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

“Why, yes,” said Traddles, rubbing his hands slowly over one another. “I am reading for the bar. The fact is, I have just begun to keep my terms, after rather a long delay. It’s some time since I was articled, but the payment of that hundred pounds was a great pull. A great pull!” said Traddles, with a wince, as if he had had a tooth out.

“Do you know what I can’t help thinking of, Traddles, as I sit here looking at you?” I asked him.

“No,” said he.

“That sky-blue suit you used to wear.”

“Lord, to be sure!” cried Traddles, laughing. “Tight in the arms and legs, you know? Dear me! Well! Those were happy times, weren’t they?”

“I think our schoolmaster might have made them happier, without doing any harm to any of us, I acknowledge,” I returned.

“Perhaps he might,” said Traddles. “But dear me, there was a good deal of fun going on. Do you remember the nights in the bedroom? When we used to have the suppers? And when you used to tell the stories? Ha, ha, ha! And do you remember when I got caned for crying about Mr. Mell? Old Creakle! I should like to see him again, too!”

“He was a brute to you, Traddles,” said I, indignantly; for his good humour made me feel as if I had seen him beaten but yesterday.

“Do you think so?” returned Traddles. “Really? Perhaps he was rather. But it’s all over, a long while. Old Creakle!”

“You were brought up by an uncle, then?” said I.

“Of course I was!” said Traddles. “The one I was always going to write to. And always didn’t, eh! Ha, ha, ha! Yes, I had an uncle then. He died soon after I left school.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes. He was a retired⁠—what do you call it!⁠—draper⁠—cloth-merchant⁠—and had made me his heir. But he didn’t like me when I grew up.”

“Do you really mean that?” said I. He was so composed, that I fancied he must have some other meaning.

“Oh dear, yes, Copperfield! I mean it,” replied Traddles. “It was an unfortunate thing, but he didn’t like me at all. He said I wasn’t at all what he expected, and so he married his housekeeper.”

“And what did you do?” I asked.

“I didn’t do anything in particular,” said Traddles. “I lived with them, waiting to be put out in the world, until his gout unfortunately flew to his stomach⁠—and so he died, and so she married a young man, and so I wasn’t provided for.”

“Did you get nothing, Traddles, after all?”

“Oh dear, yes!” said Traddles. “I got fifty pounds. I had never been brought up to any profession, and at first I was at a loss what to do for myself. However, I began, with the assistance of the son of a professional man, who had been to Salem House⁠—Yawler, with his nose on one side. Do you recollect him?”

No. He had not been there with me; all the noses were straight in my day.

“It don’t matter,” said Traddles. “I began, by means of his assistance, to copy law writings. That didn’t answer very well; and then I began to state cases for them, and make abstracts, and that sort of work. For I am a plodding kind of fellow, Copperfield, and had learnt the way of doing such things pithily. Well! That put it in my head to enter myself as a law student; and that ran away with all that was left of the fifty pounds. Yawler recommended me to one or two other offices, however⁠—Mr. Waterbrook’s for one⁠—and I got a good many jobs. I was fortunate enough, too, to become acquainted with a person in the publishing way, who was getting up an Encyclopaedia, and he set me to work; and, indeed” (glancing at his table), “I am at work for him at this minute. I am not a bad compiler, Copperfield,” said Traddles, preserving the same air of cheerful confidence in all he said, “but I have no invention at all; not a particle. I suppose there never was a young man with less originality than I have.”

As Traddles seemed to expect that I should assent to this as a matter of course, I nodded; and he went on, with the same sprightly patience⁠—I can find no better expression⁠—as before.

“So, by little and little, and not living high, I managed to scrape up the hundred pounds at last,” said Traddles; “and thank Heaven that’s paid⁠—though it was⁠—though it certainly was,” said Traddles, wincing again as if he had had another tooth out, “a pull. I am living by the sort of work I have mentioned, still, and I hope, one of these days, to get connected with some newspaper: which would almost be the making of my fortune. Now, Copperfield, you are so exactly what you used to be, with that agreeable face, and it’s so pleasant to see you, that I shan’t conceal anything. Therefore you must know that I am engaged.”

Engaged! Oh, Dora!

“She is a curate’s daughter,” said Traddles; “one of ten, down in Devonshire. Yes!” For he saw me glance, involuntarily, at the prospect on the inkstand. “That’s the church! You come round here to the left, out of this gate,” tracing his finger along the inkstand, “and exactly where I hold this pen, there stands the house⁠—facing, you understand, towards the church.”

The delight with which he entered into these particulars, did not fully present itself to me until afterwards; for my selfish thoughts were making a ground-plan of Mr. Spenlow’s house and garden at the same moment.

“She is such a dear girl!” said Traddles; “a little older than me, but the dearest girl! I told you I was going out of town? I have been down there. I walked there, and I walked back, and I had the most delightful time! I dare say ours is likely to be a rather long engagement, but our motto is ‘Wait and hope!’ We always say that. ‘Wait and hope,’ we always say.