Холодний дім

Sharpshooters

           Plaguepestilenceandfamine,battlemurderandsuddendeathuponhim,"saystheoldman,makingacurseoutofoneofhisfewremembrancesofaprayerandsqueezinguphisvelvetcapbetweenhisangryhands,"Ihavehalfamillionofhissignatures,Ithink!Butyou,"breathlesslyrecoveringhismildnessofspeechasJudyre-adjuststhecaponhisskittle-ballofahead,"you,mydearMr.George,arelikelytohavesomeletterorpaperthatwouldsuitthepurpose.Anythingwouldsuitthepurpose,writteninthehand.""Somewritinginthathand,"saysthetrooper,pondering;"maybe,Ihave.""Mydearestfriend!""Maybe,Ihavenot.""Ho!"saysGrandfatherSmallweed,crest-fallen."ButifIhadbushelsofit,Iwouldnotshowasmuchaswouldmakeacartridgewithoutknowingwhy.""Sir,Ihavetoldyouwhy.MydearMr.George,Ihavetoldyouwhy.""Notenough,"saysthetrooper,shakinghishead."Imustknowmore,andapproveit.""Then,willyoucometothelawyer?Mydearfriend,willyoucomeandseethegentleman?"urgesGrandfatherSmallweed,pullingoutaleanoldsilverwatchwithhandslikethelegofaskeleton."ItoldhimitwasprobableImightcalluponhimbetweentenandeleventhisforenoon,andit’snowhalfafterten.Willyoucomeandseethegentleman,Mr.George?""Hum!"sayshegravely."Idon’tmindthat.Thoughwhythisshouldconcernyousomuch,Idon’tknow.""Everythingconcernsmethathasachanceinitofbringinganythingtolightabouthim.

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