Холодный дом

The Track

           Bucket’sletters,thatwarypersonisnotthemantogratifyit.Mr.Bucketlooksathimasifhisfacewereavistaofsomemilesinlengthandhewereleisurelycontemplatingthesame."Doyouhappentocarryabox?"saysMr.Bucket.UnfortunatelyMercuryisnosnuff-taker."Couldyoufetchmeapinchfromanywheres?"saysMr.Bucket."Thankee.Itdon’tmatterwhatitis;I’mnotparticularastothekind.Thankee!"Havingleisurelyhelpedhimselffromacanisterborrowedfromsomebodydownstairsforthepurpose,andhavingmadeaconsiderableshowoftastingit,firstwithonesideofhisnoseandthenwiththeother,Mr.Bucket,withmuchdeliberation,pronouncesitoftherightsortandgoeson,letterinhand.NowalthoughMr.Bucketwalksupstairstothelittlelibrarywithinthelargeronewiththefaceofamanwhoreceivessomescoresofletterseveryday,ithappensthatmuchcorrespondenceisnotincidentaltohislife.Heisnogreatscribe,ratherhandlinghispenlikethepocket-staffhecarriesaboutwithhimalwaysconvenienttohisgrasp,anddiscouragescorrespondencewithhimselfinothersasbeingtooartlessanddirectawayofdoingdelicatebusiness.Further,heoftenseesdamaginglettersproducedinevidenceandhasoccasiontoreflectthatitwasagreenthingtowritethem.Forthesereasonshehasverylittletodowithletters,eitherassenderorreceiver.Andyethehasreceivedaroundhalf-dozenwithinthelasttwenty-fourhours."Andthis,"saysMr.Bucket,spreadingitoutonthetable,"isinthesamehand,andconsistsofthesametwowords.

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