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thou； so much better than me； shouldst be beside it。 Thou’rt beside
it now。 Thou mak’st me see it wi’ a better eye。 Bless thee。 Good
night。 Good…bye！”
It was but a hurried parting in a common street； yet it was a
sacred remembrance to these two common people。 Utilitarian
economists； skeletons of schoolmasters； Commissioners of Fact；
genteel and used…up infidels； gabblers of many little dog’s…eared
creeds； the poor you will have always with you。 Cultivate in them；
while there is yet time； the utmost graces of the fancies and
affections； to adorn their lives so much in need of ornament； or； in
the day of your triumph； when romance is utterly driven out of
their souls； and they and a bare existence stand face to face；
Reality will take a wolfish turn； and make an end of you。
Stephen worked the next day； and the next； uncheered by a
word from any one； and shunned in all his comings and goings； as
before。 At the end of the second day； he saw land； at the end of the
third； his loom stood empty。
He had overstayed his hour in the street outside the Bank； on
each of the two first evenings； and nothing had happened there；
good or bad。 That he might not be remiss in his part of the
engagement； he resolved to wait full two hours； on this third and
last night。
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There was the lady who had once kept Mr Bounderby’s house；
sitting at the first floor window as he had seen her before； and
there was the light porter； sometimes talking with her there； and
sometimes looking over the blind below which had Bank upon it；
and sometimes coming to the door and standing on the steps for a
breath of air。 When he first came out； Stephen thought he might
be looking for him； and passed near； but the light porter only cast
his winking eyes upon him slightly； and said nothing。
Two hours were a long stretch of lounging about； after a long
day’s labour。 Stephen sat upon the step of a door； leaned against a
wall under an archway； strolled up and down； listened for the
church clock； stopped and watched children playing in the street。
Some purpose or other is so natural to every one； that a mere
loiterer always looks and feels remarkable。 When the first hour
was out； Stephen even began to have an uncomfortable sensation
upon him of being for the time a disreputable character。
Then came the lamplighter； and two lengthening lines of light
all down the long perspective of the street； until they were blended
and lost in the distance。 Mrs Sparsit closed the first floor window；
drew down the blind； and went upstairs。 Presently； a light went
upstairs after her； passing first the fanlight of the door； and
afterwards the two staircase windows； on its way up。 By…and…by；
one corner of the second floor blind was disturbed； as if Mrs
Sparsit’s eye were there； also the other corner； as if the light
porter’s eye were on that side。 Still no communication was made
to Stephen。 Much relieved when the two hours were at last
accomplished； he went away at a quick pace； as a recompense for
so much loitering。
He had only to take leave of his landlady； and lie down on his
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Hard Times 211
temporary bed upon the floor； for his bundle was made up for
tomorrow； and all was arranged for his departure。 He meant to be
clear of the town very early； before the Hands were in the streets。
It was barely daybreak； when； with a parting look round his
room； mournfully wondering whether he should ever see it again；
he went out。 The town was as entirely deserted as if the
inhabitants had abandoned it； rather than hold communication
with him。 Everything looked wan at that hour。 Even the coming
sun made but a pale waste in the sky； like a sad sea。
By the place where Rachael lived； though it was not in his way；
by the red brick streets； by the great silent factories； not trembling
yet； by the railway； where the danger…lights were waning in the
strengthening day； by the railway’s crazy neighbourhood； half
pulled down and half built up； by scattered red brick villas； where
the besmoked evergreens were sprinkled with a dirty powder； like
untidy snuff…takers； by coal…dust paths and many varieties of
ugliness； Stephen got to the top of the hill； and looked back。
Day was shining radiantly upon the town then； and the bells
were going for the morning work。 Domestic fires were not yet
lighted； and the high chimneys had the sky to themselves。 Puffing
out their poisonous volumes； they would not be long in hiding it；
but； for half an hour； some of the many windows were golden；
which showed the Coketown people a sun eternally in eclipse；
through a medium of smoked glass。
So strange to turn from the chimneys to the birds。 So strange to
have the road…dust on his feet instead of the coal…grit。 So strange
to have lived to his time of life； and yet to be beginning like a boy
this summer morning！ With these musings in his mind； and his
bundle under his arm； Stephen took his attentive face along the
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high road。 And the trees arched over him； whispering that he left a
true and loving heart behind。
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Chapter 7
Gunpowder
r James Harthouse； “going in” for his adopted party；
soon began to score。 With the aid of a little more
M
coaching for the political sages； a little more genteel
listlessness for the general society； and a tolerable management of
the assumed honesty in dishonesty； most effective and most
patronised of the polite deadly sins； he speedily came to be
considered of much promise。 The not being troubled with
earnestness was a grand point in his favour； enabling him to take
to the hard Fact fellows with as good a grace as if he had been
born one of the tribe； and to throw all other tribes overboard； as
conscious hypocrites。
“Whom none of us believe； my dear Mrs Bounderby； and who
do not believe themselves。 The only difference between us and the
professors of virtue or benevolence； or philanthropy—never mind
the name—is； that we know it is all meaningless； and say so； while
they know it equally and will never say so。”
Why should she be shocked or warned by this reiteration？ It
was not so unlike her father’s principles； and her early training；
that it need startle her。 Where was the great difference between
the two schools； when each chained her down to material realities；
and inspired her with no faith in anything else？ What was there in
her soul for James Harthouse to destroy； which Thomas
Gradgrind had nurtured there in its state of innocence！
It was even the worse for her at this pass； that in her mind—
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implanted there before her eminently practical father began to
form it—a struggling disposition to believe in a wider and nobler
humanity than she had ever heard of； cons