David Copperfield

Chapter 11
Chapter 5 Sent From Home (1)
After walking half a mile, my little handkerchief was completely wet, and the carriage did not go away at this time.

Looking up, I was surprised to see Peggotty emerge from behind a fence and climb into the car.She hugged me so tightly that it hurt my nose, but I didn't realize it hurt until later.Peggotty said nothing, but put her hand in her elbow pocket, and from it took several paper packets of pastry, and stuffed them into my pocket, and put a purse in my hand, but Still nothing.She hugged me tightly again, got out of the car and ran away.

The coachman looked at me as if asking me if she would come back.I shook my head, I knew she wouldn't.

"Then let's go." The carriage continued on the road.

At this time, I already knew that crying was useless.Thinking especially of Ladrick Langton and the captain of the Royal Navy who were in trouble, as far as I can remember, they didn't cry.Seeing that I had made up my mind, the coachman asked me to put the handkerchief on the horse's back to dry.I did as he said.In this case, the handkerchief appears very small.

I'm going to look at that wallet now.It contained three gleaming shillings, which Peggotty had evidently whitened with chalk, in a desire to please me.But even more valuable in the wallet were the two and a half crowns wrapped in a piece of paper.On it was my mother's handwriting: "To Wei, attach my love." I couldn't bear it anymore.I resisted wiping my eyes with my sleeve to stop the tears.

I sometimes whimpered because of the excitement, but I didn't cry anymore.After walking a short distance more slowly, I asked the coachman if he had gone all the way there.

"Where are you going?" asked the coachman.

"There." I said.

"Where is that place?"

"Not far from London," I said.

"Well, that's the horse," said the coachman, pointing to the horse, "it's not halfway there yet."

"So you only go to Yarmouth?" I asked.

"Yes," said the coachman, "I'll put you in the coach when you get there, and then take you to—whatever it is."

To the coachman (his name was Burgess) there was a lot to talk about.As I mentioned in an earlier chapter, he was a man of few words.I thanked him with a piece of cake and he ate it in one gulp.And the piece of cake made no expression on his face.

"Did she do it?" asked Mr. Bagis, who always sat on the front step, with his arms on his knees, and slouched forward sideways.

"You mean Peggotty, sir?"

"Well," said Mr. Baggis, "it's her."

"Yes, she makes all our dim sum and cooks the meals by herself."

"Really?" said Mr. Baggis.

He pursed his lips, and he sat there staring at the horse's ears, as if he had discovered something new there.In this way, after a long time, he said slowly:

"No lover, I think."

"You mean almonds, Mr. Bagis?" I mistook him for something else, and pointed out what it was.

"Lover," explained Mr. Bagis, "lover, is there no one on her terms?"

"And Peggotty?"

"Ah!" he said, "yes."

"Oh no, never had a lover."

"Really?"

"Then she does," said Mr. Bagis after a moment's thought, "all kinds of apple pies, and all kinds of rice?"

I replied yes.

"Well, I should like to say," said Mr. Bagis, "perhaps you will write to her?"

"Of course I will," I replied.

"Ah!" he said, slowly shifting his eyes to me, "then if you write to her, maybe you'll remember to write 'Baggis Willing', won't you?"

"Baggis is willing," I repeated, incomprehensible, "that's all?"

"Yes," he said, considering, "yes—yes, Bagis would."

"But you're going to Blandstone again tomorrow, Mr. Barkiss," I said anxiously, thinking that I was far away by then, "you can tell it yourself!"

He shook his head in disapproval of the idea, emphasizing once again the earlier request, "Burgess is willing, that's all." With a sheet of paper and a bottle of ink, I wrote a letter to Peggotty.The letter read: "My dear Peggotty, I am here safe and sound, Burgess willing. Sending my love to mother. Your dear. P.S. He said he wanted you very much to understand that Burgess would .”

Mr Bagis fell into complete silence again when I was done.I was so exhausted by all that had happened of late that I fell asleep on a bag in the trunk, and slept until I reached Yarmouth.We drove into the little courtyard of an inn, and Yarmouth became so strange to me that I immediately dismissed any possibility of meeting Mr Peggotty's family, perhaps even with little Emily. The hope of meeting was also dispelled.

The long-distance carriage was in the yard. Although the horses hadn't been harnessed yet, the carriages were clean, and it didn't look like they were going to London at all.I was trying to figure out what to do with my box - which Mr. Barkis had left on the sidewalk of the yard by the pillars (he drove the car into the yard and turned around) - and wondering what was going to happen to me, At this moment a lady looked out from a semi-circular window, and she said:

"Are you the little gentleman from Brandstone?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"What's your last name?" asked the lady.

"Copperfield, ma'am," I said.

"No," replied the lady, "nobody here pre-pays for that name."

"Is it Murdstone, ma'am?" I asked.

The lady said, "Then why did you say another last name in the first place?"

After I briefly explained to the lady, she rang the bell and shouted: "William! Take someone to dinner!" A waiter ran out of the kitchen across the yard when he heard this, and when he realized that it was only me to take, looked surprised.

There are many very large maps in this very long room.Hat in hand, I sat down on the corner of the chair by the door, which I thought was generous enough.I thought I must have been shy when the waiter spread the tablecloth for me and brought out a set of cruet bottles.

He brought me some ribs and vegetables, and lifted the lid so unkindly, but I didn't think I had offended him in any way.But he put a chair down for me at the table and said enthusiastically, "Hey, six feet tall! Come on!"

I thanked him and sat down at the table.But he stood opposite me and kept staring at me. I found it difficult to use the knife and fork flexibly, or it was difficult not to splash the broth on myself. Every time I was afraid of meeting his eyes.As he watched me eat my second rib, he said:

"And a half pint of beer on order for you. Now?"

I thanked him and said yes.So he poured the wine from a large jug into a large glass, and raised the glass to make the wine look more inviting.

"Oh, look!" he said, "seems like a lot, doesn't it?"

"It seems to be a lot." I replied with a smile.Seeing him in a good mood made me happy too.He stood there with one arm akimbo, holding his glass up to the light with the other, looking kindly.

"A gentleman came here yesterday," he said, "a very strong gentleman named Topsoyer—maybe you know him?"

"No," I said, "I don't think so."

"He's in shorts, leggings, a wide-brimmed hat, and a gray coat with a flowered neckerchief," said the waiter.

"No," I said sheepishly, "I'm not that honored—"

"Here he came," said the waiter, staring at the light that shone through the glass, "and asked for a beer like this--I advised him not to drink--he was obstinate--drank it, poured it down and died Yes. The wine is old to him, simple as that."

I was quite surprised to hear this.I said I thought I'd better drink some water.

"Hey, you see," said the waiter, still squinting one eye into the light shining through the glass, "we people here don't like to leave what they ordered, it annoys them. But if I can drink it if you want. I'm used to it, and it's all right if I put my head back up. Can I drink it?"

I replied that I would appreciate it if he thought it would do no harm, but if he didn't think so then don't do anything stupid.When he threw his head back and drank it, I was terrified, I confess, that I was terrified of seeing him fall dead on the rug in a similar fate to that of Taupsauer.But that didn't hurt him one bit.On the contrary, he looked more refreshed.

"What do we have here?" he said, sticking his fork into my plate. "Can't it be ribs?"

"It's ribs." I said.

"My God," he exclaimed, "I didn't know it was ribs, hey, isn't it just luck that ribs are the stuff that detoxifies this beer?"

Then he picked up a rib in one hand and a potato in the other and ate it with relish, which made me very happy.He picked up another rib and a potato, and then another rib and a potato.After we finished eating, he brought another pudding and put it in front of me. He seemed to be thinking about something, and his mind was a little distracted.

"How's the cake?" He asked, pulling himself together.

"It's pudding," I replied.

"Pudding!" he exclaimed. "Hey, my God, that's what pudding is! What!" He came a little closer and looked at it carefully. "Didn't you say it was an egg-flour pudding?"

"Oh, it really is."

"Hey, egg flour pudding," he said, picking up a large spoon, "is my favorite kind! Isn't that luck? Come on, boy, and let's see who can eat the most."

Of course the waiter ate the most.He has to compete with me time and time again, with his big spoon against my small spoon, his big mouth against my small mouth, his big appetite against my small appetite, from the very beginning, I was left far behind There was no chance of catching up with him.I thought, I never saw anyone eat pudding so deliciously; when the pudding was finished, he laughed, as if he was still enjoying the pudding.

Seeing how friendly and agreeable he was, I asked him for pen, ink, and paper to write to Peggotty.He not only took it, but also watched me write curiously.I wrote the letter and he asked me where I was going to school.

I said, "It's close to London." That's all I know.

"Oh, look!" said he, looking disappointed, "this is making me sick."

"Why?" I asked him.

"Oh, God!" he said, shaking his head, "isn't that the school that broke a little boy's ribs?—two ribs—and he's such a little kid. I should say he's— Let me see—you're only as old as..."

I said I was between eight and nine years old.

"That's the age," he said, "that they broke his first rib when he was eight years and a few months old, and then they broke his second rib, and he died."

This incident is really painful to listen to, and I can't hide it.I asked him again what was going on, and his answer did not give me any comfort, because it was just three horrible words: Interrupted.

At this time, the long-distance carriage in the courtyard blew its horn in time, so I hurriedly stood up and asked him proudly because I had a wallet: "Is there anything I have to pay for?"

"A letter," he answered. "Have you bought a letter?"

I forgot I bought it.

(End of this chapter)