I'll keep you always at it； you keep somebody else always at it。 There
you are with the Whole Duty of Man in a mercial country。'
When they had walked a little further in silence； Clennam said： 'Have
you no taste for anything； Mr Pancks？'
'What's taste？' drily retorted Pancks。
'Let us say inclination。'
'I have an inclination to get money； sir；' said Pancks； 'if you will
show me how。' He blew off that sound again； and it occurred to his
panion for the first time that it was his way of laughing。 He was a
singular man in all respects； he might not have been quite in earnest；
but that the short； hard； rapid manner in which he shot out these
cinders of principles； as if it were done by mechanical revolvency；
seemed irreconcilable with banter。
'You are no great reader； I suppose？' said Clennam。
'Never read anything but letters and accounts。 Never collect anything
but advertisements relative to next of kin。 If that's a taste； I have
got that。 You're not of the Clennams of Cornwall； Mr Clennam？'
'Not that I ever heard of。' 'I know you're not。 I asked your mother；
sir。 She has too much character to let a chance escape her。'
'Supposing I had been of the Clennams of Cornwall？' 'You'd have heard of
something to your advantage。'
'Indeed！ I have heard of little enough to my advantage for some time。'
'There's a Cornish property going a begging； sir； and not a Cornish
Clennam to have it for the asking；' said Pancks； taking his note…book
from his breast pocket and putting it in again。 'I turn off here。 I wish
you good night。'
'Good night！' said Clennam。 But the Tug； suddenly lightened； and
untrammelled by having any weight in tow； was already puffing away into
the distance。
They had crossed Smithfield together； and Clennam was left alone at the
corner of Barbican。 He had no intention of presenting himself in his
mother's dismal room that night； and could not have felt more depressed
and cast away if he had been in a wilderness。 He turned slowly down
Aldersgate Street； and was pondering his way along towards Saint Paul's；
purposing to e into one of the great thoroughfares for the sake of
their light and life； when a crowd of people flocked towards him on the
same pavement； and he stood aside against a shop to let them pass。 As
they came up； he made out that they were gathered around a something
that was carried on men's shoulders。 He soon saw that it was a litter；
hastily made of a shutter or some such thing； and a recumbent figure
upon it； and the scraps of conversation in the crowd； and a muddy bundle
carried by one man； and a muddy hat carried by another； informed him
that an accident had occurred。 The litter stopped under a lamp before it
had passed him half…a…dozen paces； for some readjustment of the burden；
and； the crowd stopping too； he found himself in the midst of the array。
'An accident going to the Hospital？' he asked an old man beside him； who
stood shaking his head； inviting conversation。
'Yes；' said the man； 'along of them Mails。 They ought to be prosecuted
and fined； them Mails。 They e a racing out of Lad Lane and Wood
Street at twelve or fourteen mile a hour； them Mails do。 The only wonder
is； that people ain't killed oftener by them Mails。'
'This person is not killed； I hope？'
'I don't know！' said the man； 'it an't for the want of a will in them
Mails； if he an't。' The speaker having folded his arms； and set in
fortably to address his depreciation of them Mails to any of the
bystanders who would listen； several voices； out of pure sympathy with
the sufferer； confirmed him； one voice saying to Clennam； 'They're a
public nuisance； them Mails； sir；' another； 'I see one on 'em pull up
within half a inch of a boy； last night；' another； 'I see one on 'em
go over a cat； sir……and it might have been your own mother；' and all
representing； by implication； that if he happened to possess any public
influence； he could not use it better than against them Mails。
'Why； a native Englishman is put to it every night of his life； to save
his life from them Mails；' argued the first old man； 'and he knows when
they're a ing round the corner； to tear him limb from limb。 What can
you expect from a poor foreigner who don't know nothing about 'em！'
'Is this a foreigner？' said Clennam； leaning forward to look。
In the midst of such replies as 'Frenchman； sir；' 'Porteghee； sir；'
'Dutchman； sir；' 'Prooshan； sir；' and other conflicting testimony； he
now heard a feeble voice asking； both in Italian and in French； for
water。 A general remark going round； in reply； of 'Ah； poor fellow；
he says he'll never get over it； and no wonder！' Clennam begged to be
allowed to pass； as he understood the poor creature。 He was immediately
handed to the front； to speak to him。
'First； he wants some water；' said he； looking round。 （A dozen good
fellows dispersed to get it。） 'Are you badly hurt； my friend？' he asked
the man on the litter； in Italian。
'Yes； sir； yes； yes； yes。 It's my leg； it's my leg。 But it pleases me to
hear the old music； though I am very bad。'
'You are a traveller！ Stay！ See； the water！ Let me give you some。' They
had rested the litter on a pile of paving stones。 It was at a convenient
height from the ground； and by stooping he could lightly raise the head
with one hand and hold the glass to his lips with the other。 A little；
muscular； brown man； with black hair and white teeth。 A lively face；
apparently。 Earrings in his ears。
'That's well。 You are a traveller？'
'Surely； sir。'
'A stranger in this city？'
'Surely； surely； altogether。 I am arrived this unhappy evening。'
'From what country？' 'Marseilles。'
'Why； see there！ I also！ Almost as much a stranger here as you； though
born here； I came from Marseilles a little while ago。 Don't be cast
down。' The face looked up at him imploringly； as he rose from wiping it；
and gently replaced the coat that covered the writhing figure。 'I won't
leave you till you shall be well taken care of。 Courage！ You will be
very much better half an hour hence。'
'Ah！ Altro； Altro！' cried the poor little man； in a faintly incredulous
tone； and as they took him up； hung out his right hand to give the
forefinger a back…handed shake in the air。
Arthur Clennam turned； and walking beside the litter； and saying an
encouraging word now and then； acpanied it to the neighbouring
hospital of Saint Bartholomew。 None of the crowd but the bearers and
he being admitted； the disabled man was soon laid on a table in a cool；
methodical way； and carefully examined by a surgeon who was as near at
hand； and as ready to appear as Calamity herself。 'He hardly knows an
English word；' said Clennam； 'is he badly hurt？'
'Let us know all about it first；' said the surgeon； continuing his
examination with a businesslike delight in it； 'before we pronounce。'
After trying the leg with a finger； and two fingers； and one hand and
two hands； and over and under； and up and down； and in this direction
and in that； and approvingly remarking on the points of interest to
another gentleman who joined him； the surgeon at last clapped the
patient on the shoulder； and said； 'He won't hurt。 He'll do very well。
It's difficult enough； but we shall not want him to part with his leg
this time。' Which Clennam interpreted to the patient； who was full of
gratitude； and； in his demonstrative way； kissed both the interpreter's
hand and the surgeon's several times。
'It's a serious injury； I suppose？' said Clennam。
'Ye…es；' replied the surgeon； with the thoughtful pleasure of an artist
contemplating the work upon his easel。 'Yes； it's enough。 There's a
pound fracture above the knee； and a dislocation below。 They are
both of a beautiful kind。' He gave the patient a friendly clap on the
shoulder again； as if he really felt that he was a very good fellow
indeed； and worthy of all mendation for having broken his leg in a
manner interesting to science。
'He speaks French？' said the surgeon。
'Oh yes； he speaks French。'
'He'll be at no loss here； then。……You have only to bear a little pain
like a brave fellow； my friend； and to be thankful that all goes as
well as it does；' he added； in that tongue； 'and you'll walk again to
a marvel。 Now； let us see whether there's anything else the matter； and
how our ribs are？'
There was nothing else the matter； and our ribs were sound。 Clennam
remained until everything possible to be done had been skilfully and
promptly done……the poor belated wanderer in a strange land movingly
besought that favour of him……and lingered by the bed to which he was in
due time removed； until he had fallen into a doze。 Even then he wrote a
few words for him on his card； with a promise to return to…morrow； and
left it to be given to him when he should awake。 All these proceedings
occupied so long that it struck eleven o'clock at night as he came out
at the Hospital Gate。 He had hired a lodging for the present in Covent
Garden； and he took the nearest way to that quarter； by Snow Hill and
Holborn。
Left to himself again； after the solicitude and passion of his last
adventure； he was naturally in a thoughtful mood。 As naturally； he
could not walk on thinking for ten minutes without recalling Flora。
She necessarily recalled to him his life； with all its misdirection and
little happiness。
When he got to his lodging； he sat down before the dying fire； as he
had stood at the window of his old room looking out upon the blackened
forest of chimneys； and turned his gaze back upon the gloomy vista by
which he had e to that stage in his existence。 So long； so bare；
so blank。 No childhood； no youth； except for one remembrance； that one
remembrance proved； only that day； to be a piece of folly。
It was a misfortune to him； trifle as it might have been to another。
For； while all that was hard and stern in his recollection； remained
Reality on being proved……was obdurate to the sight and touch； and
relaxed nothing of its old indomitable grimness……the one tender
recollection of his experience would not bear the same test； and melted
away。 He had foreseen this； on the former night； when he had dreamed
with waking eyes； but he had not felt it then； and he had now。
He was a dreamer in such wise； because he was a man who had； deep…rooted
in his nature； a belief in all the gentle and good things his life had
been without。 Bred in meanness and hard dealing； this had rescued him
to be a man of honourable mind and open hand。 Bred in coldness and
severity； this had rescued him to have a warm and sympathetic heart。
Bred in a creed too darkly audacious to pursue； through its process of
reserving the making of man in the image of his Creator to the making of
his Creator in the image of an erring man； this had rescued him to judge
not； and in humility to be merciful； and have hope and charity。
And this saved him still from the whimpering weakness and cruel
selfishness of holding that because such a happiness or such a virtue
had not e into his little path； or worked well for him； therefore
it was not in the great scheme； but was reducible； when found in
appearance； to the basest elements。 A disappointed mind he had； but a
mind too firm and healthy for such unwholesome air。 Lea