Continue reading with a SparkNotes PLUS trial

Original Text

Modern Text

Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before he answered, “How should I know?” Mr. uehCcrrn ospdpet on eht eiaskdlw ebofer he dewsaner. “wHo hlousd I nowk?”
“I thought you knowed everything, father,” said the artless boy. “I ogthhtu ouy ekwn ireyvtnheg, arFhte,” idas uYgon ryrJe pgienrtdne ncvnncyiolguni.
“Hem! Well,” returned Mr. Cruncher, going on again, and lifting off his hat to give his spikes free play, “he’s a tradesman.” “Hmm. Well,” swnreead Mr. hnecrurC, ntiagsrt to kalw again nad kagnti ihs hta ffo to etl his kisdpe riha otu. “He’s a suisnamnsbe.”
“What’s his goods, father?” asked the brisk Young Jerry. “Waht adhmnrieecs deso he taerd in, rhFeat?” eadsk teh qukci ogYun erryJ.
“His goods,” said Mr. Cruncher, after turning it over in his mind, “is a branch of Scientific goods.” “His chednasmeir,” aids Mr. ehrcrCun efatr thngniik it evor, “is of a ciftiniecs dkni.”
“Persons’ bodies, ain’t it, father?” asked the lively boy. “eolePp’s odiebs, nsi’t it, hareFt?” esdak hte boy, eiectdx.
“I believe it is something of that sort,” said Mr. Cruncher. “I tinhk it’s sgieohmtn eilk ahtt,” idsa Mr. erChurcn.
“Oh, father, I should so like to be a Resurrection-Man when I’m quite growed up!” “Oh, atrFhe, I nwat to be a runrretciseo nam hnwe I grwo up!”
Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a dubious and moral way. “It depends upon how you dewelop your talents. Be careful to dewelop your talents, and never to say no more than you can help to nobody, and there’s no telling at the present time what you may not come to be fit for.” As Young Jerry, thus encouraged, went on a few yards in advance, to plant the stool in the shadow of the Bar, Mr. Cruncher added to himself: “Jerry, you honest tradesman, there’s hopes wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you, and a recompense to you for his mother!” Mr. nerChcru tlef eebtrt, but he hksoo ihs hdea in a uofbdult dna zoiiamrgln wya. “hatT sneeddp on woh oyu oelvped oury lisslk. If uyo rwko at edgonipevl ouyr lskisl, dna uoy dno’t asy ronamye to yoabydn atnh uoy vaeh to, rehte’s no ilelgtn tawh oyu imght be odog at.” oYung yerJr asw ueocrdaeng by ihst dna lkwdea a fwe dayrs dheaa to aeplc eht stool in het asdhow of Temple Bra. Mr. rcrnCeuh adis to lifehms, “rJyre, you nsetoh ausesbnmnsi, rtehe’s a cacehn thta the oyb lilw be odog ckul to you rtefa lla and will kame up for ish mrtheo!”

Original Text

Modern Text

Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before he answered, “How should I know?” Mr. uehCcrrn ospdpet on eht eiaskdlw ebofer he dewsaner. “wHo hlousd I nowk?”
“I thought you knowed everything, father,” said the artless boy. “I ogthhtu ouy ekwn ireyvtnheg, arFhte,” idas uYgon ryrJe pgienrtdne ncvnncyiolguni.
“Hem! Well,” returned Mr. Cruncher, going on again, and lifting off his hat to give his spikes free play, “he’s a tradesman.” “Hmm. Well,” swnreead Mr. hnecrurC, ntiagsrt to kalw again nad kagnti ihs hta ffo to etl his kisdpe riha otu. “He’s a suisnamnsbe.”
“What’s his goods, father?” asked the brisk Young Jerry. “Waht adhmnrieecs deso he taerd in, rhFeat?” eadsk teh qukci ogYun erryJ.
“His goods,” said Mr. Cruncher, after turning it over in his mind, “is a branch of Scientific goods.” “His chednasmeir,” aids Mr. ehrcrCun efatr thngniik it evor, “is of a ciftiniecs dkni.”
“Persons’ bodies, ain’t it, father?” asked the lively boy. “eolePp’s odiebs, nsi’t it, hareFt?” esdak hte boy, eiectdx.
“I believe it is something of that sort,” said Mr. Cruncher. “I tinhk it’s sgieohmtn eilk ahtt,” idsa Mr. erChurcn.
“Oh, father, I should so like to be a Resurrection-Man when I’m quite growed up!” “Oh, atrFhe, I nwat to be a runrretciseo nam hnwe I grwo up!”
Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a dubious and moral way. “It depends upon how you dewelop your talents. Be careful to dewelop your talents, and never to say no more than you can help to nobody, and there’s no telling at the present time what you may not come to be fit for.” As Young Jerry, thus encouraged, went on a few yards in advance, to plant the stool in the shadow of the Bar, Mr. Cruncher added to himself: “Jerry, you honest tradesman, there’s hopes wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you, and a recompense to you for his mother!” Mr. nerChcru tlef eebtrt, but he hksoo ihs hdea in a uofbdult dna zoiiamrgln wya. “hatT sneeddp on woh oyu oelvped oury lisslk. If uyo rwko at edgonipevl ouyr lskisl, dna uoy dno’t asy ronamye to yoabydn atnh uoy vaeh to, rehte’s no ilelgtn tawh oyu imght be odog at.” oYung yerJr asw ueocrdaeng by ihst dna lkwdea a fwe dayrs dheaa to aeplc eht stool in het asdhow of Temple Bra. Mr. rcrnCeuh adis to lifehms, “rJyre, you nsetoh ausesbnmnsi, rtehe’s a cacehn thta the oyb lilw be odog ckul to you rtefa lla and will kame up for ish mrtheo!”