Domestic fiction; Education -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Political fiction; Social problems -- Fiction; Utilitarianism -- Fiction
‘Merrylegs and nine oils, eh!’ said Mr. Bounderby, entering last with his
metallic laugh. ‘Pretty well this, for a self-made man!’
CHAPTER VI
SLEARY’S HORSEMANSHIP
THE name of the public-house was the Pegasus’s Arms. The Pegasus’s legs
might have been more to the purpose; but, underneath the winged horse
upon the sign-board, the Pegasus’s Arms was inscribed in Roman letters.
Beneath that inscription again, in a flowing scroll, the painter had
touched off the lines:
Good malt makes good beer,
Walk in, and they’ll draw it here;
Good wine makes good brandy,
Give us a call, and you’ll find it handy.
Framed and glazed upon the wall behind the dingy little bar, was another
Pegasus—a theatrical one—with real gauze let in for his wings, golden
stars stuck on all over him, and his ethereal harness made of red silk.
As it had grown too dusky without, to see the sign, and as it had not
grown light enough within to see the picture, Mr. Gradgrind and Mr.
Bounderby received no offence from these idealities. They followed the
girl up some steep corner-stairs without meeting any one, and stopped in
the dark while she went on for a candle. They expected every moment to
hear Merrylegs give tongue, but the highly trained performing dog had not
barked when the girl and the candle appeared together.
‘Father is not in our room, sir,’ she said, with a face of great
surprise. ‘If you wouldn’t mind walking in, I’ll find him directly.’
They walked in; and Sissy, having set two chairs for them, sped away with
a quick light step. It was a mean, shabbily furnished room, with a bed
in it. The white night-cap, embellished with two peacock’s feathers and
a pigtail bolt upright, in which Signor Jupe had that very afternoon
enlivened the varied performances with his chaste Shaksperean quips and
retorts, hung upon a nail; but no other portion of his wardrobe, or other
token of himself or his pursuits, was to be seen anywhere. As to
Merrylegs, that respectable ancestor of the highly trained animal who
went aboard the ark, might have been accidentally shut out of it, for any
sign of a dog that was manifest to eye or ear in the Pegasus’s Arms.
They heard the doors of rooms above, opening and shutting as Sissy went
from one to another in quest of her father; and presently they heard
voices expressing surprise. She came bounding down again in a great
hurry, opened a battered and mangy old hair trunk, found it empty, and
looked round with her hands clasped and her face full of terror.
‘Father must have gone down to the Booth, sir. I don’t know why he
should go there, but he must be there; I’ll bring him in a minute!’ She
was gone directly, without her bonnet; with her long, dark, childish hair
streaming behind her.
‘What does she mean!’ said Mr. Gradgrind. ‘Back in a minute? It’s more
than a mile off.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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