Холодный дом

The Smallweed Family

           Trooperwasneveryetbilleteduponahouseholdmoreunlikehim.Itisabroadswordtoanoyster-knife.Hisdevelopedfigureandtheirstuntedforms,hislargemannerfillinganyamountofroomandtheirlittlenarrowpinchedways,hissoundingvoiceandtheirsharpsparetones,areinthestrongestandthestrangestopposition.Ashesitsinthemiddleofthegrimparlour,leaningalittleforward,withhishandsuponhisthighsandhiselbowssquared,helooksasthough,ifheremainedtherelong,hewouldabsorbintohimselfthewholefamilyandthewholefour-roomedhouse,extralittleback-kitchenandall."Doyourubyourlegstorublifeinto’em?"heasksofGrandfatherSmallweedafterlookingroundtheroom."Why,it’spartlyahabit,Mr.George,andyesitpartlyhelpsthecirculation,"hereplies."Thecir-cu-la-tion!"repeatsMr.George,foldinghisarmsuponhischestandseemingtobecometwosizeslarger."Notmuchofthat,Ishouldthink.""TrulyI’mold,Mr.George,"saysGrandfatherSmallweed."ButIcancarrymyyears.I’molderthanHER,"noddingathiswife,"andseewhatsheis?You’reabrimstonechatterer!"withasuddenrevivalofhislatehostility."Unluckyoldsoul!"saysMr.George,turninghisheadinthatdirection."Don’tscoldtheoldlady.Lookatherhere,withherpoorcaphalfoffherheadandherpoorhairallinamuddle.Holdup,ma’am.That’sbetter.Thereweare!Thinkofyourmother,Mr.Smallweed,"saysMr.George,comingbacktohisseatfromassistingher,"ifyourwifean’tenough.""Isupposeyouwereanexcellentson,Mr.

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