双城记 查尔斯·狄更斯-第39部分

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At　length；　a　person　better　informed　on　the　merits　of　the　case；　tumbled　against　him；　and　from　this　person　he　learned　that　the　funeral　was　the　funeral　of　One　Roger　Cly。
‘Was　He　a　spy？'　asked　Mr。　Cruncher。
‘Old　Bailey　spy；'　returned　his　informant。　‘Yaha　Tst！　Yah！　Old　Bailey　Spi…i…ies！'
‘Why；　to　be　sure！'　exclaimed　Jerry；　recalling　the　Trial　at　which　he　had　assisted。　‘I've　seen　him。　Dead；　is　he？'
‘Dead　as　mutton；'　returned　the　other；　‘and　can't　be　too　dead。　Have　‘em　out；　there　Spies！　Pull　‘em　out；　there！　Spies！'
The　idea　was　so　acceptable　in　the　prevalent　absence　of　any　idea；　that　the　crowd　caught　it　up　with　eagerness；　and；　loudly　repeating　the　suggestion　to　have　‘em　out；　and　to　pull　em　out；　mobbed　the　two　vehicles　so　closely　that　they　came　to　a　stop。　On　the　crowd's　opening　the　coach　doors；　the　one　mourner　scuffled　out　of　himself　and　was　in　their　hands　for　a　moment；　but　he　was　so　alert；　and　made　such　good　use　of　his　time；　that　in　another　moment　he　was　scouring　away　up　a　bystreet；　after　shedding　his　cloak；　hat；　long　hatband；　white　pocket　handkerchief；　and　other　symbolical　tears。
These；　the　people　tore　to　pieces　and　scattered　far　and　wide　with　great　enjoyment；　while　the　tradesmen　hurriedly　shut　up　their　shops；　for　a　crowd　in　those　times　stopped　at　nothing；　and　was　a　monster　much　dreaded。　They　had　already　got　the　length　of　opening　the　hearse　to　take　the　coffin　out；　when　some　brighter　genius　proposed　instead；　its　being　escorted　to　destination　amidst　general　rejoicing。　Practical　suggestions　being　much　needed；　this　suggestion；　too；　was　received　with　acclamation；　and　the　coach　was　immediately　filled　with　eight　inside　and　a　dozen　out；　while　as　many　people　got　on　the　roof　of　the　hearse　as　could　by　any　exercise　of　ingenuity　stick　upon　it。　Among　the　first　of　these　volunteers　was　Jerry　Cruncher　himself；　who　modestly　concealed　his　spiky　head　from　the　observation　of　Tellson's；　in　the　further　corner　of　the　mourning　coach。
The　officiating　undertakers　made　some　protest　against　these　changes　in　the　ceremonies；　but；　the　river　being　alarmingly　near；　and　several　voices　remarking　on　the　efficacy　of　cold　immersion　in　bringing　refractory　members　of　the　profession　to　reason；　the　protest　was　faint　and　brief。　The　remodelled　procession　started；　with　a　chimney…sweep　driving　the　hearse……advised　by　the　regular　driver；　who　was　perched　beside　him；　under　close　inspection；　for　the　purpose……and　with　a　pieman；　also　attended　by　his　cabinet　minister；　driving　the　mourning　coach。　A　bear…leader；　a　popular　street　character　of　the　time；　was　impressed　as　an　additional　ornament；　before　the　cavalcade　had　gone　far　down　the　Strand；　and　his　bear；　who　was　black　and　very　mangy；　gave　quite　an　Undertaking　air　to　that　part　of　the　procession　in　which　he　walked。
Thus；　with　beer…drinking；　pipe…smoking；　song…roaring；　and　infinite　caricaturing　of　woe；　the　disorderly　procession　went　its　way；　recruiting　at　every　step；　and　all　the　shops　shutting　up　before　it。　Its　destination　was　the　old　church　of　Saint　Pancras；　far　off　in　the　fields。　It　got　there　in　course　of　time；　insisted　on　pouring　into　the　burial…ground；　finally；　acplished　the　interment　of　the　deceased　Roger　Cly　in　its　own　way；　and　highly　to　its　own　satisfaction。
The　dead　man　disposed　of；　and　the　crowd　being　under　the　necessity　of　providing　some　other　entertainment　for　itself；　another　brighter　genius　（or　perhaps　the　same）　conceived　the　humour　of　impeaching　casual　passersby；　as　Old　Bailey　spies；　and　wreaking　vengeance　on　them。　Chase　was　given　to　some　scores　of　inoffensive　persons　who　had　never　been　near　the　Old　Bailey　in　their　lives；　in　the　realisation　of　this　fancy；　and　they　were　roughly　hustled　and　maltreated。　The　transition　to　the　sport　of　window…breaking；　and　thence　to　the　plundering　of　public…houses；　was　easy　and　natural。　At　last；　after　several　hours；　when　sundry　summerhouses　had　been　pulled　dow　and　some　area…railings　had　been　torn　up；　to　arm　the　more　belligerent　spirits；　a　rumour　got　about　that　the　Guards　we　ing。　Before　this　rumour；　the　crowd　gradually　melted　away；　and　perhaps　the　Guards　came；　and　perhaps　they　never　came；　and　this　was　the　usual　progress　of　a　mob。
Mr。　Cruncher　did　not　assist　at　the　closing　sports；　hut　had　remained　behind　in　the　churchyard；　to　confer　and　condole　with　the　undertakers。　The　place　had　a　soothing　influence　on　him。　He　procured　a　pipe　from　a　neighbouring　public　house；　and　smoked　it；　looking　in　at　the　railings　and　maturely　considering　the　spot。
‘Jerry；'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　apostrophising　himself　in　his　usual　way；　‘you　see　that　there　Cly　that　day；　and　you　see　with　your　own　eyes　that　he　was　a　young　‘un　and　a　straight　made　‘un。'
Having　smoked　his　pipe　out；　and　ruminated　a　little　longer；　he　turned　himself　about；　that　he　might　appear；　before　the　hour　of　closing；　on　his　station　at　Tellson's。　Whether　his　meditations　on　mortality　had　touched　his　liver；　or　whether　his　general　health　had　been　previously　at　all　amiss；　or　whether　he　desired　to　show　a　little　attention　to　an　eminent　man；　is　not　so　much　to　the　purpose；　as　that　he　made　a　short　call　upon　his　medical　adviser……a　distinguished　surgeon……on　his　way　back。
Young　Jerry　relieved　his　father　with　dutiful　interest；　and　reported　No　job　in　his　absence。　The　bank　closed；　the　ancient　clerks　came　Out；　the　usual　watch　was　set；　and　Mr。　Cruncher　and　his　son　went　home　to　tea。
‘Now；　I　tell　you　where　it　is！'　said　Mr。　Cruncher　to　his　wife；　on　entering。　‘If；　as　a　honest　tradesman；　my　wenturs　goes　wrong　tonight；　I　shall　make　sure　that　you've　been　praying　again　me；　and　I　shall　work　you　for　it　just　the　same　as　if　I　seen　you　do　it。'
The　dejected　Mrs。　Cruncher　shook　her　head。
‘Why；　you're　at　it　afore　my　face！'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　with　signs　of　angry　apprehension。
‘I　am　saying　nothing。'
‘Well；　then；　don't　meditate　nothing。　You　might　as　well　meditate。　You　may　as　well　go　again　me　one　way　as　another。　Drop　it　altogether。'
‘Yes　Jerry。'
‘Yes；　Jerry；'　repeated　Mr。　Cruncher；　sitting　down　to　tea。　‘Ah！　It　is　yes；　Jerry。　That's　about　it。　You　may　say　yes；　Jerry。'
Mr。　Cruncher　had　no　particular　meaning　in　these　sulky　corroborations；　but　made　use　of　them；　as　people　not　unfrequently　do；　to　express　general　ironical　dissatisfaction。
‘You　and　your　yes；　Jerry；'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　taking　a　bite　out　of　his　bread…and…butter；　and　seeming　to　help　it　down　with　a　large　invisible　oyster　out　of　his　saucer。　‘Ah！　I　think　so。　I　believe　you。'
‘You　are　going　out　to…night？'　asked　his　decent　wife；　when　he　took　another　bite。
‘Yes；　I　am。'
‘May　I　go　with　you；　father？'　asked　his　son；　briskly。　
‘No；　you　mayn't。　I'm　a　going……as　your　mother　knows……a　fishing。　That's　where　I'm　going　to。　Going　a　fishing。'　
‘Your　fishing　rod　gets　rather　rusty；　don't　it；　father？'　
‘Never　you　mind。'　
‘Shall　you　bring　any　fish　home；　father？'　
‘If　I　don't；　you'll　have　short　mons；　tomorrow；'　returned　that　gentleman；　shaking　his　head；　‘that's　questions　enough　for　you；　I　ain't　a　going　out；　till　you've　been　long　a…bed。'
He　devoted　himself　during　the　remainder　of　the　evening　to　keeping　a　most　vigilant　watch　on　Mrs。　Cruncher；　and　sullenly　holding　her　in　conversation　that　she　might　be　prevented　from　meditating　any　petitions　to　his　disadvantage。　With　this　view；　he　urged　his　son　to　hold　her　in　conversation　also；　and　led　the　unfortunate　woman　a　hard　life　by　dwelling　on　any　causes　of　plaint　lie　could　bring　against　her；　rather　than　he　would　leave　her　for　a　moment　to　her　own　reflections。　The　devoutest　person　could　have　rendered　no　greater　homage　to　the　efficacy　of　an　honest　prayer　than　he　did　in　this　distrust　of　his　Mile。　It　was　as　if　a　professed　unbeliever　in　ghosts　should　be　frightened　by　a　ghost　story。
‘And　mind　you！'　said　Mr。　Cruncher。　‘No　games　tomorrow！　If　I；　as　a　honest　tradesman；　succeed　in　providing　a　jinte　of　meat　or　two；　none　of　your　not　touching　of　it；　and　sticking　to　bread。　If　I；　as　a　honest　tradesman；　am　able　to　provide　a　little　beer；　none　of　your　declaring　on　water。　When　you　go　to　Rome；　do　as　Rome　does。　Rome　will　be　a　ugly　customer　to　you；　if　you　don't。　‘I'm　your　Rome；　you　know。'
Then　he　began　grumbling　again：
‘With　your　flying　into　the　face　of　your　own　wittles　and　drink！　I　don't　know　how　scarce　you　mayn't　make　the　wittles　and　drink　here；　by　your　flopping　tricks　and　your　unfeeling　conduct。　Look　at　your　boy：　he　is　your'n；　ain't　he？