Chapter 34

A Turn Of The Screw

"Now, what," says Mr George, "may this be? Is it blank

cartridge, or ball? A flash in the pan, or a shot?"

An open letter is the subject of the trooper's

speculations, and it seems to perplex him mightily. He looks at it

at arm's length, brings it close to him, holds it in his right hand,

holds it in his left hand, reads it with his head on this side, with his

head on that side, contracts his eyebrows, elevates them; still,

cannot satisfy himself. He smooths it out upon the table with his

heavy palm, and thoughtfully" title="ad.深思地；体贴地">thoughtfully walking up and down the gallery,

makes a halt before it every now and then, to come upon it with a

fresh eye. Even that won't do. "Is it," Mr George muses, "blank

cartridge or ball?"

Phil Squod, with the aid of a brush and paint-pot, is employed

in the distance whitening the targets; softly whistling, in quick-

march time, and in drum-and-fife manner, that he must and he

will go back again to the girl he left behind him.

"Phil!" The trooper beckons as he calls him.

Phil approaches in his usual way; sidling off at first as if he were

going anywhere else, and then bearing down upon his commander

like a bayonet-charge. Certain splashes of white show in high

relief upon his dirty face, and he scrapes his one eyebrow with the

handle of his brush.

"Attention, Phil! Listen to this."

"Steady, commander, steady."

"'Sir. Allow me to remind you (though there is no legal

necessity for my doing so, as you are aware) that the bill at two

months' date, drawn on yourself by Mr Matthew Bagnet, and by

you accepted, for the sum of ninety-seven pounds four shillings

and ninepence, will become due tomorrow, when you will please

be prepared to take up the same on presentation. Yours, JOSHUA

SMALLWEED.'-What do you make of that, Phil?"

"Mischief, guv'ner."

"Why?"

"I think," replies Phil, after pensively tracing out a cross-

wrinkle in his forehead with the brush handle, "that mischeevious

consequences is always meant when money's asked for."

"Lookye, Phil," says the trooper, sitting on the table. "First and

last, I have paid, I may say, half as much again as this principal, in

interest and one thing and another."

Phil intimates, by sidling back a pace or two, with a very

unaccountable wrench of his wry face, that he does not regard the

transaction as being made more promising by this incident.

"And lookye further, Phil," says the trooper, staying his

premature conclusions with a wave of his hand. "There has always

been an understanding that this bill was to be what they call

Renewed. And it has been renewed, no end of times. What do you

say now?"

"I say that I think the times is come to a end at last."

"You do? Humph! I am much of the same mind myself."

"Joshua Smallweed is him that was brought here in a chair?"

"The same."

"Guv'ner," says Phil, with exceedinggravity, "he's a leech in his

dispositions, he's a screw and a wice in his actions, a snake in his twistings, and a lobster in his claws."

Having thus expressively uttered his sentiments, Mr Squod,

after waiting a little to ascertain if any further remark be expected

of him, gets back, by his usual series of movements, to the target

he has in hand; and vigorously signifies, through his former

musical medium, that he must and he will return to that ideal

young lady. George having folded the letter, walks in that

direction.

"There is a way, commander," says Phil, looking cunningly at

him, "of settling this."

"Paying the money, I suppose? I wish I could."

Phil shakes his head. "No, guv'ner, no; not so bad as that. There

is a way," says Phil, with a highly artistic turn of his brush-"what

I'm a doing at present."

"Whitewashing."

Phil nods.

"A pretty way that would be! Do you know what would become

of the Bagnets in that case? Do you know they would be ruined to

pay off my old scores? You're a moral character," says the trooper,

eyeing him in his large way with no small indignation, "upon my

life you are, Phil!"

Phil, on one knee at the target, is in course of protesting

earnestly, though not without many allegorical scoops of his

brush, and smoothings of the white surface round the rim with his

thumb, that he had forgotten the Bagnet responsibility, and would

not so much as injure a hair of the head of any member of that

worthy family, when steps are audible in the long passage without,

and a cheerful voice is heard to wonder whether George is at

home. Phil, with a look at his master, hobbles up, saying, "Here's the guv'ner, Mrs Bagnet! Here he is!" and the old girl herself,

accompanied by Mr Bagnet, appears.

The old girl never appears in walking trim, in any season of the

year, without a grey cloth cloak, coarse and much worn but very

clean, which is, undoubtedly, the identical garment rendered so

interesting to Mr Bagnet by having made its way home to Europe

from another quarter of the globe, in company with Mrs Bagnet

and an umbrella. The latter faithful appendage is also invariably a

part of the old girl's presence out of doors. It is of no colour known

in this life, and has a corrugated wooden crook for a handle, with a

metallic object let into its prow or beak, resembling a little model

of a fan-light over a street door, or one of the oval glasses out of a

pair of spectacles: which ornamental object has not that tenacious

capacity of sticking to its post that might be desired in an article

long associated with the British army. The old girl's umbrella is of

a flabby habit of waist, and seems to be in need of stays-an

appearance that is possibly referable to its having served, through

a series of years, at home as a cupboard, and on journeys as a

carpet bag. She never puts it up, having the greatest reliance on

her well-proved cloak with its capacious hood; but generally uses

the instrument as a wand with which to point out joints of meat or

bunches of greens in marketing, or to arrest the attention of

tradesmen by a friendly poke. Without her market-basket, which

is a sort of wicker well with two flapping lids, she never stirs

abroad. Attended by these her trusty companions, therefore, her

honest sunburnt face looking cheerily out of a rough straw bonnet,

Mrs Bagnet now arrives, fresh-coloured and bright, in George's

Shooting Gallery.

"Well, George, old fellow," says she, "and how do you do, this sunshiny morning?"

Giving him a friendly shake of the hand, Mrs Bagnet draws a

long breath after her walk, and sits down to enjoy a rest. Having a

faculty, matured on the tops of baggage-wagons, and in other such

positions, of resting easily anywhere, she perches on a rough

bench, unties her bonnet strings, pushes back her bonnet, crosses

her arms, and looks perfectly comfortable.

Mr Bagnet, in the mean time, has shaken hands with his old

comrade, and with Phil: on whom Mrs Bagnet likewise bestows a

good-humoured nod and smile.

"Now, George," says Mrs Bagnet, briskly, "here we are, Lignum

and myself;" she often speaks of her husband by this appellation,

on account, as it is supposed, of Lignum Vitae having been his old

regimental nickname when they first became acquainted, in

compliment to the extreme hardness and toughness of his

physiognomy; "just looked in, we have, to make it all correct as

usual about that security. Give him the new bill to sign, George,

and he'll sign it like a man."

"I was coming to you this morning," observes the trooper,

reluctantly.

"Yes, we thought you'd come to us this morning, but we turned

out early, and left Woolwich, the best of boys, to mind his sisters,

and came to you instead-as you see! For Lignum, he's tied so

close now, and gets so little exercise, that a walk does him good.

But what's the matter, George?" asks Mrs Bagnet, stopping in her

cheerful talk. "You don't look yourself."

"I am not quite myself," returns the trooper; "I have been a

little put out, Mrs Bagnet."

Her bright quick eye catches the truth directly. "George!"holding up her forefinger. "Don't tell me there's anything wrong

about that security of Lignum's! Don't do it, George, on account of

the children!"

The trooper looks at her with a troubled visage.

"George," says Mrs Bagnet, using both her arms for emphasis,

and occasionally bringing down her open hands upon her knees.

"If you have allowed anything wrong to come to that security of

Lignum's, and if you have let him in for it, and if you have put us

in danger of being sold up-and I see sold up in your face, George,

as plain as print-you have done a shameful action, and deceived

us cruelly. I tell you, cruelly, George. There!"

Mr Bagnet, otherwise as immovable as a pump or a lamp-post,

puts his large right hand on the top of his bald head, as if to defend

it from a shower-bath, and looks with great uneasiness at Mrs

Bagnet.

"George!" says that old girl. "I wonder at you! George, I am

ashamed of you! George, I couldn't have believed you would have

done it! I always knew you to be a rolling stone that gathered no

moss; but I never thought you would have taken away what little

moss there was for Bagnet and the children to lie upon. You know

what a hard-working steady-going chap he is. You know that

Quebec and Malta and Woolwich are-and I never did think you

would, or could, have had the heart to serve us so. O George!" Mrs

Bagnet gathers up her cloak to wipe her eyes on, in a very genuine

manner, "How could you do it?"

Mrs Bagnet ceasing, Mr Bagnet removes his hand from his

head as if the shower-bath were over, and looks disconsolately at

Mr George; who has turned quite white, and looks distressfully at

the grey cloak and straw bonnet."Mat," says the trooper, in a subdued voice, addressing him,

but still looking at his wife; "I am sorry you take it so much to

heart, because I do hope it's not so bad as that comes to. I certainly

have, this morning, received this letter; which he reads aloud; "but

I hope it may be set right yet. As to a rolling stone, why, what you

say is true. I am a rolling stone; and I never rolled in anybody's

way, I fully believe, that I rolled the least good to. But it's

impossible for an old vagabond comrade to like your wife and

family better than I like 'em, Mat, and I trust you'll look upon me

as forgivingly as you can. Don't think I've kept anything from you.

I haven't had the letter more than a quarter of an hour."

"Old girl!" murmurs Mr Bagnet, after a short silence, "will you

tell him my opinion?"

"O! Why didn't he marry," Mrs Bagnet answers, half laughing

and half crying, "Joe Pouch's widder in North America? Then he

wouldn't have got himself into these troubles."

"The old girl," says Mr Bagnet, "puts it correct-why didn't

you?"

"Well, she has a better husband by this time, I hope," returns

the trooper. "Anyhow, here I stand, this present day, not married

to Joe Pouch's widder. What shall I do? You see all I have got

about me. It's not mine; it's yours. Give the word, and I'll sell off

every morsel. If I could have hoped it would have brought in

nearly the sum wanted, I'd have sold all long ago. Don't believe

that I'll leave you or yours in the lurch, Mat. I'd sell myself first. I

only wish," says the trooper, giving himself a disparaging blow in

the chest, "that I knew of anyone who'd buy such a second-hand

piece of old stores."

Old girl," murmurs Mr Bagnet, "give him another bit of my mind."

"George," says the old girl, "you are not so much to be blamed,

on full consideration, except for ever taking this business without

the means."

"And that was like me!" observed the penitenttrooper, shaking

his head. "Like me, I know."

"Silence! The old girl," says Mr Bagnet, "is correct-in her way

of giving my opinions-hear me out!"

"That was when you never ought to have asked for the security,

George, and when you never ought to have got it, all things

considered. But what's done can't be undone. You are always an

honourable and straight-forward fellow, as far as lays in your

power, though a little flighty. On the other hand, you can't admit

but what it's natural in us to be anxious, with such a thing hanging

over our heads. So forget and forgive all round, George. Come!

Forget and forgive all round!"

Mrs Bagnet, giving him one of her honest hands, and giving her

husband the other, Mr George gives each of them one of his, and

holds them while he speaks.

"I do assure you both, there's nothing I wouldn't do to

discharge this obligation. But whatever I have been able to scrape

together, has gone every two months in keeping it up. We have

lived plainly enough here, Phil and I. But the Gallery don't quite

do what was expected of it, and it's not-in short, it's not the Mint.

It was wrong in me to take it? Well, so it was. But I was in a

manner drawn into that step, and I thought it might steady me,

and set me up, and you'll try to overlook my having such

expectations, and upon my soul, I am very much obliged to you,

and very much ashamed of myself." With these concluding words,Mr George gives a shake to each of the hands he holds, and,

relinquishing them, backs a pace or two, in a broad-chested

upright attitude, as if he had made a final confession, and were

immediately going to be shot with all military honours.

"George, hear me out!" says Mr Bagnet, glancing at his wife.

"Old girl, go on!"

Mr Bagnet, being in this singular manner heard out, has merely

to observe that the letter must be attended to without any delay;

that it is advisable that George and he should immediately wait on

Mr Smallweed in person; and that the primary object is to save

and hold harmless Mr Bagnet, who had none of the money. Mr

George entirely assenting, puts on his hat, and prepares to march

with Mr Bagnet to the enemy's camp.

"Don't you mind a woman's hasty word, George," says Mrs

Bagnet, patting him on the shoulder. "I trust my old Lignum to

you, and I am sure you'll bring him through it."

The trooper returns, that this is kindly said, and that he will

bring Lignum through it somehow. Upon which Mrs Bagnet, with

her cloak, basket, and umbrella, goes home, bright-eyed again, to

the rest of her family; and the comrades sally forth on the hopeful

errand of mollifying Mr Smallweed.

Whether there are two people in England less likely to come

satisfactorily out of any negotiation with Mr Smallweed than Mr

George and Mr Matthew Bagnet, may be very reasonably

questioned. Also, notwithstanding their martial appearance, broad

square shoulders, and heavy tread, whether there are, within the

same limits, two more simple and unaccustomed children, in all

the Smallweedy affairs of life. As they proceed with great gravity

through the streets towards the region of Mount Pleasant, Mr Bagnet, observing his companion to be thoughtful, considers it a

friendly part to refer to Mrs Bagnet's late sally.

"George, you know the old girl-she's as sweet and as mild as

milk. But touch her on the children-or myself-and she's off like

gunpowder."

"It does her credit, Mat!"

"George," says Mr Bagnet, looking straight before him, "the old

girl-can't do anything-that don't do her credit. More or less. I

never say so. Discipline must be maintained."

"She's worth her weight in gold," returns the trooper.

"In gold?" says Mr Bagnet. "I'll tell you what. The old girl's

weight-is twelve stone six. Would I take that weight-in any

metal-for the old girl? No. Why not? Because the old girl's metal

is far more precious-than the preciousest metal. And she's all

metal!"

"You are right, Mat!"

"When she took me-and accepted of the ring-she 'listed

under me and the children-heart and head; for life. She's that

earnest," says Mr Bagnet, "and true to her colours-that, touch us

with a finger-and she turns out-and stands to her arms. If the

old girl fires wide-once in a way-at the call of duty-look over it,

George. For she's loyal!"

"Why bless her, Mat!" returns the trooper, "I think the higher

of her for it!"

"You are right!" says Mr Bagnet, with the warmest enthusiasm,

though without relaxing the rigidity of a single muscle. "Think as

high of the old girl-as the rock of Gibraltar-and still you'll be

thinking low-of such merits. But I never own to it before her.

Discipline must be maintained."These encomiums bring them to Mount Pleasant, and to

Grandfather Smallweed's house. The door is opened by the

perennial Judy, who, having surveyed them from top to toe with

no particular favour, but indeed with a malignant sneer, leaves

them standing there, while she consults the oracle as to their

admission. The oracle may be inferred to give consent, from the

circumstance of her returning with the words on her honey lips

"that they can come in if they want to it." Thus privileged they

come in, and find Mr Smallweed with his feet in the drawer of his

chair as if it were a paper footbath, and Mrs Smallweed obscured

with the cushion like a bird that is not to sing.

"My dear friend," says Grandfather Smallweed, with those two

lean affectionate arms of his stretched forth. "How de do? How de

do? Who is our friend, my dear friend?"

"Why this," returns George, not able to be very conciliatory at

first, "is Matthew Bagnet, who has obliged me in that matter of

ours, you know."

"Oh! Mr Bagnet? Surely!" the old man looks at him under his

hand. "Hope you're well, Mr Bagnet? Fine man, Mr George!

Military air, sir!"

No chairs being offered, Mr George brings one forward for

Bagnet, and one for himself. They sit down; Mr Bagnet as if he

had no power of bending himself, except at the hips for that

purpose.

"Judy," says Mr Smallweed, "bring the pipe."

"Why, I don't know," Mr George interposes, "that the young

woman need give herself that trouble, for to tell you the truth, I am

not inclined to smoke it today."

"Ain't you?" returns the old man. "Judy, bring the pipe.""The fact is, Mr Smallweed," proceeds George, "that I find