David Copperfield

Chapter 72 Mr. Micawber's Challenge (4)
Chapter 28 Mr. Micawber's Challenge (4)
In answering him, I praised Traddles warmly, for I felt that Steerforth had slighted him.Steerforth nodded his head, smiled a little, and said he would like to see him too, for he had always been a playful eccentric.He thus diverted the subject of Traddles, and asked me if I had anything good to give him.All through this conversation, when he was not speaking briskly, he had been sitting idly, beating on the coals with his poke stick.I noticed that while I was taking the leftover pigeon row out of the cupboard and doing other things, he was there beating the coal.

"Ah, Daisy, your supper here is enough for a king." He jumped up suddenly, sat down at the table, and cried, "I will eat a good meal, and I will live up to your feast, because I will give you a good dinner." It's from Yarmouth."

"I thought you were from Oxford," I answered him.

"No," said Steerforth, "I went there—much more fun than Oxford."

"Ritimos just came here to inquire about you," I remarked. "I thought he said you were at Oxford; but I now think he did not."

"Ritimore is a bigger fool than I thought, to come here for me," said Steerforth, pouring out a glass of wine cheerfully, and toasting me. "As for knowing him, Daisy, If you can do it, you're wiser than any of us."

"You're quite right," said I, moving my chair in front of the table, "you've been to Yarmouth, Steerforth!" I wanted to know all about it, "where did you live?" How long?"

"Soon," he answered me, "had been messing around there for a week or so!"

"Are they all well? Are they? Little Em'ly is not married yet!"

"Not yet. It's going to be over, I believe--in the near future, if not in a few months, this and that, but it will be. I don't see them very often. Come to think of it," he said. Busily putting down the tableware, he began to fumble in his pockets, "I brought you a letter."

"Who wrote me the letter?"

"Who else, from your old nurse," he answered me, drawing some scraps of paper from his breast pocket, "'Lord James Steerforth, Debtor of Wishful Residence,' no This one, don't worry, you'll find it right away. That old man, he looks very ill, and that's what that letter is about, I think."

"It's Bagis!"

"That's right," he still fumbled in his pockets, and after he fumbled, he decided to see what it was. "I'm afraid poor Burgess is going to die. I saw a thin little druggist in there--or a doctor, whatever, in that line of business--he's the one who takes you. Born. He is very familiar with the disease, but he thinks that the coachman is going quickly to his last life. You feel in the breast pocket of the coat I hang on that chair over there. Touch, I think there must be the letter there, is it there?"

"Here it is!" I said.

"right!"

The letter was written by Peggotty, in a more illegible and brief handwriting than usual.The letter spoke of her husband's grave illness and hopeless condition, with the allusion that he was "a little bit more stingy" than he had been in the past, and that it was therefore more difficult to get him anything to make him comfortable. .The letter said nothing about her fatigue and nursing, but only praised Gauri, and the letter was full of unadorned sincerity (I know it is true) with simple innocence, and concluded with "Greetings I will always love the one I love and love"—meaning me.

Steerforth ate and drank incessantly while I read the letter.

"It's a sad thing," he said after dinner, "but the sun goes down every day, and people die every minute. No one can escape this, so we don't have to worry about it because of it." What a fuss. If because of hearing that reasonable footstep [Note: The Roman poet Horatio in the 1th century B.C. has a saying: "With just footsteps the gray Death knocks on the huts of the poor and on the palaces of princes. ”] Knocking on other people’s doors, without control of our own destiny, we will lose everything we have. No! Go forward! Always keep going forward! In short, keep moving forward, overcome all obstacles, and win the game.”

"Win what game?" I said.

"You're already in the game!" he said. "Keep going!"

I still remember him stopping and looking at me with his hair-covered brow slightly thrown back.I saw that although his face was good, with the freshness of the sea-breeze, there was still a trace in it, as if he had engaged in a habitual timid activity, which had occurred since my last meeting with him. appeared after the separation.His fiery power, once aroused, would stir passionately in his heart.I was about to admonish him for his adventurous pursuit of whatever fantasies were in his mind--such things as sailing with wind and waves and sailing through waves, but when I pondered and hesitated to speak, my mind suddenly turned to We were talking about the subject, and then went on.

"Steerforth," said I, "if you'd like to hear, I'll tell you—"

"I'm very much in the mood for it, and I like to do whatever you want me to do," he answered me, moving back from the table to the fire.

"Well, I'll tell you the truth, Steerforth, then. I think I should go out into the country, and see my old nurse. It's not certain that I can do her any good, or give her anything. Any practical help. But she has such a deep and close relationship with me, and I will always have some influence on her when I go to see her. She will definitely take my inquiries very seriously, and therefore feel a kind of relief, feeling that I have had a lot of help. Great to rely on. I dare say it's easy to go for a friend who treats me like she does. If you were in my position, would you be willing to spend a whole day to go And give up traveling?"

There was a thoughtful look on his face, and he sat there, thinking about it for a while, and then he whispered to me, "Well, you go, it won't do you any harm."

"You've just come back from there," I said, "and if I ask you to go with me, you probably won't say yes?"

"Probably so," he answered, "I'm going back to Highgate to-night. I haven't seen my mother for a long time, and I really feel a little guilty--for she loves her wanderer so much, so she must She deserves to be hurt by someone. Well, don't talk about such insignificant things!—You said you'd start tomorrow, didn't you?" He stretched out two arms, and put a hand on one of my shoulders. Say.

"Yes, that's exactly what I want to do."

"Well, let's go to the day after tomorrow. I had planned to invite you to stay with us for a few days. I came here to ask you to visit your house, and you insisted on going to Yarmouth. "

"Steerforth, you've been running so often and so far away yourself that no one knows where you've been, and now you're talking about me."

He looked at me thoughtfully for a while, without saying a word, then, as before, he took me by the hand, shook me a few times, and said:

"Well, why don't you go in another day? Come to us tomorrow, and spend as much time with us as you can! God knows, when will we meet again? That's it, come tomorrow. I want you to stand in Los Angeles Between Sarah Dartle and me. I want you to keep us separated."

"Could it be that without me, the two of you want to kiss and love each other so much, so much, so much, don't you?"

"Yes, perhaps too much hate," said Steerforth, laughing, "love it or hate it, that's all!"

I promised him to go one day later, and to go to his place tomorrow.So he put on his coat, lit a cigar, and started to walk home.Seeing what he meant, I put on my coat too (though I didn't light my cigar, for I had had enough at that time), and walked with him down the country road.At that time, it was night, and the avenue looked deserted and quiet.He was very excited all the way, and when we parted, watching him walk home so briskly and briskly, I remembered what he said: "Go ahead against all difficulties and win the game." I only hope that he is Participate in all meaningful competitions.

While I was undressing in my bedroom, Mr. Micawber's letter fell from my pocket and fell to the floor.That reminded me of his letter, so I broke the seal and read it.The letter was written an hour and a half before dinner.Whenever Mr. Micawber was in any difficult situation, he used a legal term: he seemed to feel that by doing so his difficulty was over and the entanglement was settled.

Your Excellency—as I dare not, my dear Copperfield.

I should inform you that the signer of this letter has been defeated.Today, you may see this person boasting, and you don't want to let you predict that his disaster is coming.Even so, hope has sunk below the horizon, and the signer of this letter is in ruins.

This letter is written under the personal mutilation (I cannot call it society) of a person who is employed by a broker who is now near the land of intoxication.That person has seized the signatory's residence to recover rent.The items on the seizure list include not only the various assets of the signatory of the long-term tenant of the house, but also all of Mr. Thomas Traddles, a member of the Honor Society of the Inner Court [Note: One of the four law schools in London].

This sorrowful bosom has already overflowed, and if a drop of residual wine has been placed on the lips of the undersigned to increase his suffering, it can be obtained from the following facts: Mr. Traddles mentioned above, kindly bear A promissory note of 23 pounds 4 shillings 9 and a half pence, signed by the person who signed it, has expired and the money has not been raised.In addition, there is one more thing that is enough to add to the troubles, that is, the inescapable maintenance responsibility of the undersigned, as a matter of fact, will increase due to the emergence of a person who is even more unable to survive on his own. From now on, the period of less than six months begins its tormented life.

In addition to the above, those who can join in the extra meritorious deeds, the signatory regrets it endlessly.

Sincerely, Wilkin Micawber

Good Traddles! By this time I have at last made the acquaintance of Mr. Micawber, so it may be prophesied that he will recover sufficiently from this blow.But I slept very restlessly that night, thinking of Traddles, and being very anxious for him, and thinking of the clergyman's daughter in Devon--one of ten, and such a lovely woman. She could wait for Traddles till sixty, boy, or any age imaginable.

(End of this chapter)