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

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СКАЧАТЬ said Mrs. Bloss again.

      ‘And if I thought,’ continued the hostess with a most threatening air, ‘if I thought he was assisted by Mr. Tibbs—’

      ‘One for his nob!’ said Gobler.

      ‘Oh,’ said Evenson, in a most soothing tone—he liked to make mischief—‘I should hope Mr. Tibbs was not in any way implicated. He always appeared to me very harmless.’

      ‘I have generally found him so,’ sobbed poor little Mrs. Tibbs; crying like a watering-pot.

      ‘Hush! hush! pray—Mrs. Tibbs—consider—we shall be observed—pray, don’t!’ said John Evenson, fearing his whole plan would be interrupted. ‘We will set the matter at rest with the utmost care, and I shall be most happy to assist you in doing so.’ Mrs. Tibbs murmured her thanks.

      ‘When you think every one has retired to rest to-night,’ said Evenson very pompously, ‘if you’ll meet me without a light, just outside my bedroom door, by the staircase window, I think we can ascertain who the parties really are, and you will afterwards be enabled to proceed as you think proper.’

      Mrs. Tibbs was easily persuaded; her curiosity was excited, her jealousy was roused, and the arrangement was forthwith made. She resumed her work, and John Evenson walked up and down the room with his hands in his pockets, looking as if nothing had happened. The game of cribbage was over, and conversation began again.

      ‘Well, Mr. O’Bleary,’ said the humming-top, turning round on his pivot, and facing the company, ‘what did you think of Vauxhall the other night?’

      ‘Oh, it’s very fair,’ replied Orson, who had been enthusiastically delighted with the whole exhibition.

      ‘Never saw anything like that Captain Ross’s set-out—eh?’

      ‘No,’ returned the patriot, with his usual reservation—‘except in Dublin.’

      ‘I saw the Count de Canky and Captain Fitzthompson in the Gardens,’ said Wisbottle; ‘they appeared much delighted.’

      ‘Then it must be beautiful,’ snarled Evenson.

      ‘I think the white bears is partickerlerly well done,’ suggested Mrs. Bloss. ‘In their shaggy white coats, they look just like Polar bears—don’t you think they do, Mr. Evenson?’

      ‘I think they look a great deal more like omnibus cads on all fours,’ replied the discontented one.

      ‘Upon the whole, I should have liked our evening very well,’ gasped Gobler; ‘only I caught a desperate cold which increased my pain dreadfully! I was obliged to have several shower-baths, before I could leave my room.’

      ‘Capital things those shower-baths!’ ejaculated Wisbottle.

      ‘Excellent!’ said Tomkins.

      ‘Delightful!’ chimed in O’Bleary. (He had once seen one, outside a tinman’s.)

      ‘Disgusting machines!’ rejoined Evenson, who extended his dislike to almost every created object, masculine, feminine, or neuter.

      ‘Disgusting, Mr. Evenson!’ said Gobler, in a tone of strong indignation.—‘Disgusting! Look at their utility—consider how many lives they have saved by promoting perspiration.’

      ‘Promoting perspiration, indeed,’ growled John Evenson, stopping short in his walk across the large squares in the pattern of the carpet—‘I was ass enough to be persuaded some time ago to have one in my bedroom. ‘Gad, I was in it once, and it effectually cured me, for the mere sight of it threw me into a profuse perspiration for six months afterwards.’

      A titter followed this announcement, and before it had subsided James brought up ‘the tray,’ containing the remains of a leg of lamb which had made its début at dinner; bread; cheese; an atom of butter in a forest of parsley; one pickled walnut and the third of another; and so forth. The boy disappeared, and returned again with another tray, containing glasses and jugs of hot and cold water. The gentlemen brought in their spirit-bottles; the housemaid placed divers plated bedroom candlesticks under the card-table; and the servants retired for the night.

      Chairs were drawn round the table, and the conversation proceeded in the customary manner. John Evenson, who never ate supper, lolled on the sofa, and amused himself by contradicting everybody. O’Bleary ate as much as he could conveniently carry, and Mrs. Tibbs felt a due degree of indignation thereat; Mr. Gobler and Mrs. Bloss conversed most affectionately on the subject of pill-taking, and other innocent amusements; and Tomkins and Wisbottle ‘got into an argument;’ that is to say, they both talked very loudly and vehemently, each flattering himself that he had got some advantage about something, and neither of them having more than a very indistinct idea of what they were talking about. An hour or two passed away; and the boarders and the plated candlesticks retired in pairs to their respective bedrooms. John Evenson pulled off his boots, locked his door, and determined to sit up until Mr. Gobler had retired. He always sat in the drawing-room an hour after everybody else had left it, taking medicine, and groaning.

      Great Coram-street was hushed into a state of profound repose: it was nearly two o’clock. A hackney-coach now and then rumbled slowly by; and occasionally some stray lawyer’s clerk, on his way home to Somers-town, struck his iron heel on the top of the coal-cellar with a noise resembling the click of a smoke-Jack. A low, monotonous, gushing sound was heard, which added considerably to the romantic dreariness of the scene. It was the water ‘coming in’ at number eleven.

      ‘He must be asleep by this time,’ said John Evenson to himself, after waiting with exemplary patience for nearly an hour after Mr. Gobler had left the drawing-room. He listened for a few moments; the house was perfectly quiet; he extinguished his rushlight, and opened his bedroom door. The staircase was so dark that it was impossible to see anything.

      ‘S-s-s!’ whispered the mischief-maker, making a noise like the first indication a catherine-wheel gives of the probability of its going off.

      ‘Hush!’ whispered somebody else.

      ‘Is that you, Mrs. Tibbs?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘Here;’ and the misty outline of Mrs. Tibbs appeared at the staircase window, like the ghost of Queen Anne in the tent scene in Richard.

      ‘This way, Mrs. Tibbs,’ whispered the delighted busybody: ‘give me your hand—there! Whoever these people are, they are in the store-room now, for I have been looking down from my window, and I could see that they accidentally upset their candlestick, and are now in darkness. You have no shoes on, have you?’

      ‘No,’ said little Mrs. Tibbs, who could hardly speak for trembling.

      ‘Well; I have taken my boots off, so we can go down, close to the store-room door, and listen over the banisters;’ and down-stairs they both crept accordingly, every board creaking like a patent mangle on a Saturday afternoon.

      ‘It’s Wisbottle and somebody, I’ll swear,’ exclaimed the radical in an energetic whisper, when they had listened for a few moments.

      ‘Hush—pray СКАЧАТЬ