David Copperfield, Charles Dickens [best historical fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

that I have been, in this Devil’s bark of a boat, within the last half-hour!”

I was so confounded by the alteration in him, that at first I could only observe him in silence, as he stood leaning his head upon his hand, and looking gloomily down at the fire. At length I begged him, with all the earnestness I felt, to tell me what had occurred to cross him so unusually, and to let me sympathize with him, if I could not hope to advise him. Before I had well concluded, he began to laugh⁠—fretfully at first, but soon with returning gaiety.

“Tut, it’s nothing, Daisy! nothing!” he replied. “I told you at the inn in London, I am heavy company for myself, sometimes. I have been a nightmare to myself, just now⁠—must have had one, I think. At odd dull times, nursery tales come up into the memory, unrecognized for what they are. I believe I have been confounding myself with the bad boy who ‘didn’t care,’ and became food for lions⁠—a grander kind of going to the dogs, I suppose. What old women call the horrors, have been creeping over me from head to foot. I have been afraid of myself.”

“You are afraid of nothing else, I think,” said I.

“Perhaps not, and yet may have enough to be afraid of too,” he answered. “Well! So it goes by! I am not about to be hipped again, David; but I tell you, my good fellow, once more, that it would have been well for me (and for more than me) if I had had a steadfast and judicious father!”

His face was always full of expression, but I never saw it express such a dark kind of earnestness as when he said these words, with his glance bent on the fire.

“So much for that!” he said, making as if he tossed something light into the air, with his hand. “ ‘Why, being gone, I am a man again,’ like Macbeth. And now for dinner! If I have not (Macbeth-like) broken up the feast with most admired disorder, Daisy.”

“But where are they all, I wonder!” said I.

“God knows,” said Steerforth. “After strolling to the ferry looking for you, I strolled in here and found the place deserted. That set me thinking, and you found me thinking.”

The advent of Mrs. Gummidge with a basket, explained how the house had happened to be empty. She had hurried out to buy something that was needed, against Mr. Peggotty’s return with the tide; and had left the door open in the meanwhile, lest Ham and little Em’ly, with whom it was an early night, should come home while she was gone. Steerforth, after very much improving Mrs. Gummidge’s spirits by a cheerful salutation and a jocose embrace, took my arm, and hurried me away.

He had improved his own spirits, no less than Mrs. Gummidge’s, for they were again at their usual flow, and he was full of vivacious conversation as we went along.

“And so,” he said, gaily, “we abandon this buccaneer life tomorrow, do we?”

“So we agreed,” I returned. “And our places by the coach are taken, you know.”

“Ay! there’s no help for it, I suppose,” said Steerforth. “I have almost forgotten that there is anything to do in the world but to go out tossing on the sea here. I wish there was not.”

“As long as the novelty should last,” said I, laughing.

“Like enough,” he returned; “though there’s a sarcastic meaning in that observation for an amiable piece of innocence like my young friend. Well! I dare say I am a capricious fellow, David. I know I am; but while the iron is hot, I can strike it vigorously too. I could pass a reasonably good examination already, as a pilot in these waters, I think.”

“Mr. Peggotty says you are a wonder,” I returned.

“A nautical phenomenon, eh?” laughed Steerforth.

“Indeed he does, and you know how truly; I know how ardent you are in any pursuit you follow, and how easily you can master it. And that amazes me most in you, Steerforth⁠—that you should be contented with such fitful uses of your powers.”

“Contented?” he answered, merrily. “I am never contented, except with your freshness, my gentle Daisy. As to fitfulness, I have never learnt the art of binding myself to any of the wheels on which the Ixions of these days are turning round and round. I missed it somehow in a bad apprenticeship, and now don’t care about it.⁠—You know I have bought a boat down here?”

“What an extraordinary fellow you are, Steerforth!” I exclaimed, stopping⁠—for this was the first I had heard of it. “When you may never care to come near the place again!”

“I don’t know that,” he returned. “I have taken a fancy to the place. At all events,” walking me briskly on, “I have bought a boat that was for sale⁠—a clipper, Mr. Peggotty says; and so she is⁠—and Mr. Peggotty will be master of her in my absence.”

“Now I understand you, Steerforth!” said I, exultingly. “You pretend to have bought it for yourself, but you have really done so to confer a benefit on him. I might have known as much at first, knowing you. My dear kind Steerforth, how can I tell you what I think of your generosity?”

“Tush!” he answered, turning red. “The less said, the better.”

“Didn’t I know?” cried I, “didn’t I say that there was not a joy, or sorrow, or any emotion of such honest hearts that was indifferent to you?”

“Aye, aye,” he answered, “you told me all that. There let it rest. We have said enough!”

Afraid of offending him by pursuing the subject when he made so light of it, I only pursued it in my thoughts as we went on at even a quicker pace than before.

“She must be newly rigged,” said Steerforth, “and I shall leave Littimer behind to see it done, that I may know she is quite complete. Did I tell you Littimer had come down?”

“No.”

“Oh yes! came down this morning, with a letter from my mother.”

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