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somehow； which brightened its expression。 Not with the
brightness natural to cheerful youth； but with uncertain； eager；
doubtful flashes； which had something painful in them； analogous
to the changes on a blind face groping its way。
She was a child now； of fifteen or sixteen； but at no distant day
would seem to become a woman all at once。 Her father thought so
as he looked at her。 She was pretty。 Would have been self…willed
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（he thought in his eminently practical way）； but for her bringing…
up。
“Thomas； though I have the fact before me； I find it difficult to
believe that you； with your education and resources； should have
brought your sister to a scene like this。”
“I brought him； father；” said Louisa； quickly。 “I asked him to
come。”
“I am sorry to hear it。 I am very sorry indeed to hear it。 It makes
Thomas no better； and it makes you worse； Louisa。”
She looked at her father again； but no tear fell down her cheek。
“You！ Thomas and you； to whom the circle of the sciences is
open； Thomas and you； who may be said to be replete with facts；
Thomas and you； who have been trained to mathematical
exactness； Thomas and you； here！” cried Mr Gradgrind。 “In this
degraded position！ I am amazed。”
“I was tired。 I have been tired a long time；” said Louisa。
“Tired？ Of what？” asked the astonished father。
“I don’t know of what—of everything I think。”
“Say not another word；” returned Mr Gradgrind。 “You are
childish。 I will hear no more。” He did not speak again until they
had walked some half…a…mile in silence； when he gravely broke out
with： “What would your best friends say； Louisa？ Do you attach no
value to their good opinion？ What would Mr Bounderby say？”
At the mention of this name； his daughter stole a look at him；
remarkable for its intense and searching character。 He saw
nothing of it； for before he looked at her she had again cast down
her eyes！
“What；” he repeated presently； “would Mr Bounderby say！” All
the way to Stone Lodge； as with grave indignation he led the two
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delinquents home； he repeated at intervals “What would Mr
Bounderby say！”—as if Mr Bounderby had been Mrs Grundy。
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Chapter 4
Mr Bounderby
ot being Mrs Grundy； who was Mr Bounderby？
N Why； Mr Bounderby was as near being Mr
Gradgrind’s bosom friend； as a man perfectly devoid of
sentiment can approach that spiritual relationship towards
another man perfectly devoid of sentiment。 So near was Mr
Bounderby—or； if the reader should prefer it； so far off。
He was a rich man： banker； merchant； manufacturer； and what
not。 A big； loud man； with a stare and a metallic laugh。 A man
made out of a coarse material； which seemed to have been
stretched to make so much of him。 A man with a great puffed head
and forehead； swelled veins in his temples； and such a strained
skin to his face that it seemed to hold his eyes open and lift his
eyebrows up。 A man with a pervading appearance on him of being
inflated like a balloon； and ready to start。 A man who could never
sufficiently vaunt himself a self…made man。 A man who was always
proclaiming； through that brassy speaking…trumpet of a voice of
his； his old ignorance and his old poverty。 A man who was the
Bully of humility。
A year or two younger than his eminently practical friend； Mr
Bounderby looked older； his seven or eight and forty might have
had the seven or eight added to it again； without surprising
anybody。 He had not much hair。 One might have fancied he had
talked it off； and that what was left； all standing up in disorder；
was in that condition from being constantly blown about by his
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Hard Times 25
windy boastfulness。
In the formal drawing…room of Stone Lodge； standing on the
hearth…rug； warming himself before the fire； Mr Bounderby
delivered some observations to Mrs Gradgrind on the
circumstance of its being his birthday。 He stood before the fire；
partly because it was a cool spring afternoon； though the sun
shone； partly because the shade of Stone Lodge was always
haunted by the ghost of damp mortar； partly because he thus took
up a commanding position； from which to subdue Mrs Gradgrind。
“I hadn’t a shoe to my foot。 As to a stocking； I didn’t know such
a thing by name。 I passed the day in a ditch； and the night in a
pigsty。 That’s the way I spent my tenth birthday。 Not that a ditch
was new to me； for I was born in a ditch。”
Mrs Gradgrind； a little； thin； white； pink…eyed bundle of shawls；
of surpassing feebleness； mental and bodily； who was always
taking physic without any effect； and who； whenever she showed a
symptom of coming to life； was invariably stunned by some
weighty piece of fact tumbling on her； Mrs Gradgrind hoped it was
a dry ditch？
“No！ As wet as a sop。 A foot of water in it；” said Mr Bounderby。
“Enough to give a baby cold；” Mrs Gradgrind considered。
“Cold？ I was born with inflammation of the lungs； and of
everything else； I believe； that was capable of inflammation；”
returned Mr Bounderby。 “For years； ma’am； I was one of the most
miserable little wretches ever seen。 I was so sickly； that I was
always moaning and groaning。 I was so ragged and dirty； that you
wouldn�