This, therefore, might be called a political position of the Bleeding

Hearts; but they entertained other objections to having foreigners

in the Yard. They believed that foreigners were always badly off; and

though they were as ill off themselves as they could desire to be,

that did not diminish the force of the objection. They believed that

foreigners were dragooned and bayoneted; and though they certainly got

their own skulls promptly fractured if they showed any ill-humour, still

it was with a blunt instrument, and that didn't count. They believed

that foreigners were always immoral; and though they had an occasional

assize at home, and now and then a divorce case or so, that had nothing

to do with it.

They believed that foreigners had no independent spirit,

as never being escorted to the poll in droves by Lord Decimus Tite

Barnacle, with colours flying and the tune of Rule Britannia playing.

Not to be tedious, they had many other beliefs of a similar kind.

Against these obstacles, the lame foreigner with the stick had to make

head as well as he could; not absolutely single-handed, because Mr

Arthur Clennam had recommended him to the Plornishes (he lived at the

top of the same house), but still at heavy odds. However, the Bleeding

Hearts were kind hearts; and when they saw the little fellow cheerily

limping about with a good-humoured face, doing no harm, drawing no

knives, committing no outrageous immoralities, living chiefly on

farinaceous and milk diet, and playing with Mrs Plornish's children of

an evening, they began to think that although he could never hope to be

an Englishman, still it would be hard to visit that affliction on his

head.

They began to accommodate themselves to his level, calling him 'Mr

Baptist,' but treating him like a baby, and laughing immoderately at his

lively gestures and his childish English--more, because he didn't mind

it, and laughed too. They spoke to him in very loud voices as if he

were stone deaf.

They constructed sentences, by way of teaching him the

language in its purity, such as were addressed by the savages to Captain

Cook, or by Friday to Robinson Crusoe. Mrs Plornish was particularly

ingenious in this art; and attained so much celebrity for saying 'Me ope

you leg well soon,' that it was considered in the Yard but a very short

remove indeed from speaking Italian. Even Mrs Plornish herself began to

think that she had a natural call towards that language. As he became

more popular, household objects were brought into requisition for his

instruction in a copious vocabulary; and whenever he appeared in the

Yard ladies would fly out at their doors crying 'Mr Baptist--tea-pot!'

'Mr Baptist--dust-pan!' 'Mr Baptist--flour-dredger!' 'Mr

Baptist--coffee-biggin!' At the same time exhibiting those articles,

and penetrating him with a sense of the appalling difficulties of the

Anglo-Saxon tongue.




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