11.2 Hong-siaⁿ kóng, Wragby boeh ū lâng thang kè-sêng
Chò-kang hām siat-kè lóng chán, sio̍k Victoria sî-tāi ê chhiú-gē. M̄-koh ká-ná ū sió-khóa ku-koài, Chatterley ka-cho̍k mā ū-lâng án-ne kám-kak, in-ūi lāi-bīn ê mi̍h-kiāⁿ lóng bô iōng kòe, sī chi̍t kha bô lêng-hûn ê siuⁿ-á.
M̄-koh Bolton Tt chiok kah-ì.
"Lí khòaⁿ, che bín-á chiâⁿ súi, chin ta̍t-chîⁿ, he siu-bīn ê sap-bûn-ùn mā sī, ū saⁿ ki neh! Bô! koh ū ka-to! Che sī chîⁿ bé ē-tio̍h siōng hó ê. Oh, chiâⁿ kó͘-chui!"
"Lí kah-ì?" Connie mn̄g. "He hō͘ lí."
"Oh, mài, Hu-jîn!"
"The̍h-khì lah! Koh khǹg tō kàu Tē-kiû boa̍t-ji̍t. Lí nā m̄-the̍h, góa tō hām hiah-ê tô tâng-chê kā sàng hō͘ Kong-chiok Hu-jîn, yi bô ta̍t tit hiah chē. The̍h-khì lah!"
"Oh, Hu-jîn! Ai-ah, góa m̄-chai án-chóaⁿ kám-siā chiah hó."
"Lí bián soeh-siā," Connie chhiò-chhiò kóng.
Bolton Tt sûi tō siang-chhiú phō hit kha tōa koh o͘ ê siuⁿ-á, hoaⁿ-hí kah bīn âng-âng lo̍h lâu khì.
Koán-ke yin ang Betts Ss iōng siang-lián bé-chhia chài yi kap hit ê siuⁿ-á khì chng nih yin tau. Yi tō chio kúi ê pêng-iú lâi, tián hō͘ yin khòaⁿ: lú lāu-su, io̍h-su niû, chiáng-kūi chō͘-chhiú in bó͘ Weedon Tt. Yin lóng chiâⁿ o-ló. Āu-lâi, yin khai-sí kóng Chatterley Hj boeh seⁿ gín-á ê sè-siaⁿ-ōe.
"Koài-sū nî-nî ū! " Weedon Tt kóng.
M̄-koh Bolton Tt siong-sìn, Nā ū seⁿ, he tiāⁿ-tio̍h sī Clifford Sià ê gín-á. Tio̍h-sī án-ne!
Bô gōa kú í-āu, kàu-khu bo̍k-su kā Clifford kóng:
"Lán sī m̄-sī tio̍h ǹg-bāng chi̍t ê Wragby ê kè-sêng-chiá? Ah, he tiāⁿ-tio̍h sī Sîn ê chû-pi ah, chin ê!"
"Sī ah! Lán ē-tàng ǹg-bāng," Clifford kóng, ná-chhiūⁿ kóng chhiò, mā ná-chhiūⁿ ū sìn-sim. I í-keng khai-sí siong-sìn ū khó-lêng, ū khó-lêng sī i ka-tī ê gín-á.
Chi̍t kang ē-po͘, ta̍k-ê lóng kiò i Winter Oân-gōe ê Leslie Winter lâi: i ta-sán, chheng-khì, 70: Bolton Tt kā Betts Tt kóng, i kui-sin sin-sū tak-tak. Ùi thâu kàu kha lóng sin-sū! Ùi i he lāu-sek ha-ha kóng-ōe ê hong-sek, i khó-lêng pí kó͘-chá tì tē-tio̍h ê ké thâu-chang koh-khah kòe-sî. Ná poe ê sî-kan lóng kā chiah-ê lāu kó͘-tóng pàng-sak ah.
In thó-lūn khòng-tiûⁿ ê būn-tê. Clifford ê ì-sù sī, i ê thô͘-thòaⁿ sui-jiân phín-chit bô hó, ē-tàng chò-sêng tēng-chit ê chi̍p-tiong jiân-liāu, he nā kā hiù-tâm koh thàu-lām ko-ap ê sng khong-khì, ē sán-seng ke̍k-tōa ê jia̍t-liōng. Chin kú ê koan-chhat hoat-hiān, tī tâm-sip koh thàu kiông hong ê sî, thòaⁿ-khang hōaⁿ ê hóe lóng sio kah chin mé, bô siáⁿ ū ian, lâu lo̍h-lâi ê kan-ta sī iù-hu, m̄-sī it-poaⁿ ê hún-âng thòaⁿ-sái.
"Lí boeh tó khì chhōe hiâⁿ lí ê jiân-liāu ê enjín?" Winter mn̄g.
"Góa ka-tī lâi chè-chō. Góa ē iōng ka-tī ê jiân-liāu. Góa boeh bē tiān. Góa siong-sìn che chò ē-kàu."
"Lí nā chò ē-kàu, chiâⁿ hó, chiâⁿ hó, góa ê hāu-seⁿ-á. Chán! chiâⁿ hó! Nā ū su-iàu pang-bâng, góa ē chīn-la̍t. Khióng-kiaⁿ góa í-keng kòe-sî lah, góa ê khòng-tiûⁿ mā chhiūⁿ góa. M̄-koh siáng ē chai, góa liáu-āu, hoān-sè ū-lâng ē chhiūⁿ lí. Chiâⁿ hó! Án-ne, hiah-ê lâng tō koh ū thâu-lō͘, lí mā m̄-bián hoân-ló thô͘-thòaⁿ bô siau. Chiâⁿ hó ê siūⁿ-hoat, góa hi-bāng lí sêng-kong. Góa nā ū hāu-seⁿ, góa siong-sìn in ē ū tùi Shipley Khòng-tiûⁿ ê sin siūⁿ-hoat: tiāⁿ-tio̍h án-ne! Sūn-sòa mn̄g chi̍t-ē, hāu-seⁿ-á, ū hong-siaⁿ kóng, Wragby tit-boeh ū lâng thang kè-sêng ah, che kám ū-iáⁿ?"
"Ū hong-siaⁿ?" Clifford mn̄g.
"Sī ah, hāu-seⁿ-á, Fillingwood ê Marshall mn̄g góa, che sī góa só͘ thiaⁿ tio̍h ê. Tong-jiân, nā bô chit-lō sū, góa sī bē khì kā pa̍t-lâng kóng."
"Sī ah, Sian-siⁿ," Clifford kóng, m̄-koh ba̍k-chiu ū kî-koài ê kng. "Sī ū chit-lō hi-bāng lah. Sī ū chit-lō hi-bāng lah."
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11.2 風聲講, Wragby 欲有人通繼承
做工和設計攏讚, 屬 Victoria 時代 ê 手藝. M̄-koh ká-ná 有小可龜怪, Chatterley 家族 mā 有人 án-ne 感覺, 因為內面 ê 物件攏無用過, 是一跤無靈魂 ê 箱仔.
M̄-koh Bolton Tt 足佮意.
"你看, 這抿仔誠媠, 真值錢, 彼修面 ê sap-bûn 搵 mā 是, 有三支 neh! 無! koh 有鉸刀! 這是錢買會著上好 ê. Oh, 誠古錐!"
"你佮意?" Connie 問. "彼予你."
"Oh, 莫, 夫人!"
"提去 lah! Koh 囥 tō 到地球末日. 你若毋提, 我 tō 和 hiah-ê 圖同齊 kā 送予公爵夫人, 她無值得 hiah 濟. 提去 lah!"
"Oh, 夫人! Ai-ah, 我毋知按怎感謝才好."
"你免說謝," Connie 笑笑講.
Bolton Tt 隨 tō 雙手抱彼跤大 koh 烏 ê 箱仔, 歡喜 kah 面紅紅落樓去.
管家姻翁 Betts Ss 用雙輪馬車載她 kap 彼个箱仔去庄 nih 姻兜. 她 tō 招幾个朋友來, 展予姻看: 女老師, 藥師娘, 掌櫃助手 in 某 Weedon Tt. 姻攏誠 o-ló. 後來, 姻開始講 Chatterley Hj 欲生囡仔 ê 細聲話.
"怪事年年有! " Weedon Tt 講.
M̄-koh Bolton Tt 相信, 若有生, 彼定著是 Clifford Sià ê 囡仔. 著是 án-ne!
無偌久以後, 教區牧師 kā Clifford 講:
"咱是毋是著 ǹg 望一个 Wragby ê 繼承者? Ah, 彼定著是神 ê 慈悲 ah, 真 ê!"
"是 ah! 咱 ē-tàng ǹg 望," Clifford 講, ná 像講笑, mā ná 像有信心. 伊已經開始相信有可能, 有可能是伊家己 ê 囡仔.
一工下晡, 逐个攏叫伊 Winter 員外 ê Leslie Winter 來: 伊焦瘦, 清氣, 70: Bolton Tt kā Betts Tt 講, 伊規身紳士 tak-tak. Ùi 頭到跤攏紳士! Ùi 伊彼老式 ha-ha 講話 ê 方式, 伊可能比古早戴袋著 ê 假頭鬃 koh 較過時. Ná 飛 ê 時間攏 kā chiah-ê 老古董放捒 ah.
In 討論礦場 ê 問題. Clifford ê 意思是, 伊 ê 塗炭雖然品質無好, 會當做成 tēng 質 ê 集中燃料, 彼若 kā hiù 澹 koh 透濫高壓 ê 酸空氣, 會產生極大 ê 熱量. 真久 ê 觀察發現, tī 澹濕 koh 透強風 ê 時, 炭空岸 ê 火攏燒 kah 真猛, 無啥有煙, 留落來 ê 干焦是幼烌, 毋是一般 ê 粉紅炭屎.
"你欲佗去揣燃你 ê 燃料 ê enjín?" Winter 問.
"我家己來製造. 我會用家己 ê 燃料. 我欲賣電. 我相信這做會到."
"你若做會到, 誠好, 誠好, 我 ê 後生仔. 讚! 誠好! 若有需要幫忙, 我會盡力. 恐驚我已經過時 lah, 我 ê 礦場 mā 像我. M̄-koh siáng 會知, 我了後, 凡勢有人會像你. 誠好! Án-ne, hiah-ê 人 tō koh 有頭路, 你 mā 毋免煩惱塗炭無銷. 誠好 ê 想法, 我希望你成功. 我若有後生, 我相信 in 會有對 Shipley 礦場 ê 新想法: 定著 án-ne! 順紲問一下, 後生仔, 有風聲講, Wragby 得欲有人通繼承 ah, 這敢有影?"
"有風聲?" Clifford 問.
"是 ah, 後生仔, Fillingwood ê Marshall 問我, 這是我所聽著 ê. 當然, 若無 chit-lō 事, 我是袂去 kā 別人講."
"是 ah, 先生," Clifford 講, m̄-koh 目睭有奇怪 ê 光. "是有 chit-lō 希望 lah. 是有 chit-lō 希望 lah."
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11.2
The thing was wonderfully made and contrived, excellent craftsmanship of the Victorian order. But somehow it was monstrous. Some Chatterley must even have felt it, for the thing had never been used. It had a peculiar soullessness.
Yet Mrs Bolton was thrilled.
’Look what beautiful brushes, so expensive, even the shaving brushes, three perfect ones! No! and those scissors! They’re the best that money could buy. Oh, I call it lovely!’
’Do you?’ said Connie. ‘Then you have it.’
’Oh no, my Lady!’
’Of course! It will only lie here till Doomsday. If you won’t have it, I’ll send it to the Duchess as well as the pictures, and she doesn’t deserve so much. Do have it!’
’Oh, your Ladyship! Why, I shall never be able to thank you.’
’You needn’t try,’ laughed Connie.
And Mrs Bolton sailed down with the huge and very black box in her arms, flushing bright pink in her excitement.
Mr Betts drove her in the trap to her house in the village, with the box. And she HAD to have a few friends in, to show it: the school-mistress, the chemist’s wife, Mrs Weedon the undercashier’s wife. They thought it marvellous. And then started the whisper of Lady Chatterley’s child.
’Wonders’ll never cease! ' said Mrs Weedon.
But Mrs Bolton was CONVINCED, if it did come, it would be Sir Clifford’s child. So there!
Not long after, the rector said gently to Clifford:
’And may we really hope for an heir to Wragby? Ah, that would be the hand of God in mercy, indeed!’
’Well! We may HOPE,’ said Clifford, with a faint irony, and at the same time, a certain conviction. He had begun to believe it really possible it might even be HIS child.
Then one afternoon came Leslie Winter, Squire Winter, as everybody called him: lean, immaculate, and seventy: and every inch a gentleman, as Mrs Bolton said to Mrs Betts. Every millimetre indeed! And with his old-fashioned, rather haw-haw! manner of speaking, he seemed more out of date than bag wigs. Time, in her flight, drops these fine old feathers.
They discussed the collieries. Clifford’s idea was, that his coal, even the poor sort, could be made into hard concentrated fuel that would burn at great heat if fed with certain damp, acidulated air at a fairly strong pressure. It had long been observed that in a particularly strong, wet wind the pit-bank burned very vivid, gave off hardly any fumes, and left a fine powder of ash, instead of the slow pink gravel.
’But where will you find the proper engines for burning your fuel?’ asked Winter.
’I’ll make them myself. And I’ll use my fuel myself. And I’ll sell electric power. I’m certain I could do it.’
’If you can do it, then splendid, splendid, my dear boy. Haw! Splendid! If I can be of any help, I shall be delighted. I’m afraid I am a little out of date, and my collieries are like me. But who knows, when I’m gone, there may be men like you. Splendid! It will employ all the men again, and you won’t have to sell your coal, or fail to sell it. A splendid idea, and I hope it will be a success. If I had sons of my own, no doubt they would have up-to-date ideas for Shipley: no doubt! By the way, dear boy, is there any foundation to the rumour that we may entertain hopes of an heir to Wragby?’
’Is there a rumour?’ asked Clifford.
’Well, my dear boy, Marshall from Fillingwood asked me, that’s all I can say about a rumour. Of course I wouldn’t repeat it for the world, if there were no foundation.’
’Well, Sir,’ said Clifford uneasily, but with strange bright eyes. ‘There is a hope. There is a hope.’
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