Дэвид Копперфильд

Tommy Traddles

           

           WhenIgottothetopofthestairsthehousewasonlyastoryhighabovethegroundfloorTraddleswasonthelandingtomeetme.Hewasdelightedtoseeme,andgavemewelcome,withgreatheartiness,tohislittleroom.Itwasinthefrontofthehouse,andextremelyneat,thoughsparelyfurnished.Itwashisonlyroom,Isaw;fortherewasasofa-bedsteadinit,andhisblacking-brushesandblackingwereamonghisbooksonthetopshelf,behindadictionary.Histablewascoveredwithpapers,andhewashardatworkinanoldcoat.Ilookedatnothing,thatIknowof,butIsaweverything,eventotheprospectofachurchuponhischinainkstand,asIsatdownandthis,too,wasafacultyconfirmedinmeintheoldMicawbertimes.Variousingeniousarrangementshehadmade,forthedisguiseofhischestofdrawers,andtheaccommodationofhisboots,hisshaving-glass,andsoforth,particularlyimpressedthemselvesuponme,asevidencesofthesameTraddleswhousedtomakemodelsofelephants’densinwriting-papertoputfliesin;andtocomforthimselfunderillusage,withthememorableworksofartIhavesooftenmentioned.

           Inacorneroftheroomwassomethingneatlycoveredupwithalargewhitecloth.Icouldnotmakeoutwhatthatwas.

           ‘Traddles,’saidI,shakinghandswithhimagain,afterIhadsatdown,‘Iamdelightedtoseeyou.’

           ‘IamdelightedtoseeYOU,Copperfield,’hereturned.‘Iamverygladindeedtoseeyou.

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