what they call in Scotland a ne’er…do…weel。 I have no head for
papers； sir。 I can stand any fire better than a fire of cross
questions。 I mentioned to Mr Smallweed； only an hour or so ago；
that when I come into things of this kind I feel as if I was being
smothered。 And this is my sensation；” says Mr George； looking
around upon the company； “at the present moment。”
With that； he takes three strides forward； to replace the papers
on the lawyer’s table； and three strides backward to resume his
former station： where he stands perfectly upright； now looking at
the ground； and now at the painted ceiling； with his hands behind
him as if to prevent himself from accepting any other document
whatever。
Under this provocation； Mr Smallweed’s favourite adjective of
disparagement is so close to his tongue； that he begins the word
“my dear friend” with the monosyllable “Brim；” thus converting
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the possessive pronoun into Brimmy； and appearing to have an
impediment in his speech。 Once past this difficulty； however； he
exhorts his dear friend in the tenderest manner not to be rash； but
to do what so eminent a gentleman requires； and to do it with a
good grace： confident that it must be unobjectionable as well as
profitable。 Mr Tulkinghorn merely utters an occasional sentence；
as “You are the best judge of your own interest； serjeant。”
“Take care you do no harm by this。”
“Please yourself； please yourself。”
“If you know what you mean； that’s quite enough。” These he
utters with an appearance of perfect indifference； as he looks over
the papers on his table； and prepares to write a letter。
Mr George looks distrustfully from the painted ceiling to the
ground； from the ground to Mr Smallweed； from Mr Smallweed to
Mr Tulkinghorn； and from Mr Tulkinghorn to the painted ceiling
again； often in his perplexity changing the leg on which he rests。
“I do assure you； sir；” says Mr George； “not to say it offensively；
that between you and Mr Smallweed here； I really am being
smothered fifty times over。 I really am； sir。 I am not a match for
you gentlemen。 Will you allow me to ask； why you want to see the
captain’s hand； in the case that I could find any specimen of it？”
Mr Tulkinghorn quietly shakes his head。 “No。 If you were a
man of business； serjeant； you would not need to be informed that
there are confidential reasons； very harmless in themselves； for
many such wants； in the profession to which I belong。 But if you
are afraid of doing any injury to Captain Hawdon； you may set
your mind at rest about that。”
“Ay！ he is dead； sir。”
“Is he？” Mr Tulkinghorn quietly sits down to write。
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Bleak House 528
“Well； sir；” says the trooper； looking into his hat after another
disconcerted pause； “I am sorry not to have given you more
satisfaction。 If it would be any satisfaction to any one； that I should
be confirmed in my judgment that I would rather have nothing to
do with this； by a friend of mine； who has a better head for
business than I have； and who is an old soldier； I am willing to
consult with him。 I—I really am so completely smothered myself at
present；” says Mr George； passing his hand hopelessly across his
brow； “that I don’t know but what it might be a satisfaction to me。”
Mr Smallweed； hearing that this authority is an old soldier； so
strongly inculcates the expediency of the trooper’s taking counsel
with him； and particularly informing him of its being a question of
five guineas or more； that Mr George engages to go and see him。
Mr Tulkinghorn says nothing either way。
“I’ll consult my friend； then； by your leave； sir；” says the
trooper； “and I’ll take the liberty of looking in again with a final
answer in the course of the day。 Mr Smallweed； if you wish to be
carried downstairs—”
“In a moment； my dear friend； in a moment。 Will you first let
me speak half a word with this gentleman； in private？”
“Certainly； sir。 Don’t hurry yourself on my account。” The
trooper retires to a distant part of the room； and resumes his
curious inspection of the boxes； strong and otherwise。
“If I wasn’t as weak as a Brimstone Baby； sir；” whispers
Grandfather Smallweed； drawing the lawyer down to his level by
the lappel of his coat； and flashing some half…quenched green fire
out of his angry eyes； “I’d tear the writing away from him。 He’s got
it buttoned in his breast。 I saw him put it there。 Judy saw him put
it there。 Speak up； you crabbed image for the sign of a walking…
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stick shop； and say you saw him put it there！”
This vehement conjuration the old gentleman accompanies
with such a thrust at his grand…daughter； that it is too much for his
strength； and he slips away out of his chair； drawing Mr
Tulkinghorn with him； until he is arrested by Judy； and well
shaken。
“Violence will not do for me； my friend；” Mr Tulkinghorn then
remarks coolly。
“No； no； I know； I know； sir。 But it’s chafing and galling—it’s—
it’s worse than your smattering chattering Magpie of a
grandmother；” to the imperturbable Judy； who only looks at the
fire； “to know he has got what’s wanted； and won’t give it up。 He；
not to give it up！ He！ A vagabond！ But never mind； sir； never mind。
At the most he has only his own way for a little while。 I have him
periodically in a vice。 I’ll twist him； sir。 I’ll screw him； sir。 If he
won’t do it with a good grace； I’ll make him do it with a bad one；
sir！—Now； my dear Mr George；” says Grandfather Smallweed；
winking at the lawyer hideously； as he releases him； “I am ready
for your kind assistance； my excellent friend！”
Mr Tulkinghorn； with some shadowy sign of amusement
manifesting itself through his self…possession； stands on the
hearth…rug with his back to the fire； watching the disappearance of
Mr Smallweed； and acknowledging the trooper’s parting salute
with one slight nod。
It is more difficult to get rid of the old gentleman； Mr George
finds； than to bear a hand in carrying him upstairs； for； when he is
replaced in his conveyance； he is so loquacious on the subject of
the guineas； and retains such an affectionate hold of his button—
having； in truth； a secret longing to rip his coat open； and rob
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him—that some degree of force is necessary on the trooper’s part
to effect a separation。 It is accomplished at last； and he proceeds
alone in quest of his adviser。
By the cloisterly Temple； and by Whitefriars （there； not without
a glance at Hanging…Sword Alley； which would seem to be
something in his way）； and by Blackfriars bridge； and Blackfriars
road； Mr George sedately marches to a street of little shops lying
somewhere in that ganglion of roads from Kent and Surrey； and of
streets from the bridges of London； centring in the far…famed
Elephant who has lost his castle formed of a thousand four…horse
coaches； to a stronger iron monster than he； ready to chop him
into mince…meat any day he dares。 To one of the little shops in this
street； which is a musician’s shop； having a few fiddles in the
window； and some Pan’s pipes and a tambourine； and a triangle；
and certain elongated scraps of music； Mr George directs his
massive tread。 And halting at a few paces from it； as he sees a
soldierly…looking woman； with her outer skirts tucked up； come
forth with a small wooden tub； and in that tub commence a
whisking and a splashing on the margin of the pavement； Mr
George says to himself “She’s as usual； washing greens。 I never
saw her； except upon a baggage…waggon； when she wasn’t washing
greens！”
The subject of this reflection is at all events so occupied in
washing greens at present； that she remains unsuspicious of Mr
George’s approach； until； lifting up herself and her tub together；
when she has poured the water off into the gutter； she finds him
standing
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