little dorrit-信丽(英文版)-第20章

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a　stool　and　twelve　shillings　a　week　were　at　last　found　for　Tip　in　the
office　of　an　attorney　in　a　great　National　Palladium　called　the　Palace
Court；　at　that　time　one　of　a　considerable　list　of　everlasting　bulwarks
to　the　dignity　and　safety　of　Albion；　whose　places　know　them　no　more。

Tip　languished　in　Clifford's　Inns　for　six　months；　and　at　the　expiration
of　that　term　sauntered　back　one　evening　with　his　hands　in　his　pockets；
and　incidentally　observed　to　his　sister　that　he　was　not　going　back
again。

'Not　going　back　again？'　said　the　poor　little　anxious　Child　of　the
Marshalsea；　always　calculating　and　planning　for　Tip；　in　the　front　rank
of　her　charges。

'I　am　so　tired　of　it；'　said　Tip；　'that　I　have　cut　it。'

Tip　tired　of　everything。　With　intervals　of　Marshalsea　lounging；　and　Mrs
Bangham　succession；　his　small　second　mother；　aided　by　her　trusty　friend；
got　him　into　a　warehouse；　into　a　market　garden；　into　the　hop　trade；
into　the　law　again；　into　an　auctioneers；　into　a　brewery；　into　a
stockbroker's；　into　the　law　again；　into　a　coach　office；　into　a　waggon
office；　into　the　law　again；　into　a　general　dealer's；　into　a　distillery；
into　the　law　again；　into　a　wool　house；　into　a　dry　goods　house；　into　the
Billingsgate　trade；　into　the　foreign　fruit　trade；　and　into　the　docks。
But　whatever　Tip　went　into；　he　came　out　of　tired；　announcing　that　he
had　cut　it。　Wherever　he　went；　this　foredoomed　Tip　appeared　to　take　the
prison　walls　with　him；　and　to　set　them　up　in　such　trade　or　calling；
and　to　prowl　about　within　their　narrow　limits　in　the　old　slip…shod；
purposeless；　down…at…heel　way；　until　the　real　immovable　Marshalsea　walls
asserted　their　fascination　over　him；　and　brought　him　back。

Nevertheless；　the　brave　little　creature　did　so　fix　her　heart　on　her
brother's　rescue；　that　while　he　was　ringing　out　these　doleful　changes；
she　pinched　and　scraped　enough　together　to　ship　him　for　Canada。　When　he
was　tired　of　nothing　to　do；　and　disposed　in　its　turn　to　cut　even　that；
he　graciously　consented　to　go　to　Canada。　And　there　was　grief　in　her
bosom　over　parting　with　him；　and　joy　in　the　hope　of　his　being　put　in　a
straight　course　at　last。

'God　bless　you；　dear　Tip。　Don't　be　too　proud　to　e　and　see　us；　when
you　have　made　your　fortune。'

'All　right！'　said　Tip；　and　went。

But　not　all　the　way　to　Canada；　in　fact；　not　further　than　Liverpool。

After　making　the　voyage　to　that　port　from　London；　he　found　himself
so　strongly　impelled　to　cut　the　vessel；　that　he　resolved　to　walk　back
again。　Carrying　out　which　intention；　he　presented　himself　before　her　at
the　expiration　of　a　month；　in　rags；　without　shoes；　and　much　more　tired
than　ever。　At　length；　after　another　interval　of　successorship　to　Mrs
Bangham；　he　found　a　pursuit　for　himself；　and　announced　it。

'Amy；　I　have　got　a　situation。'

'Have　you　really　and　truly；　Tip？'

'All　right。　I　shall　do　now。　You　needn't　look　anxious　about　me　any　more；
old　girl。'

'What　is　it；　Tip？'

'Why；　you　know　Slingo　by　sight？'

'Not　the　man　they　call　the　dealer？'

'That's　the　chap。　He'll　be　out　on　Monday；　and　he's　going　to　give　me　a
berth。'

'What　is　he　a　dealer　in；　Tip？'

'Horses。　All　right！　I　shall　do　now；　Amy。'

She　lost　sight　of　him　for　months　afterwards；　and　only　heard　from　him
once。　A　whisper　passed　among　the　elder　collegians　that　he　had　been　seen
at　a　mock　auction　in　Moorfields；　pretending　to　buy　plated　articles　for
massive　silver；　and　paying　for　them　with　the　greatest　liberality　in
bank　notes；　but　it　never　reached　her　ears。　One　evening　she　was　alone　at
work……standing　up　at　the　window；　to　save　the　twilight　lingering　above
the　wall……when　he　opened　the　door　and　walked　in。

She　kissed　and　weled　him；　but　was　afraid　to　ask　him　any　questions。　He
saw　how　anxious　and　timid　she　was；　and　appeared　sorry。

'I　am　afraid；　Amy；　you'll　be　vexed　this　time。　Upon　my　life　I　am！'

'I　am　very　sorry　to　hear　you　say　so；　Tip。　Have　you　e　back？'

'Why……yes。'

'Not　expecting　this　time　that　what　you　had　found　would　answer　very　well；
I　am　less　surprised　and　sorry　than　I　might　have　been；　Tip。'

'Ah！　But　that's　not　the　worst　of　it。'

'Not　the　worst　of　it？'

'Don't　look　so　startled。　No；　Amy；　not　the　worst　of　it。　I　have　e　back；
you　see；　but……DON'T　look　so　startled……I　have　e　back　in　what　I　may
call　a　new　way。　I　am　off　the　volunteer　list　altogether。　I　am　in　now；　as
one　of　the　regulars。'

'Oh！　Don't　say　you　are　a　prisoner；　Tip！　Don't；　don't！'

'Well；　I　don't　want　to　say　it；'　he　returned　in　a　reluctant　tone；　'but　if
you　can't　understand　me　without　my　saying　it；　what　am　I　to　do？　I　am　in
for　forty　pound　odd。'

For　the　first　time　in　all　those　years；　she　sunk　under　her　cares。　She
cried；　with　her　clasped　hands　lifted　above　her　head；　that　it　would　kill
their　father　if　he　ever　knew　it；　and　fell　down　at　Tip's　graceless　feet。

It　was　easier　for　Tip　to　bring　her　to　her　senses　than　for　her　to　bring
him　to　understand　that　the　Father　of　the　Marshalsea　would　be　beside
himself　if　he　knew　the　truth。　The　thing　was　inprehensible　to　Tip；　and
altogether　a　fanciful　notion。　He　yielded　to　it　in　that　light　only；　when
he　submitted　to　her　entreaties；　backed　by　those　of　his　uncle　and　sister。
There　was　no　want　of　precedent　for　his　return；　it　was　accounted　for
to　the　father　in　the　usual　way；　and　the　collegians；　with　a　better
prehension　of　the　pious　fraud　than　Tip；　supported　it　loyally。

This　was　the　life；　and　this　the　history；　of　the　child　of　the　Marshalsea
at　twenty…two。　With　a　still　surviving　attachment　to　the　one　miserable
yard　and　block　of　houses　as　her　birthplace　and　home；　she　passed　to　and
fro　in　it　shrinkingly　now；　with　a　womanly　consciousness　that　she　was
pointed　out　to　every　one。　Since　she　had　begun　to　work　beyond　the　walls；
she　had　found　it　necessary　to　conceal　where　she　lived；　and　to　e　and
go　as　secretly　as　she　could；　between　the　free　city　and　the　iron　gates；
outside　of　which　she　had　never　slept　in　her　life。　Her　original　timidity
had　grown　with　this　concealment；　and　her　light　step　and　her　little
figure　shunned　the　thronged　streets　while　they　passed　along　them。

Worldly　wise　in　hard　and　poor　necessities；　she　was　innocent　in　all
things　else。　Innocent；　in　the　mist　through　which　she　saw　her　father；
and　the　prison；　and　the　turbid　living　river　that　flowed　through　it　and
flowed　on。


This　was　the　life；　and　this　the　history；　of　Little　Dorrit；　now　going
home　upon　a　dull　September　evening；　observed　at　a　distance　by　Arthur
Clennam。　This　was　the　life；　and　this　the　history；　of　Little　Dorrit；
turning　at　the　end　of　London　Bridge；　recrossing　it；　going　back　again；
passing　on　to　Saint　George's　Church；　turning　back　suddenly　once　more；
and　flitting　in　at　the　open　outer　gate　and　little　court…yard　of　the
Marshalsea。




CHAPTER　8。　The　Lock


Arthur　Clennam　stood　in　the　street；　waiting　to　ask　some　passer…by　what
place　that　was。　He　suffered　a　few　people　to　pass　him　in　whose　face　there
was　no　encouragement　to　make　the　inquiry；　and　still　stood　pausing　in　the
street；　when　an　old　man　came　up　and　turned　into　the　courtyard。

He　stooped　a　good　deal；　and　plodded　along　in　a　slow　pre…occupied　manner；
which　made　the　bustling　London　thoroughfares　no　very　safe　resort　for
him。　He　was　dirtily　and　meanly　dressed；　in　a　threadbare　coat；　once　blue；
reaching　to　his　ankles　and　buttoned　to　his　chin；　where　it　vanished　in
the　pale　ghost　of　a　velvet　collar。　A　piece　of　red　cloth　with　which　that
phantom　had　been　stiffened　in　its　lifetime　was　now　laid　bare；　and　poked
itself　up；　at　the　back　of　the　old　man's　neck；　into　a　confusion　of　grey
hair　and　rusty　stock　and　buckle　which　altogether　nearly　poked　his
hat　off。　A　greasy　hat　it　was；　and　a　napless；　impending　over　his　eyes；
cracked　and　crumpled　at　the　brim；　and　with　a　wisp　of　pocket…handkerchief
dangling　out　below　it。　His　trousers　were　so　long　and　loose；　and　his
shoes　so　clumsy　and　large；　that　he　shuffled　like　an　elephant；　though　how
much　of　this　was　gait；　and　how　much　trailing　cloth　and　leather；　no　one
could　have　told。　Under　one　arm　he　carried　a　limp　and　worn…out　case；
containing　some　wind　instrument；　in　the　same　hand　he　had　a　pennyworth
of　snuff　in　a　little　packet　of　whitey…brown　paper；　from　which　he　slowly
forted　his　poor　blue　old　nose　with　a　lengthened…out　pinch；　as　Arthur
Clennam　looked　at　him。　To　this　old　man　crossing　the　court…yard；　he
preferred　his　inquiry；　touching　him　on　the　shoulder。　The　old　man　stopped
and　looked　round；　with　the　expression　in　his　weak　grey　eyes　of　one　whose
thoughts　had　been　far　off；　and　who　was　a　little　dull　of　hearing　also。

'Pray；　sir；'　said　Arthur；　repeating　his　question；　'what　is　this　place？'

'Ay！　This　place？'　returned　the　old　man；　staying　his　pinch　of　snuff　on
its　road；　and　pointing　at　the　place　without　looking　at　it。　'This　is　the
Marshalsea；　sir。'

'The　debtors'　prison？'

'Sir；'　said　the　old　man；　with　the　air　of　deeming　it　not　quite　necessary
to　insist　upon　that　designation；　'the　debtors'　prison。'

He　turned　himself　about；　and　went　on。

'I　beg　your　pardon；'　said　Arthur；　stopping　him　once　more；　'but　will　you
allow　me　to　ask　you　another　question？　Can　any　one　go　in　here？'

'Any　one　can　go　IN；'　replied　the　old　man；　plainly　adding　by　the
significance　of　his　emphasis；　'but　it　is　not　every　one　who　can　go　out。'