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Good and Bad Angels

           

           ‘Oh,dear,yes,MasterCopperfield,’heproceeded,inasoftvoice,mostremarkablycontrastingwiththeactionofhisthumb,whichdidnotdiminishitshardpressureintheleastdegree,‘there’snodoubtofit.Therewouldhavebeenloss,disgrace,Idon’tknowwhatatall.Mr.Wickfieldknowsit.Iamtheumbleinstrumentofumblyservinghim,andheputsmeonaneminenceIhardlycouldhavehopedtoreach.HowthankfulshouldIbe!’Withhisfaceturnedtowardsme,ashefinished,butwithoutlookingatme,hetookhiscrookedthumboffthespotwherehehadplantedit,andslowlyandthoughtfullyscrapedhislankjawwithit,asifhewereshavinghimself.

           Irecollectwellhowindignantlymyheartbeat,asIsawhiscraftyface,withtheappropriatelyredlightofthefireuponit,preparingforsomethingelse.

           ‘MasterCopperfield,’hebegan‘butamIkeepingyouup?’

           ‘Youarenotkeepingmeup.Igenerallygotobedlate.’

           ‘Thankyou,MasterCopperfield!Ihaverisenfrommyumblestationsincefirstyouusedtoaddressme,itistrue;butIamumblestill.IhopeInevershallbeotherwisethanumble.Youwillnotthinktheworseofmyumbleness,ifImakealittleconfidencetoyou,MasterCopperfield?Willyou?’

           ‘Ohno,’saidI,withaneffort.

           ‘Thankyou!’Hetookouthispocket-handkerchief,andbeganwipingthepalmsofhishands.

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Roboto Lora
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