David Copperfield

Chapter 12
Chapter 5 Sent From Home (2)
"Letter paper ain't cheap," he said, "because there's a tax—threepence—that's how we're taxed in this country. Nothing but the waiter, and the ink, let me pay for it. "

"Should I—should I—how much should I give?" I asked hesitantly, blushing.

"If the family hadn't had smallpox," said the waiter, "I would never have asked for sixpence. Besides old parents, and a poor sister," said the waiter even more excitedly, "if I had A good place, and good treatment, and I'd beg you to take a little of mine instead of asking for it. But I live on leftovers, and sleep on coal-heaps—" Having said this, the waiter burst into tears.

I felt pity for what had happened to him, and thought it would be cruel to give him ninepence less in any case.I offered him one of the three shiny shillings, and he respectfully took it, and immediately twirled it with his thumb to see if it was real.

I was a little embarrassed when I was lifted from the back of the car, because I found out that people thought I ate all the Chinese food by myself.I know this because I overheard the lady say to the watchers from behind the half-round window, "Watch out for that boy, George, he might explode!" They all came out to see me and laughed at me as if I were a monster.But I am now more inclined to assume that, with the simple trust of a child and the natural dependence of an infant on an elder (I regret any child's early substitution of worldly savvy for this nature), until then , I didn't doubt the waiter very much, and I haven't doubted it since.

I must admit that it was hard for me to be the laughing stock of coachmen and watchers for no reason.They said that part was extra heavy because I was sitting in the back, and that I was more dignified traveling in a van.The story of my large appetite spread to some passengers outside, and they were very happy to hear that, and asked me if I was paid as two or three people at school, and if I was contracted under certain conditions , and other questions to keep them entertained.But worst of all, I was too embarrassed to eat when I had the chance, so that after such a large lunch I was starving all night—because I threw away my pastry in a hurry. Forgot it at the inn.My fears were confirmed.When we stopped for supper, I was too ashamed to take any, though I should have liked it very much, but sat by the fire and said I didn't want anything.Even so, it does not save me from more irony. A man with a hoarse voice and a swollen face sometimes eats out of a sandwich box and sometimes drinks from a bottle along the way, but he says that I am like a constrictor. One meal lasted a long time, he said, and he really enjoyed a portion of boiled beef afterward.

We set off from Yarmouth at three in the afternoon, and were due to arrive in London at about ten in the morning the following day.It was midsummer weather, and the evening was pleasant.As we passed through a small village, I alone imagined what it was like inside those houses and what the people who lived there were doing.Some of the boys chased us and clung to the back of the car for a while, and I wondered if their father was alive, if they were happy.My thoughts kept running to the kind of place I was going--it was indeed a scary scene in my imagination.Besides, I sometimes let my thoughts go to home and Peggotty; and I try to think how I felt, what kind of boy I was when I bit Mr. Murdstone; I can't get up, it seems that I bit him in ancient times.

Evenings were not as comfortable as evenings because it was too cold; in order to prevent me from falling out of the car, I was seated between two men (between the one with the swollen face and the other) and they fought Nap, squeezed me almost suffocated.They squeezed me so tight sometimes that I couldn't help yelling, "Oh! Please don't!" but they got annoyed because the yelling woke them up.Opposite me is a woman in a fur coat, she is tightly wrapped up.The lady brought a basket, but she didn't know where to put it. Later, seeing my short legs, she put the basket under my legs.The basket squeezed me and pinched me, and made me suffer more; but if I moved a little, a large glass in the basket would rattle against something else (for it was inevitable) , she kicked me very hard and said, "Don't move. Your bones are still too tender, I know!"

Finally the sun rose, and the people in the car seemed to be sleeping much more comfortably.They struggled so much at night (they made horrible panting and snoring noises) and now everything is calm.Finally, when they woke up one by one, everyone said that they hadn't slept at all, and if someone said that someone had fallen asleep, the person who was said would retort angrily.I remember being amazed at the time, and I am just as amazed today.For I have noticed that for all human weaknesses, because of their instincts, the fact that they are least willing to admit is that they have slept in a carriage (I can't figure out why).

I think London is an amazing place when it looms.I was quite sure that the deeds of my favorite heroes would be repeated there, and I still had a vague feeling that this was the most magical and sinful place of all the cities in the world.I don't need to bother to talk about these.We approached it gradually, and arrived in time at the inn in Whitechapel where we planned to go.

The spectator glanced at me as he got out of the car, and said at the box-office door: "There's a little chap from Brandstone, Suffolk, a ticket for him called Murdstone, what's the matter?" Is someone coming to fetch him?"

No one answered.

"Try Copperfield again, sir," I said, bowing my head piteously.

"There's a little chap coming from Branstone, Suffolk, a ticket booked for him by Murdstone, but he calls himself Copperfield. Is anyone coming to pick him up now?" said the man watching the car. , "Hurry up! Is there anyone there?"

Still no answer.I looked around anxiously, but the question elicited no reaction from anyone except the one-eyed man in the leggings.He said I'd better put a brass ring on me and chain me to the stable.

Here comes the ladder.I got out of the car after the lady across from me, but didn't dare move an inch until her basket was removed.At that time, the passengers left, all the luggage was removed, the horses were taken away, and the rest of the carriage was dragged away by several grooms of the hotel.But still no one came forward to pick me up.

I was lonelier than Robinson Crusoe.The conductor on duty invited me into the box office, went behind the counter, and sat on the scales where they weigh luggage.Sitting there looking at the packages of varying sizes and smelling the stable smell (which has been forever associated with memories of that morning ever since) I was terrified.How long are they going to let me stay if no one comes to fetch me? Are they going to keep me here until my seven shillings are spent? At night, am I going to come with the luggage Sleeping in one of those big wooden boxes and washing my face at the pump in the morning? Maybe I'll be sent out every night to be picked up when the ticket office opens the next day? Or else, Murdstone What shall I do, sir, with this plan to get rid of me? If they let me stay till the seven shillings are spent, I can't hope to stay here any longer when I start to starve, then Not only would there be a risk of having that blue monster pay for my funeral, but there would obviously be inconvenience and unpleasantness to the customer.If I set off at once and try to turn back, how am I going to find my way home, how can I hope to make it that far? And who can I trust at home but Peggotty? Even if I am in the nearest The local authorities found the relevant authorities and asked to dedicate themselves to being a soldier or a sailor, but I was too young for them to accept me.I just feel dizzy with anxiety and depression after thinking about it.Just then, a man came in and whispered something to the conductor, who immediately pulled me off the scale and pushed me in front of the man.

As we led our new acquaintance to the ticket office, I peeked at him, thin, sallow, with sunken cheeks, and his chin was almost as dark as Mr. Murdstone's.But he shaved off his beard.His hair was dull and dull.He was wearing a black suit that was also dull and scorched, and the trouser legs and sleeves were a bit short.He is wearing a dirty white scarf.I did not then and still do not believe that it was the only linen he had on, but he showed or hinted that it was true.

"You're the freshman, aren't you?" he said.

"Yes, sir," I said.

"I teach at Salem School," he said.

I bowed respectfully to him.

I felt so ashamed to mention such a mundane thing as my box to an advanced scholar and teacher at the Salem School, that I had the audacity to speak of it after a short walk.I humbly and euphemistically said that the box would still be useful in the future, so we turned back, and he told the conductor to ask the porter to pick up the box at noon.

"Excuse me, sir," I said, as we came back to where we turned back first, "how far?"

"Over there in Blackmoor," he said.

"Is it far, sir?" I asked timidly.

"It's a long way," said he, "in a stagecoach, and then six miles."

I can't bear to go another six miles under these conditions.I took great pains to tell him that I hadn't eaten anything the night before, and that I would be very obliged to him if he would allow me to buy something to eat.When he heard it, he was very surprised—I saw him stop and look at me—and said after a little while that he was going to see an old man who lived not far away, so it was best if I went and bought some bread or Eat something else, and have breakfast at the old lady's, where we can get some milk.

So we came to a bakery and looked in the window, and I offered to buy every digestible food in that shop, but he flatly refused, and we bought only a small loaf of black bread, which we used three times. penny.Then, in a little grocer's, we bought another egg and a slice of bacon, spent the first shiny shilling, and got so much change that I thought London was a good place. cheap place.With these things we went through a hustle and bustle that made me sick.Then we walked across London Bridge (indeed, I think he told me so, but I was in a deep trance).At last we came to the house where the poor lived. Judging from its appearance and the stone carvings in front of the gate, we knew that it was a part of the workhouse.The stone inscriptions say that there were 25 poor women in these houses.

The teacher at Salem's school unbolted one of those little black doors, all of them alike, with a little diamond-shaped pane of glass beside it and a tiny pane of glass above it.We went into the house of one of those poor women who was blowing on a fire to boil a little saucepan.Seeing him go in, the woman stopped tugging at the bellows on her lap and said something.I think that sounds like "my Charlie".Seeing me entering the room, she stood up and saluted.

"Give him a hot breakfast!" said the teacher at Salem's school.

"Can I?" said the woman, "I can, of course!"

"How's Mrs. Phoebe Tsien today?" said the teacher, looking at another old woman in a big chair by the fire, which was like a pile of clothes.

"Oh, she's not well," said the first woman. "It's been the worst day for her. I think if the fire burns out, she might too."

(End of this chapter)