Крихітка Дорріт

Chapter 32. Going

           Everybodyelsewithinthebillsofmortalitywashot;butthePatriarchwasperfectlycool.Everybodywasthirsty,andthePatriarchwasdrinking.Therewasafragranceoflimesorlemonsabouthim;andhemadeadrinkofgoldensherry,whichshoneinalargetumblerasifheweredrinkingtheeveningsunshine.Thiswasbad,butnottheworst.Theworstwas,thatwithhisbigblueeyes,andhispolishedhead,andhislongwhitehair,andhisbottle-greenlegsstretchedoutbeforehim,terminatinginhiseasyshoeseasilycrossedattheinstep,hehadaradiantappearanceofhavinginhisextensivebenevolencemadethedrinkforthehumanspecies,whilehehimselfwantednothingbuthisownmilkofhumankindness.

           Wherefore,MrPanckssaid,‘Whatdoyoumeanbythat?’andputhishairupwithbothhands,inahighlyportentousmanner.

           ‘Imean,MrPancks,thatyoumustbesharperwiththepeople,sharperwiththepeople,muchsharperwiththepeople,sir.Youdon’tsqueezethem.Youdon’tsqueezethem.Yourreceiptsarenotuptothemark.Youmustsqueezethem,sir,orourconnectionwillnotcontinuetobeassatisfactoryasIcouldwishittobetoallparties.Allparties.’

           ‘Don’tIsqueeze‘em?’retortedMrPancks.‘WhatelseamImadefor?’

           ‘Youaremadefornothingelse,MrPancks.Youaremadetodoyourduty,butyoudon’tdoyourduty.Youarepaidtosqueeze,andyoumustsqueezetopay.

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