dozen times； but each time he repeats the curve； the duck； the
dive； and scours away again。 To strike at him； on any of these
occasions； would be to fell and disable him； but the pursuer cannot
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resolve to do that； and so the grimly ridiculous pursuit continues。
At last the fugitive； hard…pressed； takes to a narrow passage； and a
court which has no thoroughfare。 Here； against a hoarding of
decaying timber； he is brought to bay； and tumbles down； lying
gasping at his pursuer； who stands and gasps at him until the
woman comes up。
“O you； Jo！” cries the woman。 “What？ I have found you at last！”
“Jo；” repeats Allan； looking at him with attention。 “Jo！ Stay。 To
be sure！ I recollect this lad some time ago being brought before
the coroner。”
“Yes； I see you once afore at the Inkwhich；” whimpers Jo。
“What of that？ Can’t you never let such an unfortnet as me alone？
An’t I unfortnet enough for you yet？ How unfortnet do you want
me for to be？ Iv’e been a…chivied and a…chivied； fust by one on you
and nixt by another on you； till I’m worritted to skins and bones。
The Inkwhich warn’t my fault。 I done nothink。 He wos wery good
to me he wos； he wos the only one I know’d to speak to； as ever
come across my crossing。 It ain’t wery likely I should want him to
be Inkwhich’d。 I only wish I wos； myself。 I don’t know why I don’t
go and make a hole in the water； I’m sure I don’t。
He says it with such a pitiable air； and his grimy tears appear so
real； and he lies in the corner up against the hoarding so like a
growth of fungus or any unwholesome excresence produced there
in neglect and impurity； that Allan Woodcourt is softened towards
him。 He says to the woman； “Miserable creature； what has he
done？”
To which she only replies； shaking her head at the prostrate
figure more amazedly than angrily： “Oh you； Jo； you Jo。 I have
found you at last！”
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“What has he done？” says Allan。 “Has he robbed you？”
“No sir； no。 Robbed me？ He did nothing but what was kind…
hearted by me； and that’s the wonder of it。”
Allan looks from Jo to the woman； and from the woman to Jo；
waiting for one of them to unravel the riddle。
“But he was along with me； sir；” says the woman；—“O you
Jo！—he was along with me； sir； down at Saint Albans； ill； and a
young lady； Lord bless her for a good friend to me； took pity on
him when I durstn’t； and took him home—” Allan shrinks back
from him with a sudden horror。
“Yes sir； yes。 Took him home； and made him comfortable； and
like a thankless monster he ran away in the night； and never has
been seen or heard of since； till I set eyes on him just now。 And
that young lady that was such a pretty dear； caught his illness； lost
her beautiful looks； and wouldn’t hardly be known for the same
young lady now； if it wasn’t for her angel temper； and her pretty
shape； and her sweet voice。 Do you know it？ You ungrateful
wretch； do you know that this is all along of you and of her
goodness to you？” demands the woman； beginning to rage at him
as she recalls it； and breaking into passionate tears。
The boy； in rough sort stunned by what he hears； falls to
smearing his dirty forehead with his dirty palm； and to staring at
the ground； and to shaking from head to foot until the crazy
hoarding against which he leans； rattles。
Allan restrains the woman； merely by a quiet gesture； but
effectually。
“Richard told me；” he falters； “—I mean I have heard of this—
don’t mind me for a moment； I will speak presently。”
He turns away； and stands for a while looking out at the
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Bleak House 869
covered passage。 When he comes back； he has recovered his
composure； except that he contends against an avoidance of the
boy； which is so very remarkable； that it absorbs the woman’s
attention。
“You hear what she says。 But get up； get up！”
Jo； shaking and chattering； slowly rises； and stands； after the
manner of his tribe in a difficulty； sideways against the hoarding；
resting one of his high shoulders against it； and covertly rubbing
his right hand over his left； and his left foot over his right。
“You hear what she says； and I know it’s true。 Have you been
here ever since？”
“Whishermaydie if I seen Tom…all…Alone’s till this blessed
morning；” replies Jo； hoarsely。
“Why have you come here now？”
Jo looks all round the confined court； looks at his questioner no
higher than the knees； and finally answers：
“I don’t know how to do nothink； and I can’t get nothink to do。
I’m wery poor and ill； and I thought I’d come back here when
there warn’t nobody about； and lay down and hide somewheres as
I knows on till after dark； and then go and beg a trifle of Mr
Sangsby。 He wos allus willin fur to give me sumthink he wos；
though Mrs Sangsby she wus allus a…chivying on me—like
everybody everywheres。”
“Where have you come from？”
Jo looks all round the court again； looks at his questioner’s
knees again； and concludes by laying his profile against the
hoarding in a sort of resignation。
“Did you hear me ask you where you have come from？”
“Tramp then；” says Jo。
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“Now； tell me；” proceeds Allen； making a strong effort to
overcome his repugnance； going very near to him； and leaning
over him with an expression of confidence； “tell me how it came
about that you left that house； when the good young lady had been
so unfortunate as to pity you； and take you home。”
Jo suddenly comes out of his resignation； and excitedly
declares； addressing the woman； that he never known about the
young lady； that he never heern about it； that he never went fur to
hurt her； that he would sooner have hurt his own self； that he’d
sooner have had his unfortnet ed chopped off than ever gone a…
nigh her； and that she wos wery good to him； she wos。 Conducting
himself throughout as if in his poor fashion he really meant it； and
winding up with some very miserable sobs。
Allan Woodcourt sees that this is not a sham。 He constrains
himself to touch him。 “Come Jo。 Tell me。”
“No。 I dustn’t；” says Jo； relapsing into the profile state。 “I
dustn’t； or I would。”
“But I must know；” returns the other； “all the same。 Come Jo。”
After two or three of such adjurations； Jo lifts up his head
again； looks round the court again； and says in a low voice； “Well；
I’ll tell you something。 I wos took away。 There！”
“Took away？ In the night？”
“Ah！” Very apprehensive of being overheard； Jo looks about
him； and even glances up some ten feet at the top of the hoarding；
and through the cracks in it； lest the object of his distrust should
be looking over； or hidden on the other side。
“Who took you away？”
“I dustn’t name him；” says Jo。 “I dustn’t do it； sir。”
“But I want； in the young lady’s name； to know。 You may trust
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Bleak House 871
me。 No one else shall hear。”
“Ah； but I don’t know；” replies Jo； shaking his head fearfully；
“as he don’t hear。”
“Why； he is not in this place。”
“Oh； ain’t he though？” says Jo。 “He’s in all manner of places； all
at wanst。”
Allan looks at him in perplexity； but discovers some real
meaning and good faith at the bottom of this bewildering reply。 He
patiently awaits an explicit answer； and Jo； more baffled by his
patience than by anything else； at last desperately whispers a
name in his ear。
“Ay！” says Allan。 “Why； what had you been doing？”
“Nothink； sir。 Never done nothink to get myself into no trouble；
’sept in not moving on and the Inkwhich。 But I’m a moving on
now。 I’m a moving on to the berryin ground—that’s the move as
I’m up to。”
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