Great Expectations / Большие надежды. Книга для чтения на английском языке. Чарльз Диккенс

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ from comforting to me to find that he had thought of it; for it seemed to render it more probable.

      “But, Joe.”

      “Yes, old chap.”

      “Here am I, getting on in the first year of my time, and, since the day of my being bound, I have never thanked Miss Havisham, or asked after her, or shown that I remember her.”

      “That’s true, Pip; and unless you was to turn her out a set of shoes all four round, – and which I meantersay as even a set of shoes all four round might not be acceptable as a present, in a total wacancy of hoofs – ”

      “I don’t mean that sort of remembrance, Joe; I don’t mean a present.”

      But Joe had got the idea of a present in his head and must harp upon it. “Or even,” said he, “if you was helped to knocking her up a new chain for the front door, – or say a gross or two of shark-headed screws for general use, – or some light fancy article, such as a toasting-fork when she took her muffins, – or a gridiron when she took a sprat or such like – ”

      “I don’t mean any present at all, Joe,” I interposed.

      “Well,” said Joe, still harping on it as though I had particularly pressed it, “if I was yourself, Pip, I wouldn’t. No, I would not. For what’s a door-chain when she’s got one always up? And shark-headers is open to misrepresentations. And if it was a toasting-fork, you’d go into brass and do yourself no credit. And the oncommonest workman can’t show himself oncommon in a gridiron, – for a gridiron IS a gridiron,” said Joe, steadfastly impressing it upon me, as if he were endeavouring to rouse me from a fixed delusion, “and you may haim at what you like, but a gridiron it will come out, either by your leave or again your leave, and you can’t help yourself – ”

      “My dear Joe,” I cried, in desperation, taking hold of his coat, “don’t go on in that way. I never thought of making Miss Havisham any present.”

      “No, Pip,” Joe assented, as if he had been contending for that, all along; “and what I say to you is, you are right, Pip.”

      “Yes, Joe; but what I wanted to say, was, that as we are rather slack just now, if you would give me a half-holiday to-morrow, I think I would go up-town and make a call on Miss Est – Havisham.”

      “Which her name,” said Joe, gravely, “ain’t Estavisham, Pip, unless she have been rechris’ened.”

      “I know, Joe, I know. It was a slip of mine. What do you think of it, Joe?”

      Now, Joe kept a journeyman[22] at weekly wages whose name was Orlick. He pretended that his Christian name was Dolge, – a clear Impossibility, – but he was a fellow of that obstinate disposition that I believe him to have been the prey of no delusion in this particular, but wilfully to have imposed that name upon the village as an affront to its understanding. He was a broadshouldered loose-limbed swarthy fellow of great strength, never in a hurry, and always slouching. He never even seemed to come to his work on purpose, but would slouch in as if by mere accident; and when he went to the Jolly Bargemen to eat his dinner, or went away at night, he would slouch out, like Cain or the Wandering Jew, as if he had no idea where he was going and no intention of ever coming back. He lodged at a sluice-keeper’s out on the marshes, and on working-days would come slouching from his hermitage, with his hands in his pockets and his dinner loosely tied in a bundle round his neck and dangling on his back. On Sundays he mostly lay all day on the sluice-gates, or stood against ricks and barns. He always slouched, locomotively, with his eyes on the ground; and, when accosted or otherwise required to raise them, he looked up in a half-resentful, half-puzzled way, as though the only thought he ever had was, that it was rather an odd and injurious fact that he should never be thinking.

      This morose journeyman had no liking for me. When I was very small and timid, he gave me to understand that the Devil lived in a black corner of the forge, and that he knew the fiend very well: also that it was necessary to make up the fire, once in seven years, with a live boy, and that I might consider myself fuel. When I became Joe’s “prentice, Orlick was perhaps confirmed in some suspicion that I should displace him; howbeit, he liked me still less. Not that he ever said anything, or did anything, openly importing hostility; I only noticed that he always beat his sparks in my direction, and that whenever I sang Old Clem, he came in out of time.

      Dolge Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe of my half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had just got a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but by and by he said, leaning on his hammer, –

      “Now, master! Sure you’re not a going to favor only one of us. If Young Pip has a half-holiday, do as much for Old Orlick.” I suppose he was about five-and-twenty, but he usually spoke of himself as an ancient person.

      “Why, what’ll you do with a half-holiday, if you get it?” said Joe.

      “What’ll I do with it! What’ll he do with it? I’ll do as much with it as him,” said Orlick.

      “As to Pip, he’s going up town,” said Joe.

      “Well then, as to Old Orlick, he’s a going up town,” retorted that worthy. “Two can go up town. Tain’t only one wot can go up town.

      “Don’t lose your temper,” said Joe.

      “Shall if I like,” growled Orlick. “Some and their up-towning! Now, master! Come. No favoring in this shop. Be a man!”

      The master refusing to entertain the subject until the journeyman was in a better temper, Orlick plunged at the furnace, drew out a red-hot bar, made at me with it as if he were going to run it through my body, whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out, – as if it were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spirting blood, – and finally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, and he again leaned on his hammer, –

      “Now, master!”

      “Are you all right now?” demanded Joe.

      “Ah! I am all right,” said gruff Old Orlick.

      “Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men,” said Joe, “let it be a half-holiday for all.”

      My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing, – she was a most unscrupulous spy and listener, – and she instantly looked in at one of the windows.

      “Like you, you fool!” said she to Joe, “giving holidays to great idle hulkers like that. You are a rich man[23], upon my life, to waste wages in that way. I wish I was his master!”

      “You’d be everybody’s master, if you durst,” retorted Orlick, with an ill-favored grin.

      (“Let her alone,” said Joe.)

      “I’d be a match for all noodles and all rogues,” returned my sister, beginning to work herself into a mighty rage. “And I couldn’t be a match for the noodles, without being a match for your master, who’s the dunder-headed king of the noodles. And I couldn’t be a match for the rogues, without being a match for you, who are the blackest-looking and the worst rogue between this and France. Now!”

      “You’re a foul shrew, Mother Gargery, growled the journeyman. “If that makes a judge of rogues, you ought to be a good’un.”

      (“Let СКАЧАТЬ