The Complete Short Stories of Charles Dickens: 190+ Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Чарльз Диккенс

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СКАЧАТЬ Mr. Wisbottle in town to-day, do you know, sir?’ inquired Tibbs, just for the sake of saying something.

      ‘I should think he was,’ replied the stern gentleman. ‘He was whistling “The Light Guitar,” in the next room to mine, at five o’clock this morning.’

      ‘He’s very fond of whistling,’ said Tibbs, with a slight smirk.

      ‘Yes—I ain’t,’ was the laconic reply.

      Mr. John Evenson was in the receipt of an independent income, arising chiefly from various houses he owned in the different suburbs. He was very morose and discontented. He was a thorough radical, and used to attend a great variety of public meetings, for the express purpose of finding fault with everything that was proposed. Mr. Wisbottle, on the other hand, was a high Tory. He was a clerk in the Woods and Forests Office, which he considered rather an aristocratic employment; he knew the peerage by heart, and, could tell you, off-hand, where any illustrious personage lived. He had a good set of teeth, and a capital tailor. Mr. Evenson looked on all these qualifications with profound contempt; and the consequence was that the two were always disputing, much to the edification of the rest of the house. It should be added, that, in addition to his partiality for whistling, Mr. Wisbottle had a great idea of his singing powers. There were two other boarders, besides the gentleman in the back drawing-room—Mr. Alfred Tomkins and Mr. Frederick O’Bleary. Mr. Tomkins was a clerk in a wine-house; he was a connoisseur in paintings, and had a wonderful eye for the picturesque. Mr. O’Bleary was an Irishman, recently imported; he was in a perfectly wild state; and had come over to England to be an apothecary, a clerk in a government office, an actor, a reporter, or anything else that turned up—he was not particular. He was on familiar terms with two small Irish members, and got franks for everybody in the house. He felt convinced that his intrinsic merits must procure him a high destiny. He wore shepherd’s-plaid inexpressibles, and used to look under all the ladies’ bonnets as he walked along the streets. His manners and appearance reminded one of Orson.

      ‘Here comes Mr. Wisbottle,’ said Tibbs; and Mr. Wisbottle forthwith appeared in blue slippers, and a shawl dressing-gown, whistling ‘Di piacer.’

      ‘Good morning, sir,’ said Tibbs again. It was almost the only thing he ever said to anybody.

      ‘How are you, Tibbs?’ condescendingly replied the amateur; and he walked to the window, and whistled louder than ever.

      ‘Pretty air, that!’ said Evenson, with a snarl, and without taking his eyes off the paper.

      ‘Glad you like it,’ replied Wisbottle, highly gratified.

      ‘Don’t you think it would sound better, if you whistled it a little louder?’ inquired the mastiff.

      ‘No; I don’t think it would,’ rejoined the unconscious Wisbottle.

      ‘I’ll tell you what, Wisbottle,’ said Evenson, who had been bottling up his anger for some hours—‘the next time you feel disposed to whistle “The Light Guitar” at five o’clock in the morning, I’ll trouble you to whistle it with your head out o’ window. If you don’t, I’ll learn the triangle—I will, by—’

      The entrance of Mrs. Tibbs (with the keys in a little basket) interrupted the threat, and prevented its conclusion.

      Mrs. Tibbs apologised for being down rather late; the bell was rung; James brought up the urn, and received an unlimited order for dry toast and bacon. Tibbs sat down at the bottom of the table, and began eating water-cresses like a Nebuchadnezzar. Mr. O’Bleary appeared, and Mr. Alfred Tomkins. The compliments of the morning were exchanged, and the tea was made.

      ‘God bless me!’ exclaimed Tomkins, who had been looking out at the window. ‘Here—Wisbottle—pray come here—make haste.’

      Mr. Wisbottle started from the table, and every one looked up.

      ‘Do you see,’ said the connoisseur, placing Wisbottle in the right position—‘a little more this way: there—do you see how splendidly the light falls upon the left side of that broken chimney-pot at No. 48?’

      ‘Dear me! I see,’ replied Wisbottle, in a tone of admiration.

      ‘I never saw an object stand out so beautifully against the clear sky in my life,’ ejaculated Alfred. Everybody (except John Evenson) echoed the sentiment; for Mr. Tomkins had a great character for finding out beauties which no one else could discover—he certainly deserved it.

      ‘I have frequently observed a chimney-pot in College-green, Dublin, which has a much better effect,’ said the patriotic O’Bleary, who never allowed Ireland to be outdone on any point.

      The assertion was received with obvious incredulity, for Mr. Tomkins declared that no other chimney-pot in the United Kingdom, broken or unbroken, could be so beautiful as the one at No. 48.

      The room-door was suddenly thrown open, and Agnes appeared, leading in Mrs. Bloss, who was dressed in a geranium-coloured muslin gown, and displayed a gold watch of huge dimensions; a chain to match; and a splendid assortment of rings, with enormous stones. A general rush was made for a chair, and a regular introduction took place. Mr. John Evenson made a slight inclination of the head; Mr. Frederick O’Bleary, Mr. Alfred Tomkins, and Mr. Wisbottle, bowed like the mandarins in a grocer’s shop; Tibbs rubbed hands, and went round in circles. He was observed to close one eye, and to assume a clock-work sort of expression with the other; this has been considered as a wink, and it has been reported that Agnes was its object. We repel the calumny, and challenge contradiction.

      Mrs. Tibbs inquired after Mrs. Bloss’s health in a low tone. Mrs. Bloss, with a supreme contempt for the memory of Lindley Murray, answered the various questions in a most satisfactory manner; and a pause ensued, during which the eatables disappeared with awful rapidity.

      ‘You must have been very much pleased with the appearance of the ladies going to the Drawing-room the other day, Mr. O’Bleary?’ said Mrs. Tibbs, hoping to start a topic.

      ‘Yes,’ replied Orson, with a mouthful of toast.

      ‘Never saw anything like it before, I suppose?’ suggested Wisbottle.

      ‘No—except the Lord Lieutenant’s levees,’ replied O’Bleary.

      ‘Are they at all equal to our drawing-rooms?’

      ‘Oh, infinitely superior!’

      ‘Gad! I don’t know,’ said the aristocratic Wisbottle, ‘the Dowager Marchioness of Publiccash was most magnificently dressed, and so was the Baron Slappenbachenhausen.’

      ‘What was he presented on?’ inquired Evenson.

      ‘On his arrival in England.’

      ‘I thought so,’ growled the radical; ‘you never hear of these fellows being presented on their going away again. They know better than that.’

      ‘Unless somebody pervades them with an apintment,’ said Mrs. Bloss, joining in the conversation in a faint voice.

      ‘Well,’ said Wisbottle, evading the point, ‘it’s a splendid sight.’

      ‘And did it never occur to you,’ inquired the radical, who never would be quiet; ‘did it never occur to you, that you СКАЧАТЬ