Крошка Доррит

Chapter 31. Spirit

           Thepoorlittleoldmanknewsomepaleandvapidlittlesongs,longoutofdate,aboutChloe,andPhyllis,andStrephonbeingwoundedbythesonofVenus;andforMrsPlornishtherewasnosuchmusicattheOperaasthesmallinternalflutteringsandchirpingswhereinhewoulddischargehimselfoftheseditties,likeaweak,little,brokenbarrel-organ,groundbyababy.Onhis‘daysout,’thoseflecksoflightinhisflatvistaofpollardoldmen,’itwasatonceMrsPlornish’sdelightandsorrow,whenhewasstrongwithmeat,andhadtakenhisfullhalfpenny-worthofporter,tosay,‘Singusasong,Father.’ThenhewouldgivethemChloe,andifhewereinprettygoodspirits,Phyllisalso—Strephonhehadhardlybeenuptosincehewentintoretirement—andthenwouldMrsPlornishdeclareshedidbelievethereneverwassuchasingerasFather,andwipehereyes.

           IfhehadcomefromCourtontheseoccasions,nay,ifhehadbeenthenobleRefrigeratorcomehometriumphantlyfromaforeigncourttobepresentedandpromotedonhislasttremendousfailure,MrsPlornishcouldnothavehandedhimwithgreaterelevationaboutBleedingHeartYard.‘Here’sFather,’shewouldsay,presentinghimtoaneighbour.‘Fatherwillsoonbehomewithusforgood,now.Ain’tFatherlookingwell?Father’sasweetersingerthanever;you’dneverhaveforgottenit,ifyou’daheardhimjustnow.’AstoMrPlornish,hehadmarriedthesearticlesofbeliefinmarryingMrNandy’sdaughter,andonlywonderedhowitwasthatsogiftedanoldgentlemanhadnotmadeafortune.

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