David Copperfield

Chapter 26
Chapter 11 Self-Employment(2)
I have always wondered whether it was my stately look which prevented Mrs. Micawber from judging my age, or whether it always bothered her, and if she had no one to confide in, she could even talk to the twins, and vent.She was like that when we first met, and she's still like that in our subsequent interactions.

Poor poor Mrs. Micawber! She says she did her best, and I have no doubts about that.For, in the middle of the street door, there is a large bronze plaque, engraved with the words "Mrs. Micawber, Principal, Girls' Boarding School".But I have never seen any young woman living there; or any young woman ever coming, or intending to come; or having any preparation for receiving a young woman.The guests I have seen or heard of are all creditors.They come by habitually, some of them quite outrageously.A man with a grimy face, probably a shoemaker, stepped into the corridor at seven o'clock in the morning, and shouted to Mr. Micawber upstairs: "Hey! Come down! Don't pretend! Pay back the money, don't hide, you I know how immoral that is. If I were you, I would definitely not be like this. Hey, I will pay back the money soon." Such insults still did not receive a response, and he was so angry that he couldn't help shouting "liar" and "robber" Seeing that these insults didn't work, he simply ran across the street and yelled at the windows on the second floor.

Mr. Micawber was so sad and ashamed at such times that he could not help himself to gesture the razor against his neck.But after a while, he was painstakingly polishing his boots again, and went out humming a little tune with a more dignified air than usual.Mrs. Micawber has the same character. I have seen her faint at three o'clock because she couldn't pay the country's taxes, but at four o'clock she could eat mutton chops wrapped with peace of mind. Come with hot ale (two teaspoons pawned for these foods).Once they had just been court enforced (removed furniture) and I happened to come home at six o'clock early from work to find Mrs Micawber passed out in front of the fire (with twins in her arms of course) with her hair down her face but that very evening she was sitting in front of the kitchen fire eating roast beef and talking about her father and mother and the friends they had had.I've never seen her in a higher spirit than that one time.

It was in this house, with them, that I spent my free time.My breakfast, and the only breakfast I keep for myself—a penny of bread and a penny of milk, besides which I often choose to keep on a special shelf in a cupboard, with a loaf of bread and a cheese Prepare it for dinner when you get home at night.I was well aware that was not a small sum in those six or seven shillings.During the day, I stayed in the warehouse to work, and I could only support myself for seven days a week on that little income. I didn't get any advice, advice, comfort, or encouragement from anyone!

I was so young, so immature, so powerless—how could I not be?—to sustain my life, my life.Therefore, every morning when I went to the Morgue Warehouse, I couldn't refuse the half-price dim sum displayed in front of the cake shop, so I used the money I had saved for lunch to buy dim sum.So at lunch I was hungry and either didn't eat anything or bought a roll or a slice of pudding.At that time, as far as my own financial situation was concerned, I could only choose from two pudding shops.One of them was in the street not far from St. Martin's Church. The pudding there was a special kind of pudding made with currants, but it was very expensive. The two-penny pudding was no bigger than the usual one-penny pudding.The best shop for plain puddings was in the Strand, and a place in that part has since been remodeled.

The small piece of pudding there is gray and fluffy, with large flat raisins sparsely mixed in it. Every day when I get off work, hot pudding happens to be served, and I often eat this kind of thing.My usually richer dinner is either a sausage and bread for a penny, or a plate of red beef for four pennies; or a plate of bread and cheese and a glass of beer in a dilapidated old pub opposite my work, As for which tavern was called the Lion or the Monkey or whatever, I can't recall it.Once, with a loaf of bread under my arm, wrapped in a paper like a book, I went into a Drewry specialty beef shop, and ordered a plate of deliciousness to go with the bread, for a man like me I don't know how the waiter will feel about the unknown little devil.But the expression on his face at that time is still vivid in my mind-he looked at me intently, and the other waiter did the same, and I gave him a halfpenny, I hope he didn't take it.

I remember that I had plenty of time for tea, and when I had enough money I used to buy a half-pint of coffee ready and a slice of buttered bread; Or at those times, walk over to Covent Garden Market to check out the pineapples.I prefer to be around Adelphi Terrace, for it is full of sombre vaults and has an air of mystery about it.One evening, in a sweltering weather, I went into a tavern and said to the keeper:

"How much is a glass of your really fine ale?" Because it was a special day, probably my birthday.

"Twopence and a half," said the shopkeeper, "is the price of a real stanning ale."

"Well," I said, taking out my money, "get me a real stanine, please!"

The shopkeeper smiled strangely and looked at me up and down the counter; moreover, instead of scooping up the wine, he turned his head to look behind the screen and muttered something to his wife.Immediately after, his wife came out from behind the screen holding the handicraft, and came to observe me carefully with her husband.The shopkeeper, without his coat, was leaning against the window frame of the counter; his wife was looking out at me from the panel;They asked me so many questions about my name, how old I was, where I lived, what I did, how I got here.For all of these questions, I fabricated appropriate answers just so as not to embarrass anyone else.Regarding the ale they gave me, I doubted whether it was pure stannine; the proprietress leaned over and gave me the money for the drink through the half-sliding door, and even kissed my forehead, maybe out of admiration, maybe out of pity , all in all full of feminine tenderness and love.

I understand that I have not involuntarily and inadvertently exaggerated the poverty of my means and the hardships of my life.Even if Mr. Quinine gave me a shilling anytime, I used it to eat or drink tea.I'm just a kid from a poor family, working for other people all the time.I wandered the streets hungry and hungry.And thanks to the mercy and love of God, otherwise I would be reduced to a petty rascal, a petty thief.

However, I also have my own place in Mo? Gedai.Mr. Quinn was careless and busy, and had to deal with me as an underdog. No wonder he treated me differently from other people.But I never told anyone how I came here, and how depressed I was; I just suffered all this pain in silence, no one can understand the pain I went through, it is an indescribable pain.However, I kept my thoughts hidden in my heart and just kept my head down and worked hard.When I first came to work here, I understood a truth: If you don't do a good job, you will be looked down upon and ridiculed.Soon I was as comfortable with work as any other kid.Although I knew them well, I spoke and behaved differently from the others enough to create a divide between us.They always referred to me as "Little Gentleman" or "Little Suffolkman."Only Gregory, the head of the box packers, and Dipper, the other coachman in a red jacket, used to call me "David" sometimes.Thoughtful words anyway, because I think they only call me that when I try to entertain them with stories (stories I tell, learned back then, almost forgotten now) . "Sai Bai Fan" was not happy with the special treatment I received, but Mick Walker convinced him immediately.

There was no hope of escaping the status quo, and I simply stopped thinking about it.But now I find that I never for a single moment came to terms with this life, or felt the slightest annoyance, but I endured it; and even to Peggotty, partly out of love, partly out of embarrassment, never in any letter The truth was revealed in our correspondence (although we often corresponded by letter).

Mr. Micawber's troubles troubled me more.In the embarrassment of being alone and without relatives, I established a deep friendship with Mr. Micawber's family. In my spare time, I was always thinking about the ideas proposed by Mrs. Micawber, or the problem of Mr. Micawber's debts.Saturday night is a very happy day for me, for I will get six or seven shillings to go to and from the shops, and think what to do with the money; Heartbroken secrets tell me.The same goes for Sunday mornings, when I mix up my overnight tea or coffee in a little shaving pot and sit down to my outdated breakfast.Mr. Micawber whimpered violently at the beginning of the Saturday night, and was almost at the end singing "Jack Elnan."I have seen him come home to supper with tears in his eyes, thinking that he is dead now;Mrs. Micawber was exactly like her husband.

Because of the same situation, we have a delicate and harmonious relationship of equality, although our ages are so far apart, it is simply ridiculous.I never accepted their invitation to dine, for they were at odds with the butchers and bakers, and often had not much to eat themselves.But Mrs. Micawber took me as a confidant, and the situation changed.Mrs. Micawber and I were talking one evening.

"Master Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, "I do not think of you as an outsider, and that is why I have no hesitation in telling you that Mr. Micawber's troubles are at their most dangerous hour."

I was very distressed by these words, and looked with great pity at Mrs. Micawber's red eyes.

"Except for a rind of Dutch cheese," said Mrs. Micawber, "there was nothing in the pantry. When living with Mum and Dad, 'pantry' is usually used, so the term came back almost automatically. I I mean, there's nothing to eat right now."

"Oh!" I said sympathetically.

I had two or three shillings left of my week's wages in my pocket, which I hastily produced, and earnestly begged Mrs. Micawber to take it as a loan.But the lady, kissing me, asked me to get my money back, and replied that she must never do so.

"My dear Master Copperfield, no, absolutely not," she said, "you are thinking out of proportion to your age, and if you really want to help me, do me another favor, and I will be very sorry grateful."

(End of this chapter)