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$Unique_ID{bob00591}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{Hard Times
Chapter II}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Dickens, Charles}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{bounderby
harthouse
am
james
now
tom
little
coketown
jem
never}
$Date{}
$Log{}
Title: Hard Times
Book: Book The Second: Reaping
Author: Dickens, Charles
Chapter II
Mr. James Harthouse
The Gradgrind party wanted assistance in cutting the throats of the
Graces. They went about recruiting; and where could they enlist recruits
more hopefully, than among the fine gentlemen who, having found out
everything to be worth nothing, were equally ready for anything?
Moreover, the healthy spirits who had mounted to this sublime height
were attractive to many of the Gradgrind school. They liked fine
gentlemen; they pretended that they did not, but they did. They became
exhausted in limitation of them; and they yaw-yawed in their speech like
them; and they served out, with an enervated air, the little mouldy
rations of political economy, on which they regaled their disciples.
There never before was seen on earth such a wonderful hybrid race as was
thus produced.
Among the fine gentlemen not regularly belonging to the Gradgrind
school, there was one of a good family and a better appearance, with a
happy turn of humour which had told immensely with the House of Commons on
the occasion of his entertaining it with his (and the Board of Directors')
view of a railway accident, in which the most careful officers ever known,
employed by the most liberal managers ever heard of, assisted by the
finest mechanical contrivances ever devised, the whole in action on the
best line ever constructed, had killed five people and wounded thirty-two,
by a casualty without which the excellence of the whole system would have
been positively incomplete. Among the slain was a cow, and among the
scattered articles unowned, a widow's cap. And the honourable member had
so tickled the House (which has a delicate sense of humour) by putting the
cap on the cow, that it became impatient of any serious reference to the
Coroner's Inquest, and brought the railway off with Cheers and Laughter.
Now, this gentleman had a younger brother of still better appearance than
himself, who had tried life as a Cornet of Dragoons, and found it a bore; and
had afterwards tried it in the train of an English minister abroad, and found
it a bore; and had then strolled to Jerusalem, and got bored there; and had
then gone yachting about the world, and got bored everywhere. To whom this
honourable and jocular member fraternally said one day, "Jem, there's a good
opening among the hard Fact fellows, and they want men. I wonder you don't go
in for statistics." Jem, rather taken by the novelty of the idea, and very
hard up for a change, was as ready to "go in" for statistics as for anything
else. So, he went in. He coached himself up with a blue-book or two; and his
brother put it about among the hard Fact fellows, and said, "If you want to
bring in, for any place, a handsome dog who can make you a devilish good
speech, look after my brother Jem, for he's your man." After a few dashes in
the public meeting way, Mr. Gradgrind and a council of political sages
approved of Jem, and it was resolved to send him down to Coketown, to become
known there and in the neighbourhood. Hence the letter Jem had last night
shown to Mrs. Sparsit, which Mr. Bounderby now held in his hand; superscribed,
"Josiah Bounderby, Esquire, Banker, Coketown. Specially to introduce James
Harthouse, Esquire. Thomas Gradgrind."
Within an hour of the receipt of this dispatch and Mr. James Harthouse's
card, Mr. Bounderby put on his hat and went down to the Hotel. There he found
Mr. James Harthouse looking out of window, in a state of mind so disconsolate,
that he was already half disposed to "go in" for something else.
"My name, sir," said his visitor, "is Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown."
Mr. James Harthouse was very happy indeed (though he scarcely looked so),
to have a pleasure he had long expected.
"Coketown, sir," said Bounderby, obstinately taking a chair, "is not the
kind of place you have been accustomed to. Therefore, if you will allow me -
or whether you will or not, for I am a plain man - I'll tell you something
about it before we go any further."
Mr. Harthouse would be charmed.
"Don't be too sure of that," said Bounderby. "I don't promise it. First
of all, you see our smoke. That's meat and drink to us. It's the healthiest
thing in the world in all respects, and particularly for the lungs. If you
are one of those who want us to consume it, I differ from you. We are not
going to wear the bottoms of our boilers out any faster than we wear 'em out
now, for all the humbugging sentiment in Great Britain and Ireland."
By way of "going in" to the fullest extent, Mr. Harthouse rejoined, "Mr.
Bounderby, I assure you I am entirely and completely of your way of thinking.
On conviction."
"I am glad to hear it," said Bounderby. "Now, you have heard a lot of
talk about the work in our mills, do doubt. You have? Very good. I'll state
the fact of it to you. It's the pleasantest work there is, and it's the
lightest work there is, and it's the best paid work there is. More than that,
we couldn't improve the mills themselves, unless we laid down Turkey carpets
on the floors. Which we're not a-going to do."
"Mr. Bounderby, perfectly right."
"Lastly," said Bounderby, "as to our Hands. There's not a Hand in this
town, sir, man, woman, or child, but has one ultimate object in life. That
object is, to be fed on turtle soup and venison with a gold spoon. Now,
they're not a-going - none of 'em - ever to be fed on turtle soup and venison
with a gold spoon. And now you know the place."
Mr. Harthouse professed himself in the highest degree instructed and
refreshed, by this condensed epitome of the whole Coketown question.
"Why, you see," replied Mr. Bounderby, "it suits my disposition to have a
full understanding with a man, particularly with a public man, when I make his
acquaintance. I have only one thing more to say to you, Mr. Harthouse, before
assuring you of the pleasure with which I shall respond, to the utmost of my
poor ability, to my friend Tom Gradgrind's letter of introduction. You are a
man of family. Don't you deceive yourself by supposing for a moment that I am
a man of family. I am a bit of dirty riff-raff and a genuine scrap of tag,
rag, and bobtail."
If anything could have exalted Jem's interest in Mr. Bounderby, it would
have been this very circumstance. Or, so he told him.
"So now," said Bounderby, "we may shake hands on equal terms. I say,
equal terms, because although I know what I am, and the exact depth of the
gutter I have lifted myself out of, better than any man does, I am as proud as
you are. I am just as proud as you are. Having now asserted my independence,
in a proper manner, I may come to how do you find yourself, and I hope you're
pretty well."
The better, Mr. Harthouse gave him to understand as they shook hands, for
the salubrious air of Coketown. Mr. Bounderby received the answer with
favour.
"Perhaps you know," said he, "or perhaps you don't know, I married Tom
Gradgrind's daughter. If you have nothing better to do than to walk up town
with me, I shall be glad to introduce you to Tom Gradgrind's daughter."
"Mr. Bounderby," said Jem, "you anticipate my dearest wishes."
They went out without further discourse; and Mr. Bounderby piloted the
new acquaintance who so strongly contrasted with him, to the private red brick
dwelling, with the black outside shutters, the green inside blinds, and the
black street door up the two white steps. In the drawing-room of which
mansion, there presently entered to them the most remarkable girl Mr. James
Harthouse had ever seen. She was so constrained, and yet so careless; so
reserved, and yet so watchful; so cold and proud, and yet so se