第57章BOOKTHESECOND：THEGOLDENTHREAD(40)

第57章bookthesecond：thegoldenthread(40)

youngjerry，walkingwiththestoolunderhisarmathisfather'ssidealongsunnyandcrowdedfleetstreet，wasaverydifferentyoungjerryfromhimofthepreviousnight，runninghomethroughthedarknessandsolitudefromhisgrimpursuer.hiscunningwasfreshwiththeday，andhisqualmsweregonewiththenight—inwhichparticularsitisnotimprobablethathehadcompeersinfleetstreetandthecityoflondon，thatfinemorning.

'father，'saidyoungjerry，astheywalkedalong：takingcaretokeepatarm'slengthandtohavethestoolwellbetweenthem：'what'saresurrection-man？'

mr.crunchercametoastoponthepavementbeforeheanswered，'howshouldiknow？'

'ithoughtyouknowedeverything，father，'saidtheartlessboy.

'hem！well，'returnedmr.cruncher，goingonagain，andliftingoffhishattogivehisspikesfreeplay.'he'satradesman.'

'what'shisgoods，father？'askedthebriskyoungjerry.

'hisgoods，'saidmr.cruncher，afterturningitoverinhismind，'isabranchofscientificgoods.'

'persons'bodies，ain'tit，father？'askedthelivelyboy.

'ibelieveitissomethingofthatsort，'saidmr.cruncher.

'oh，father，ishouldsoliketobearesurrection-manwheni'mquitegrowedup！'

mr.cruncherwassoothed，butshookhisheadinadubiousandmoralway.'itdependsonhowyoudewelopyourtalents.becarefultodewelopyourtalents，andnevertosaynomorethanyoucanhelptonobody，andthere'snotellingatthepresenttimewhatyoumaynotcometobefitfor.'asyoungjerry，thusencouraged，wentonafewyardsinadvance，toplantthestoolintheshadowofthebar，mr.cruncheraddedtohimself：'jerry，youhonesttradesman，there'shopewotthatboywillyetbeablessingtoyou，andarecompensetoyouforhismother.'

xxi.knitting

therehadbeenearlierdrinkingthanusualinthewine-shopofmonsieurdefarge.asearlyassixo'clockinthemorning，sallowfacespeepingthroughitsbarredwindowshaddescriedotherfaceswithin，bendingovermeasuresofwine.monsieurdefargesoldaverythinwineatthebestoftimes，butitwouldseemtohavebeenanunusuallythinwinethathesoldatthistime.asourwine，moreover，orasouring，foritsinfluenceonthemoodofthosewhodrankitwastomakethemgloomy.novivacioushanalianflameleapedoutofthepressedgrapeofmonsieurdefarge：but，asmoulderingfirethatburntinthedark，layhiddeninthedregsofit.

thishadbeenthethirdmorninginession，onwhichtherehadbeenearlydrinkingatthewine-shopofmonsieurdefarge.ithadbeenbegunonmonday，andherewaswednesdaycome.therehadbeenmoreofearlybroodingthandrinking；for，manymenhadlistenedandwhisperedandslunkabouttherefromthetimeoftheopeningofthedoor，whocouldnothavelaidapieceofmoneyonthecountertosavetheirsouls.theseweretothefullasinterestedintheplace，however，asiftheycouldhavecommandedwholebarrelsofwine；andtheyglidedfromseattoseat，andfromcornertocorner，swallowingtalkinlieuofdrink，withgreedylooks.

notwithstandinganunusualflowofcompany，themasterofthewine-shopwasnotvisible.hewasnotmissed；for，nobodywhocrossedthethresholdlookedforhim，nobodyaskedforhim，nobodywonderedtoseeonlymadamedefargeinherseat，presidingoverthedistributionofwine，withabowlofbatteredsmallcoinsbeforeher，asmuchdefacedandbeatenoutoftheiroriginalimpressasthesmallcoinageofhumanityfromwhoseedpocketstheyhadcome.

asuspendedinterestandaprevalentabsenceofmind，wereperhapsobservedbythespieswholookedinatthewine-shop，astheylookedinateveryplace，highandlow，fromtheking'spalacetothecriminal'sgaol.gamesatcardslanguished，playersatdominoesmusinglybuilttowerswiththem，drinkersdrewfiguresonthetablewithspiltdropsofwine，madamedefargeherselfpickedoutthepatternonhersleevewithhertoothpick，andsawandheardsomethinginvisibleandinaudiblealongwayoff.

thus，saintantoineinthisvinousfeatureofhis，untilmidday.itwashighnoontide，whentwodustymenpassedthroughhisstreetsandunderhisswinginglamps：ofwhom，onewasmonsieurdefarge：theotheramenderofroadsinabluecap.alladustandathirst，thetwoenteredthewine-shop.theirarrivalhadlightedakindoffireinthebreastofsaintantoine，fastspreadingastheycamealong，whichstirredandflickeredinflamesoffacesatmostdoorsandwindows.yet，noonehadfollowedthem，andnomanspokewhentheyenteredthewine-shop，thoughtheeyesofeverymantherewereturneduponthem.

'goodday，gentlemen！'saidmonsieurdefarge.

itmayhavebeenasignalforlooseningthegeneraltongue.itelicitedanansweringchorusof'goodday！'

'itisbadweather，gentlemen，'saiddefarge，shakinghishead.

uponwhich，everymanlookedathisneighbour，andthenall＆nbsp；castdowntheireyesandsatsilent.exceptoneman，whogotupandwentout.

'mywife，'saiddefargealoud，addressingmadamedefarge：'ihavetravelledcertainleagueswiththisgoodmenderofroads，calledjacques.imethim—byaccident—adayandahalf'sjourneyoutofparis.heisagoodchild，thismenderofroads，calledjacques.givehimtodrink，mywife！'

asecondmangotupandwentout.madamedefargesetwinebeforethemenderofroadscalledjacques，whodoffedhisbluecaptothecompany，anddrank.inthebreastofhisblousehecarriedsomecoarsedarkbread；heateofthisbetweenwhiles，andsatmunchinganddrinkingnearmadamedefarge'scounter.athirdmangotupandwentout.

defargerefreshedhimselfwithadraughtofwine—but，hetooklessthanwasgiventothestranger，asbeinghimselfamantowhomitwasnorarity—andstoodwaitinguntilthecountrymanhadmadehisbreakfast.helookedatnoonepresent，andnoonenowlookedathim；notevenmadamedefarge，whohadtakenupherknitting，andwasatwork.

'haveyoufinishedyourrepast，friend？'heasked，indueseason.