Hard Times - Charles Dickens (the lemonade war series txt) 📗

butter from her left-hand mitten, “are trustworthy, punctual, and industrious, of course?”

“Yes, ma’am, pretty fair, ma’am. With the usual exception.”

He held the respectable office of general spy and informer in the establishment, for which volunteer service he received a present at Christmas, over and above his weekly wage. He had grown into an extremely clearheaded, cautious, prudent young man, who was safe to rise in the world. His mind was so exactly regulated, that he had no affections or passions. All his proceedings were the result of the nicest and coldest calculation; and it was not without cause that Mrs. Sparsit habitually observed of him, that he was a young man of the steadiest principle she had ever known. Having satisfied himself, on his father’s death, that his mother had a right of settlement in Coketown, this excellent young economist had asserted that right for her with such a steadfast adherence to the principle of the case, that she had been shut up in the workhouse ever since. It must be admitted that he allowed her half a pound of tea a year, which was weak in him: first, because all gifts have an inevitable tendency to pauperise the recipient, and secondly, because his only reasonable transaction in that commodity would have been to buy it for as little as he could possibly give, and sell it for as much as he could possibly get; it having been clearly ascertained by philosophers that in this is comprised the whole duty of man⁠—not a part of man’s duty, but the whole.

“Pretty fair, ma’am. With the usual exception, ma’am,” repeated Bitzer.

“Ah⁠—h!” said Mrs. Sparsit, shaking her head over her teacup, and taking a long gulp.

“Mr. Thomas, ma’am, I doubt Mr. Thomas very much, ma’am, I don’t like his ways at all.”

“Bitzer,” said Mrs. Sparsit, in a very impressive manner, “do you recollect my having said anything to you respecting names?”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am. It’s quite true that you did object to names being used, and they’re always best avoided.”

“Please to remember that I have a charge here,” said Mrs. Sparsit, with her air of state. “I hold a trust here, Bitzer, under Mr. Bounderby. However improbable both Mr. Bounderby and myself might have deemed it years ago, that he would ever become my patron, making me an annual compliment, I cannot but regard him in that light. From Mr. Bounderby I have received every acknowledgment of my social station, and every recognition of my family descent, that I could possibly expect. More, far more. Therefore, to my patron I will be scrupulously true. And I do not consider, I will not consider, I cannot consider,” said Mrs. Sparsit, with a most extensive stock on hand of honour and morality, “that I should be scrupulously true, if I allowed names to be mentioned under this roof, that are unfortunately⁠—most unfortunately⁠—no doubt of that⁠—connected with his.”

Bitzer knuckled his forehead again, and again begged pardon.

“No, Bitzer,” continued Mrs. Sparsit, “say an individual, and I will hear you; say Mr. Thomas, and you must excuse me.”

“With the usual exception, ma’am,” said Bitzer, trying back, “of an individual.”

“Ah⁠—h!” Mrs. Sparsit repeated the ejaculation, the shake of the head over her teacup, and the long gulp, as taking up the conversation again at the point where it had been interrupted.

“An individual, ma’am,” said Bitzer, “has never been what he ought to have been, since he first came into the place. He is a dissipated, extravagant idler. He is not worth his salt, ma’am. He wouldn’t get it either, if he hadn’t a friend and relation at court, ma’am!”

“Ah⁠—h!” said Mrs. Sparsit, with another melancholy shake of her head.

“I only hope, ma’am,” pursued Bitzer, “that his friend and relation may not supply him with the means of carrying on. Otherwise, ma’am, we know out of whose pocket that money comes.”

“Ah⁠—h!” sighed Mrs. Sparsit again, with another melancholy shake of her head.

“He is to be pitied, ma’am. The last party I have alluded to, is to be pitied, ma’am,” said Bitzer.

“Yes, Bitzer,” said Mrs. Sparsit. “I have always pitied the delusion, always.”

“As to an individual, ma’am,” said Bitzer, dropping his voice and drawing nearer, “he is as improvident as any of the people in this town. And you know what their improvidence is, ma’am. No one could wish to know it better than a lady of your eminence does.”

“They would do well,” returned Mrs. Sparsit, “to take example by you, Bitzer.”

“Thank you, ma’am. But, since you do refer to me, now look at me, ma’am. I have put by a little, ma’am, already. That gratuity which I receive at Christmas, ma’am: I never touch it. I don’t even go the length of my wages, though they’re not high, ma’am. Why can’t they do as I have done, ma’am? What one person can do, another can do.”

This, again, was among the fictions of Coketown. Any capitalist there, who had made sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence, always professed to wonder why the sixty thousand nearest hands didn’t each make sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence, and more or less reproached them every one for not accomplishing the little feat. What I did you can do. Why don’t you go and do it?

“As to their wanting recreations, ma’am,” said Bitzer, “it’s stuff and nonsense. I don’t want recreations. I never did, and I never shall; I don’t like ’em. As to their combining together; there are many of them, I have no doubt, that by watching and informing upon one another could earn a trifle now and then, whether in money or good will, and improve their livelihood. Then, why don’t they improve it, ma’am! It’s the first consideration of a rational creature, and it’s what they pretend to want.”

“Pretend indeed!” said Mrs. Sparsit.

“I am sure we are constantly hearing, ma’am, till it becomes quite nauseous, concerning their wives and families,” said Bitzer. “Why look at me, ma’am! I don’t want a wife and family. Why should they?”

“Because they are improvident,” said Mrs. Sparsit.

“Yes, ma’am,” returned Bitzer, “that’s where it is. If they were more provident and less perverse, ma’am,