains.


"I shall do very well," said Bellfield rather sulkily.


It's the warmest room in the house in one way."


Perhaps the near neighbourhood of the stables may have had a warming effect.


Bellfield did not like it; but what is a poor man to do under such circumstances?


So he went up-stairs and washed his hands before dinner in the room without a fire-place, flattering himself that he would yet be even with his friend Cheesacre.

So he washed his hands before dinner in the room without a fire-place, flattering himself that he would yet be even with his friend Cheesacre.


They dined together not in the best humour, and after dinner they sat down to enjoy themselves with pipes and brandy and water.


Bellfield, having a taste for everything that was expensive, would have preferred cigars; but his friend put none upon the table.

Bellfield would have preferred cigars; but they were more expensive, and his friend put none upon the table.


Mr. Cheesacre, though he could spend his money liberally when occasion required such spending, knew well the value of domestic economy.


He wasn't going to put himself out, as he called it, for Bellfield!

wasn't going to put himself out for Bellfield!


What was good enough for himself was good enough for Bellfield.


"A beggar, you know; just a regular beggar!"


as he was betrayed into saying to Mrs. Greenow on some occasion just at this period.


He only wants money to make him almost perfect," Mrs. Greenow had answered;--and Mr. Cheesacre had felt that he had made a mistake.


Both the men became talkative, if not good-humoured, under the effects of the brandy and water, and the Captain then communicated Mrs. Greenow's invitation to Mr. Cheesacre.

Both the men became talkative under the effects of the brandy, and the Captain then gave Mrs. Greenow's invitation to Mr. Cheesacre.


He had had his doubts as to the propriety of doing so,--thinking that perhaps it might be to his advantage to forget the message.

He had wondered whether to forget the message, but decided that it


But he reflected that he was at any rate a match for Cheesacre when they were present together, and finally came to the conclusion that the message should be delivered.


"I had to go and just wish her goodbye you know," he said apologetically, as he finished his little speech.

"I had to go and just wish her goodbye, you know," he said apologetically.


"I don't see that at all," said Cheesacre.


"Why, my dear fellow, how foolishly jealous you are.


If I were to be downright uncivil to her, as you would have me be, it would only call attention to the thing."

If I were to be downright uncivil to her, it would only call attention to the thing."


A man who sits upon his own ground as I do hasn't any occasion to be jealous."


"I don't know what your own ground has to do with it,--but we'll let that pass."

"I don't know what your own ground has to do with it."


"I think it has a great deal to do with it.


If a man does intend to marry he ought to have things comfortable about him; unless he wants to live on his wife, which I look upon as about the meanest thing a man can do.

If a man intends to marry he ought to have things comfortable about him; unless he wants to live on his wife, which is about the meanest thing a man can do.


By George, I'd sooner break stones than that."


This was hard for any captain to bear,--even for Captain Bellfield; but he did bear it,--looking forward to revenge.

This was hard for any captain to bear; but Captain Bellfield did bear it - looking forward to revenge.


"There's no pleasing you, I know," said he.


"But I went to say goodbye to her, and she asked me to give you that message.


Cheesacre sat for some time silent, blowing out huge clouds of smoke while he meditated a little plan.

Cheesacre sat for some time silent and meditating a little plan.


"I'll tell you what it is, Bellfield," he said at last.

"I'll tell you what, Bellfield," he said at last.


"She's nothing to you, and if you won't mind it, I'll go.

"She's nothing to you, and if you won't mind staying here, I'll go.


Mrs. Jones shall get you anything you like for dinner,--and,--and--I'll stand you a bottle of the '34 port!"

Mrs. Jones shall get you anything you like for dinner - and - and I'll stand you a bottle of the '34 port!"


But Captain Bellfield was not going to put up with this.


He had not sold himself altogether to work Mr. Cheesacre's will.


"No, old fellow," said he; "that cock won't fight.


She has asked me to dine with her on Saturday, and I mean to go."


I don't intend that she shall think that I'm afraid of her,--or of you either."


"No, I don't," said the Captain stoutly.


"I wish you'd pay me some of that money you owe me," said Cheesacre.


"So I will,--when I've married the widow.

"So I will - when I've married the widow."


Cheesacre longed to turn him out of the house.


Words to bid him go, were, so to say, upon his tongue.


But the man would only have taken himself to Norwich, and would have gone without any embargo upon his suit; all their treaties would then be at an end.

But the man would only have taken himself to Norwich, to woo the widow; and all their treaties would be at an end.


"She knows a trick worth two of that," said Cheesacre at last.


"I dare say she does; and if so, why shouldn't I go and dine with her next Saturday?"

"Why shouldn't I go and dine with her next Saturday?"


"I'll tell you why,--because you're in my way.

asked Bellfield.
"Because you're in my way.


The deuce is in it if I haven't made the whole thing clear enough.


I've told you all my plans because I thought you were my friend, and I've paid you well to help me, too; and yet it seems to me you'd do anything in your power to throw me over,--only you can't."

I've told you all my plans because I thought you were my friend, and I've paid you well to help me, too; and yet you do all you can to throw me over - only you can't."


"What an ass you are," said the Captain after a pause; "just you listen to me.

"What an ass you are," said the Captain. "Just you listen to me.


That scraggy young woman, Charlie Fairstairs, is to be there of course."

That scraggy young woman, Charlie Fairstairs, is to be there.


She was present when the whole thing was arranged, and I heard her asked, and heard her say that she would come;--and for the matter of that I heard her declare that she wouldn't set her cap at you, because you're a farmer."

She was present when the whole thing was arranged, and I heard her asked, and heard her say that she would come - and she declared that she wouldn't set her cap at you, because you're a farmer."


Upon my word she is," said Cheesacre, getting very angry and very red.


I wouldn't pick her out of a gutter with a pair of tongs."


She ain't good enough for my bailiff, let alone me."


"But somebody must take her in hand on Saturday, if you're to do any good," said the crafty Bellfield.

"But somebody must take her in hand on Saturday, if you're to do any good with the widow," said the crafty Bellfield.


"What the deuce does she have that nasty creature there for?"


said Cheesacre, who thought it very hard that everything should not be arranged exactly as he would desire.


You can get rid of Charlie, you know, when you make her Mrs. Cheesacre."


You don't suppose she'll ever put her foot in this house.


I've detested that woman for the last ten years."


Cheesacre could forgive no word of slight respecting his social position, and the idea of Miss Fairstairs having pretended to look down upon him, galled him to the quick.

Cheesacre could forgive no slighting of his social position, and the idea of Miss Fairstairs looking down upon him galled him to the quick.


"You'll have to dine with her at any rate," said Bellfield, "and I always think that four are better company than three on such occasions."

"You'll have to dine with her at any rate," said Bellfield, "and four are better company than three on such occasions."


Mr. Cheesacre grunted an unwilling assent, and after this it was looked upon as an arranged thing that they two should go into Norwich on the Saturday together, and that they should both dine with the widow.

Mr. Cheesacre grunted an unwilling assent; and it was arranged that they should go together, and both dine with the widow.


Indeed, Mrs. Greenow got two notes, one from each of them, accepting the invitation.

Indeed, Mrs. Greenow got two notes, one from each of them.


Cheesacre wrote in the singular number, altogether ignoring Captain Bellfield, as he might have ignored his footman had he intended to take one.

Cheesacre wrote his acceptance, altogether ignoring Captain Bellfield.


The captain condescended to use the plural pronoun.


"We shall be so happy to come," said he.


"Dear old Cheesy is out of his little wits with delight," he added, "and has already begun to polish off the effects of the farmyard."

Dear old Cheesy is out of his little wits with delight, and has already begun to polish off the effects of the farmyard."


"Effects of the farmyard," said Mrs. Greenow aloud, in Jeannette's hearing, when she received the note.

"Effects of the farmyard," read Mrs. Greenow aloud to Jeannette.


"It would be well for Captain Bellfield if he had a few such effects himself."


"You can give him enough, ma'am," said Jeannette, "to make him a better man than Mr. Cheesacre any day.


And for a gentleman--of course I say nothing, but if I was a lady, I know which should be the man for me."

And for a gentleman - of course I say nothing, but if I was a lady, I know which should be the man for me."


Of all sights in the world there is, I think, none more beautiful than that of a pack of fox-hounds seated, on a winter morning, round the huntsman, if the place of meeting has been chosen with anything of artistic skill.

Of all sights in the world there is, I think, none more beautiful than that of a pack of fox-hounds round the huntsman on a winter morning.


It should be in a grassy field, and the field should be small.


It should not be absolutely away from all buildings, and the hedgerows should not have been clipped and pared, and made straight with reference to modern agricultural economy.


There should be trees near, and the ground should be a little uneven, so as to mark some certain small space as the exact spot where the dogs and servants of the hunt should congregate.


There are well-known grand meets in England, in the parks of noblemen, before their houses, or even on what are called their lawns; but these magnificent affairs have but little of the beauty of which I speak.

There are some well-known hunting meets in the parks of noblemen, but these


Such assemblies are too grand and too ornate, and, moreover, much too far removed from true sporting proprieties.

are too grand and ornate, and have more to do with fashion than with sport.


At them, equipages are shining, and ladies' dresses are gorgeous, and crowds of tradesmen from the neighbouring town have come there to look at the grand folk.


To my eye there is nothing beautiful in that.


The meet I speak of is arranged with a view to sport, but the accident of the locality may make it the prettiest thing in the world.

The meeting I am thinking of is arranged for sport, but may happen to be the prettiest thing in the world.


Such, in a special degree, was the case at Edgehill.


At Edgehill the whole village consisted of three or four cottages; but there was a small old church, with an old grey tower, and a narrow, green, almost dark, churchyard, surrounded by elm-trees.

The village consisted of three or four cottages, a small church with a grey tower, and a narrow green churchyard surrounded by elm-trees.


The road from Roebury to the meet passed by the church stile, and turning just beyond it came upon the gate which led into the little field in which the hounds felt themselves as much at home as in their kennels.


There might be six or seven acres in the field, which was long and narrow, so that the huntsman had space to walk leisurely up and down with the pack clustering round him, when he considered that longer sitting might chill them.


The church tower was close at hand, visible through the trees, and the field itself was green and soft, though never splashing with mud or heavy with holes.

The field by the church where the hounds gathered was green and soft, never splashing with mud or heavy with holes.


Edgehill was a favourite meet in that country, partly because foxes were very abundant in the great wood adjacent, partly because the whole country around is grass-land, and partly, no doubt, from the sporting propensities of the neighbouring population.

Edgehill was a favourite meet in that country, partly because foxes were very abundant in the great wood nearby.


As regards my own taste, I do not know that I do like beginning a day with a great wood,--and if not beginning it, certainly not ending it.


It is hard to come upon the cream of hunting, as it is upon the cream of any other delight.


Who can always drink Lafitte of the finest, can always talk to a woman who is both beautiful and witty, or can always find the right spirit in the poetry he reads?


A man has usually to work through much mud before he gets his nugget.


It is so certainly in hunting, and a big wood too frequently afflicts the sportsman, as the mud does the miner.