双城记 查尔斯·狄更斯-第14部分

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worthy　of　Abyssinia　or　Ashantee。
But　indeed；　at　that　time；　putting　to　death　was　a　recipe　much　in　vogue　with　all　trades　and　professions；　and　not　least　of　all　with　Tellson's。　Death　is　Nature's　remedy　for　all　things；　and　why　not　Legislation's？　Accordingly；　the　forger　was　put　to　death；　the　utterer　of　a　bad　note　was　put　to　Death；　the　unlawful　opener　of　a　letter　was　put　to　Death；　the　purloiner　of　forty　shillings　and　sixpence　was　put　to　Death；　the　holder　of　a　horse　at　Tellson's　door；　who　made　off　with　it；　was　put　to　Death；　the　coiner　of　a　bad　shilling　was　put　to　Death；　the　sounders　of　three…fourths　of　the　notes　in　the　whole　gamut　of　Grime；　were　put　to　Death。　Not　that　it　did　the　least　good　in　the　way　of　prevention……it　might　almost　have　been　worth　remarking　that　the　fact　was　exactly　the　reverse……but；　it　cleared　off　（as　to　this　world）　the　trouble　of　each　particular　case；　and　left　nothing　else　connected　with　it　to　be　looked　after。　Thus；　Tellson's；　in　its　day；　like　greater　places　of　business；　its　contemporaries；　had　taken　so　many　lives；　that；　if　the　heads　laid　low　before　it　had　been　ranged　on　Temple　Bar　instead　of　being　privately　disposed　of'　they　would　probably　have　excluded　what　little　light　the　ground　floor　had；　in　a　rather　significant　manner。
Cramped　in　all　kinds　of　dim　cupboards　and　hutches　at　Tellson's；　the　oldest　of　men　carried　on　the　business　gravely。
When　they　took　a　young　man　into　Tellson's　London　house；　they　hid　him　somewhere　till　he　was　old。　They　kept　him　in　a　dark　place；　like　a　cheese；　until　he　had　the　full　Tellson　flavour　and　blue…mould　upon　him。　Then　only　was　he　permitted　to　be　seen；　spectacularly　poring　over　large　books；　and　casting　his　breeches　and　gaiters　into　the　general　weight　of　the　establishment。
Outside　Tellson's……never　by　any　means　in　it；　unless　called　in……was　an　odd…job…man；　an　occasional　porter　and　messenger；　who　served　as　the　live　sign　of　the　house。　He　was　never　absent　during　business　hours；　unless　upon　an　errand；　and　then　he　was　represented　by　his　son：　a　grisly　urchin　of　twelve；　who　was　his　express　image。　People　understood　that　Tellson's；　in　a　stately　way；　tolerated　the　odd…job…man。　The　house　had　always　tolerated　some　person　in　that　capacity；　and　time　and　tide　had　drifted　this　person　to　the　post。　His　surname　was　Cruncher；　and　on　the　youthful　occasion　of　his　renouncing　by　proxy　the　works　of　darkness；　in　the　easterly　parish　church　of　Houndsditch；　he　had　received　the　added　appellation　of　Jerry。
The　scene　was　Mr。　Cruncher's　private　lodging　in　Hanging…sword…alley；　Whitefriars：　the　time；　half…past　seven　of　the　clock　on　a　windy　March　morning；　Anno　Domini　seventeen　hundred　and　eighty。　（Mr。　Cruncher　himself　always　spoke　of　the　year　of　our　Lord　as　Anna　Dominoes：　apparently　under　the　impression　that　the　Christian　era　dated　from　the　invention　of　a　popular　game；　by　a　lady　who　had　bestowed　her　name　upon　it。）
Mr。　Cruncher's　apartments　were　not　in　a　savoury　neighbourhood；　and　were　but　two　in　number；　even　if　a　closet　with　a　single　pane　of　glass　in　it　might　be　counted　as　one。　But　they　were　very　decently　kept。　Early　as　it　was；　on　the　windy　March　morning；　the　room　in　which　he　lay　a…bed　was　already　scrubbed　throughout；　and　between　the　cups　and　saucers　arranged　for　breakfast；　and　the　lumbering　deal　table；　a　very　clean　white　cloth　was　spread。
Mr。　Cruncher　reposed　under　a　patchwork　counterpane；　like　a　Harlequin　at　home。　At　first；　he　slept　heavily；　but；　by　degrees；　began　to　roll　and　surge　in　bed；　until　he　rose　above　the　surface；　with　his　spiky　hair　looking　as　if　it　must　tear　the　sheets　to　ribbons。　At　which　juncture；　he　exclaimed；　in　a　voice　of　dire　exasperation：
‘Bust　me；　if　she　ain't　at　it　agin！'
A　woman　of　orderly　and　industrious　appearance　rose　from　her　knees　in　a　corner；　with　sufficient　haste　and　trepidation　to　show　that　she　was　the　person　referred　to。
‘What！'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　looking　out　of　bed　for　a　boot。
‘You're　at　it　agin；　are　you？
After　hailing　the　morn　with　this　second　salutation；　he　threw　a　boot　at　the　woman　as　a　third。　It　was　a　very　muddy　boot；　and　may　introduce　the　odd　circumstance　connected　with　Mr。　Cruncher's　domestic　economy；　that；　whereas　he　often　came　home　after　banking　hours　with　clean　boots；　he　often　got　up　next　morning　to　find　the　same　boots　covered　with　clay。
‘What；'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　varying　his　apostrophe　after　missing　his　mark……'what　are　you；　up　to；　Aggerawayter？'
‘I　was　only　saying　my　prayers。
‘Saying　your　prayers！　You're　a　nice　woman！　What　do　you　mean　by　flopping　yourself　down　and　praying　agin　me？'
‘I　was　not　praying　against　you；　I　was　praying　for　you。'
‘You　weren't。　And　if　you　were；　I　won't　be　took　the　liberty　with。　Here！　your　mother's　a　nice　woman；　young　Jerry；　going　a　praying　agin　your　father's　prosperity。　You've　got　a　dutiful　mother；　you　have；　my　son。　You've　got　a　religious　mother；　you　have；　my　boy：　going　and　flopping　herself　down；　and　praying　that　the　bread…and…butter　may　be　snatched　out　of　the　mouth　of　her　only　child。'
Master　cruncher　（who　was　in　his　shirt）　took　this　very　ill；　and；　turning　to　his　mother；　strongly　deprecated　any　praying　away　of　his　personal　board。
‘And　what　do　you　suppose；　you　conceited　female；'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　with　unconscious　inconsistency；　‘that　the　worth　of　your　prayers　may　be？　Name　the　price　that　you　put　your　prayers　at！'
‘They　only　e　from　the　heart；　Jerry。　They　are　worth　no　more　than　that。'
‘Worth　no　more　than　that；'　repeated　Mr。　Cruncher。　‘They　ain't　worth　much；　then。　Whether　or　no；　I　won't　be　prayed　agin；　I　tell　you。　I　can't　afford　it。　I'm　not　a　going　to　be　made　unlucky　by　your　sneaking。　If　you　must　go　flopping　yourself　down；　flop　in　favour　of　your　husband　and　child；　and　not　in　opposition　to　'em。　If　I　had　had　any　but　a　unnat'ral　wife；　and　this　poor　boy　had　had　any　but　a　unnat'ral　mother；　I　might　have　made　some　money　last　week　instead　of　being　counter…prayed　and　countermined　and　religiously　circumwented　into　the　worst　of　luck。　B…u…u…ust　me　‘　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　who　all　this　time　had　been　putting　on　his　clothes；　‘if　I　ain't；　what　with　piety　and　one　blowed　thing　and　another；　been　choused　this　last　week　into　as　bad　luck　as　ever　a　poor　devil　of　a　honest　tradesman　met　with！　Young　Jerry；　dress　yourself；　my　boy；　and　while　I　clean　my　boots　keep　a　eye　upon　your　mother　now　and　then；　and　if　you　see　any　signs　of　more　flopping；　give　me　a　call。　For；　I　tell　you；'　here　he　addressed　his　wife　once　more；　‘I　won't　be　gone　agin；　in　this　manner。　I　am　as　rickety　as　a　hackneycoach；　I'm　as　sleepy　as　laudanum；　my　lines　is　strained　to　that　degree　that　I　shouldn't　know；　if　it　wasn't　for　the　pain　in　'em；　which　was　me　and　which　somebody　else；　yet　I'm　none　the　better　for　it　in　pocket；　and　it's　my　suspicion　that　you've　been　at　it　from　morning　to　night　to　prevent　me　from　being　the　better　for　it　in　pocket；　and　I　won't　put　up　with　it；　Aggerawayter；　and　what　do　you　say　now！'
Growling；　in　addition；　such　phrases　as　‘Ah！　yes！　You're　religious；　too。　You　wouldn't　put　yourself　in　opposition　to　the　interests　of　your　husband　and　child；　would　you？　Not　you！'　and　throwing　off　other　sarcastic　sparks　from　the　whirling　grindstone　of　his　indignation；　Mr。　Cruncher　betook　himself　to　his　boot…cleaning　and　his　general　preparation　for　business。　In　the　meantime；　his　son；　whose　head　was　garnished　with　tenderer　spikes；　and　whose　young　eyes　stood　close　by　one　another；　as　his　father's　did；　kept　the　required　watch　upon　his　mother。　He　greatly　disturbed　that　poor　woman　at　intervals；　by　darting　out　of　his　sleeping　closet；　where　he　made　his　toilet；　with　a　suppressed　cry　of　‘You　are　going　to　flop；　mother。……Halloa；　father！'　and；　after　raising　this　fictitious　alarm；　darting　in　again　with　an　undutiful　grin。
Mr。　Cruncher's　temper　was　not　at　all　improved　when　he　came　to　his　breakfast。　He　resented　Mrs。　Cruncher's　saying　grace　with　particular　animosity。
‘Now；　Aggerawayter！　What　are　you　up　to？　At　it　agin？'
His　wife　explained　that　she　had　merely　‘asked　a　blessing。'
‘Don't　do　it！'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　looking　about；　as　if　he　rather　expected　to　see　the　loaf　disappear　under　the　efficacy　of　his　wife's　petitions。　‘I　ain't　a　going　to　be　blest　out　of　house　and　home。　I　won't　have　my　wittles　blest　off　my　table。　Keep　still！'
Exceedingly　red…eyed　and　grim；　as　if　he　had　been　up　all　night　at　a　party　which　had　taken　anything　but　a　convivial　turn；