Читать книгу The Old Curiosity Shop / Лавка древностей - Чарльз Диккенс, Geoffrey Palmer, Miriam Margolyes - Страница 3

A young man stood lounging with his foot upon a chair, and regarded the old man with a contemptuous sneer. He was a young man of one-and-twenty; well made[8], and certainly handsome, though his manner and even his dress had a dissipated, insolent air.

“Here I am,” said the young fellow, “and here I shall stop, I tell you again that I want to see my sister!’’

“Your sister!” said the old man bitterly.

“Ah! You can’t change the relationship,” returned the other. “If you could, you’d have done it long ago. I want to see my sister, that you keep here, poisoning her mind with your sly secrets. I know you had the money you can hardly count. I want to see her; and I will.”

“Here’s a moralist to talk of poisoned minds!” cried the old man. “You are a liar, sir, who knows how dear she is to me, and seeks to wound me.”

“Well,” said the young fellow, “There’s a friend of mine waiting outside, and as it seems that I may have to wait some time, I’ll call him in.”

Saying this, he stepped to the door, and looking down the street beckoned several times to some person.

“There. It’s Dick Swiveller[9],” said the young fellow, pushing him in. “Sit down, Swiveller.”

“But is the old man agreeable?” said Mr. Swiveller in an undertone[10].

“Sit down,” repeated his companion.

Mr. Swiveller complied, and looking about him with a propitiatory smile, observed that last week was a fine week for the ducks, and this week was a fine week for the dust. He furthermore apologized for any negligence that might be perceptible in his dress, on the ground that last night he had been drinking much.

“Fred[11]!” said Mr. Swiveller, “We may be good and happy without riches, Fred. Say not another word.”

Mr. Swiveller was in a state of disorder which strongly induced the idea that he had gone to bed in it. It consisted of a brown body-coat[12] with a great many brass buttons up the front, and only one behind; a bright check neckerchief, a plaid waistcoat, soiled white trousers, and a very limp hat, worn with the wrong side foremost, to hide a hole in the brim. The breast of his coat was ornamented with an outside pocket from which there peeped forth the cleanest end of a very large handkerchief. He displayed no gloves, and carried a yellow cane. With all these Mr. Swiveller leaned back in his chair with his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The old man sat himself down in a chair, and, with folded hands, looked sometimes at his grandson and sometimes at his strange companion.

“Fred,” said Mr. Swiveller, speaking in the same audible whisper as before, “is the old man friendly?”

“What does it matter?” returned his friend peevishly.

“No, but is he?” said Dick.

“Yes, of course. What do I care whether he is or not?”

“It’s a devil of a thing, gentlemen,” said Mr. Swiveller, “when relations fall out and disagree. Why should a grandson and grandfather peg away at each other with mutual violence when all might be bliss and concord? Why not join hands and forget it? “

“Hold your tongue,” said his friend.

“Gentlemen,” replied Mr. Swiveller, “Here is a jolly old grandfather who says to his wild young grandson, ‘I have brought you up and educated you, Fred.’ The wild young grandson makes answer to this and says, ‘You’re as rich as rich can be; you’re saving up piles of money for my little sister that lives with you.’ Then the plain question is, isn’t it a pity that this state of things should continue, and how much better would it be for the old gentleman to hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all right and comfortable?”

“Why do you hunt and persecute me, God help me?” said the old man turning to his grandson. “Why do you bring your profligate companions here? How often am I to tell you that I am poor?”

“How often am I to tell you,” returned the other, looking coldly at him, “that I know better?”

“You have chosen your own path,” said the old man. “Follow it. Leave Nell and I to toil and work.”

“Nell will be a woman soon,” returned the other, “and she’ll forget her brother unless he shows himself sometimes.”

“But,” said the old man dropping his voice, “but we are poor; and what a life it is! Nothing goes well with it! Hope and patience, hope and patience!”

These words were uttered in too low a tone to reach the ears of the young men. Mr. Swiveller suggested the propriety of an immediate departure, when the door opened, and the child herself appeared.