David Copperfield

Chapter 25
Chapter 11 Self-Employment(1)
Now I have a lot of experience in the world, so I seldom amazed at anything; but at that time, I was so young, and they could push me out of the door so casually. Even now, it still surprises me a little.A child like me is born with some endowments, strong insight, curiosity and a delicate heart. Once he is wronged, he will be very sad and sentimental.That's the kind of person I am, and it's kind of weird that no one can stand up and do me justice at the time.However, it is true that no one has come forward and said a word of justice.So, when I was just ten years old, I had no choice but to enter the Mo? Ge warehouse as a child laborer.

The Moge Warehouse is located in the black-clothed monk's area, close to the riverside. After subsequent renovations, the original appearance and imprints can no longer be discerned.There used to be a narrow street at the end of which was the warehouse.Next to this warehouse, there are several wooden steps for people to get on and off the ship.It was a dilapidated house with its own small pier.Where the pier extends, there is an endless expanse of water at high tide, and a puddle of mud at low tide.The house, rat-infested in fact, had, I venture to say, its dark, paneled rooms of a century's dust and smoke beyond their original color; There were hordes of fat rats running around and squawking--a place of filth and decay.In my heart, this kind of scene is not as remote as the old things that have been settled for many years, but as clearly visible as it appears in front of my eyes. These scenes are now presented to me again.The first time I went there, when I was in bad luck, I followed Mr. Quinine with trembling hands.The scene at that time reappeared clearly.

The Morgue Warehouse did business with all kinds of people, but most of it was in the business of loading wine and spirits onto cruise ships.I can't now recall where the wine was shipped, but I think some of it traveled across the ocean to the East or West Indies.And I vaguely remember that the items of this trade were only countless empty bottles, which adults and children checked by light, discarded the defective ones, and washed the clean ones.Afterwards, the bottle is labeled, the cork is plugged, and the cork is branded before the bottle is loaded into the barrel.That's my job, and I'm one of all the kids hired to do it.

There were three or four kids working there, including me, and I was assigned to work in a corner of the warehouse.Mr. Quinn could see me through the window on the desk if he stood on the lower crossbar of the tent stool.On the first morning when I was so honored to be self-reliant, the oldest long-term labor boy was assigned here to explain the work I was supposed to do. The boy was Mick Walker, wearing a ragged apron, Wearing a paper cap.Said that his father was a boatman, wearing a black velvet hat, and walked in the guard of honor when the mayor of London was inaugurated. He also said that our leading companion was another boy with a strange name, said to be Sai Baifen? Potato.But I later found out that it was not his Christian name, but a nickname given to him in the warehouse. His skin was gray and pink.Sai Baifen's father was also a sailor, and worked as a fireman in a big theater, because some relative of Sai Baifen's family-I guess it was his sister-played imps in the pantomime at that theater.

I fell into the company of this group, and compared my everyday companions thereafter with the playmates of my childhood, not to mention Steerforth, Traddles, and others--who once wanted to grow up to be learned, The thought of a well-known person burst like a bubble in his chest, and the pain in the depths of his soul was indescribable.At that time I realized that I had no hope and future, and felt quite humiliated by my position, because I believed in everything I had learned, thought, liked, and caught my imagination and competitiveness, day by day, bit by bit. Little by little, farther and farther away, never to return - the profound memories about all these are beyond words to describe.Mick Walker came and went several times that morning.Whenever he left, I burst into tears, and my heart seemed to be in danger of bursting like a cracked bottle.

At 12:30, everyone went to eat.At this moment Mr. Quinn knocked at the window of the tent, and motioned for me to enter.I went in and found a stout middle-aged man inside, wearing a brown coat, black breeches, and black leather shoes. The hair on his head was no more than that on the egg, and his broad face was completely facing me.He was ragged, but the stiff collar of his shirt stood out.He held in his hand a handsome walking stick with a pair of large tassels that seemed to be rusted; and on the front of his coat he had a monocle hanging, but that was only for decoration, for he never used it, and it was of no use. .

"He," said Mr. Quinn to me, "is the boy."

"Oh, this is Master David," said the man (there was a subdued tone in his tone, which I noticed at the same time with an inexpressible air of noble trade), "how do you do, Master?"

I said, I'm fine and I hope he's fine too.In truth I was flustered, genius knows; but then, I couldn't complain, so I say so.

"As for me," said the stranger, "thank God, I am well. I have a letter from Mr. Murdstone about the letting of the spare room at the back of the house where I now live as a bedroom." "The stranger smiled slightly, suddenly showing an intimate expression, and said, "Actually, he hopes that I can rent this room to a person who has just come out to work. Now I am very honored to meet this young entrepreneur." The stranger, waving his hand, sank his chin into the collar of his shirt.

"This is Mr. Micawber," said Mr. Quinning to me.

"Ah!" said the stranger, "yes, that's me."

"Mr. Micawber," said Mr. Quinning, "knows Mr. Murdstone. He does business for us, and we pay him a commission if he can find a client. He has a letter from Mr. Murdstone, He said he could keep you as his tenant."

"I live," said Mr. Micawber, "Metropolis Road, Wenzelle. I, in short," spoke here with the same air of pride as before, and another burst of suddenness. He said boldly, "That's right there."

I bowed deeply to him.

"It seems to me," said Mr. Micawber, "that you have not traveled far enough in this metropolis, and that you may find it difficult to find your way through this modern Babylonian labyrinth. Go ahead," continued Mr. Micawber, "you may get lost. It is therefore my great honor that my visit to-night can show you a short cut."

I thanked him with all my heart, for it was indeed his kindness that he took so much trouble to lead me there.

"When," said Mr. Micawber, "can I—"

"Eight o'clock," said Mr. Quinine.

"Well, about eight o'clock," said Mr. Micawber, "good-bye, Mr. Quinn. I shall not disturb you any more."

So he put on his hat, and with his cane under his arm, straightened up, and went out of the room.When he left the tent, he was still humming a little song.

Mr. Quining then formally hired me to work at the Morgue Warehouse.The salary, I think, is shillings per Saturday.I can't remember whether it was six or seven shillings, because I'm not sure about it, and sometimes think it was six at first and then seven.He gave me a week's wages in advance, out of which I gave sixpence to "Sai Baifen" and asked him to carry my box to Wenzel that night; although the box was not heavy, it was still beyond my strength, and I Another sixpence lunch consisted of a meatloaf and running water from the nearest tap.I ate for an hour, and then wandered the streets for a while.

At eight o'clock in the evening, Mr. Micawber did come.I wash my hands and face in respect of his style.We go to our lodgings.As we walked along the road, Mr. Micawber told me the name of the street, and the shape of the house at the corner, so that I could remember it so that I could easily find my way in the morning.

When we arrived at his lodgings in Windsor (which was as shabby as his, but as pompous as his), he introduced me to Mrs. Micawber.Mrs. Micawber was a thin, haggard woman who was no longer young.She was sitting in the living room (downstairs was completely unfurnished, the curtains were always drawn to keep it secret from outsiders), breastfeeding a baby.This baby is one of twins.I may mention here that, in all my association with the Micawbers, I never saw the twins leave Mrs. Micawber, and one of them was always in her arms.

Besides the twins, there were two other children—Master Micawber, about four years old, and Miss Micawber, about three years old.There was also a dark, snorting young girl who was the housemaid.Presently she told me that she was "an orphan" from the nearby poor house of St. Luke's, which was all the members of the family.My room was on the roof at the back. It was a cramped hut with patterns all over the walls, and there were only a handful of furniture in the room. At that time, I was naive and imagined the patterns as blue muffins.

Mrs. Micawber, with the twins in her arms, came up to show me where I lived, and said: "When I lived with Mum and Dad before I got married, I never thought I'd have tenants. But Mr. Micawber has trouble, I certainly can't allow personal emotions to go into it anymore."

I said, "Indeed."

"Mr. Micawber's trouble is almost unbearable at the moment," said Mrs. Micawber. The true meaning of the word trouble. But experience has taught me what it means--as Papa used to say."

Mr. Micawber was an officer in the Navy, and I am not sure whether Mrs. Micawber told me this, or whether I imagined it.But I still think he was at one point in the Navy.But I don't know why, he is now in the city soliciting business for merchants of different industries, but, I'm afraid, his income is very meager or he can't make a dime.

"If Mr. Micawber's creditors won't give him relief," said Mrs. Micawber, "they'll have to bear the consequences, and they'd better get to the bottom of it sooner. Stones don't bleed, and Mr. Micawber can't pay." account, not to mention the cost of litigation."

(End of this chapter)