Page:Bleak House.djvu/627

There is no way out of that yard.

“Ain't there really? says Mr. Bucket. “I should have thought there might have been. Well, I don't know as I ever saw a back yard that took my fancy more. Would you allow me to look at it? Thank you. No, I see there's no way out. But what a very good-proportioned yard it is!”

Having cast his sharp eye all about it, Mr. Bucket returns to his chair next his friend Mr. George, and pats Mr. George affectionately on the shoulder.

“How are your spirits, now, George?”

“All right now,” returns the trooper.

“That's your sort!” says Mr. Bucket. Mr. Bucket. “Why should you ever have been otherwise? A man of your fine figure and constitution has no right to be out of spirits. That ain't a chest to be out of spirits, is it, ma'am? And you haven't got anything on your mind, you know, George; what could you have on your mind!”

Somewhat harping on this phrase, considering the extent and variety of his conversational powers, Mr. Bucket twice or thrice repeats it to the pipe he lights, and with a listening face that is particularly his own. But the sun of his sociality soon recovers from this brief eclipse, and shines again.

“And this is brother, is it, my dears?” says Mr. Bucket, referring to Quebec and Malta for information on the subject of young Woolwich. “And a nice brother he is—half brother I mean to say. For he's too old to be your boy, ma'am.”

“I can certify at all events that he is not anybody else's,” returns Mrs. Bagnet, laughing.

“Well, you do surprise me! Yet he's like you, there's no denying. Lord, he's wonderfully like you! But about what you may call the brow, you know, there his father comes out!” Mr. Bucket compares the faces with one eye shut up, while Mr. Bagnet smokes in stolid satisfaction.

This is an opportunity for Mrs. Bagnet to inform him, that the boy is George's godson.

“George's godson, is he?” rejoins Mr. Bucket, with extreme cordiality. “I must shake hands over again with George's godson. Godfather and godson do credit to one another. And what do you intend to make of him, ma'am? Does he show any turn for any musical instrument?”

Mr. Bagnet suddenly interposes, “Plays the Fife. Beautiful.”

“Would you believe it, governor,” says Mr. Bucket, struck by the coincidence, “that when I was a boy I played the fife myself? Not in a scientific way, as I expect he does, but by ear. Lord bless you! British Grenadiers there's a tune to warm an Englishman up! Could you give us British Grenadiers, my fine fellow?”

Nothing could be more acceptable to the little circle than this call upon young Woolwich, who immediately fetches his fife and performs the stirring melody during which performance Mr. Bucket, much enlivened, beats time, and never fails to come in sharp with the burden, “Brit Ish Gra-a-anadeers!” In short, he shows so much musical taste, that Mr. Bagnet actually takes his pipe from his lips to express his conviction that he is a singer, Mr. Bucket receives the harmonious impeachment