A Whim, and Its Consequences: Collection of British Authors Vol. CXIVJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
A Whim, and Its Consequences: Collection of British Authors Vol. CXIV
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Fiction
Amongst a crowd of persons who were waiting to get into the train, at
the--station of--railway, was one exceedingly well dressed young man
in deep mourning. He was tall, perhaps standing six feet in height, or
a little more, exceedingly broad over the chest, with long and
powerful arms, and a small waist. His features were fine, and the
expression of his countenance though very grave, was engaging and
noble. He had a first-class ticket, and got into a carriage in which
were already three other passengers. One was a tall middle-aged man,
with a dull-coloured handkerchief, high up, upon his chin; another, a
young dandified looking person, not very gentlemanly in appearance;
and the third, was a short personage, with an air of great importance,
a tin case, and a large roll of papers and parchments, tied up with a
piece of green ribbon. His face was round, his figure was round, his
legs were round, and his hands were round. In short, he would have
looked like a congeries of dumplings, if it had not been for the
colour of his countenance, which equalled that of an autumnal sun seen
through a London fog. Round and rosy countenances are not generally
the most expressive; and there was but one feature in that of this
worthy personage, which redeemed it from flat insipidity. That was the
eye; black, small, twinkling, ever in motion, it was one of the
shrewdest, cunningest little eyes that ever rolled in a human head.
There was not a vestige of eyebrow above it--nothing but a scalded red
line. There was very little eyelash around it, but yet it is wonderful
how it twinkled, without any accessories: a fixed star, shining by its
own light; and yet the simile is not a good one, for it was anything
but fixed, glancing from person to person, and object to object as
fast as it could go.
When the stranger entered the carriage, this round gentleman was
holding forth to him in the dark handkerchief, upon some subject which
seemed to be provocative of that very troublesome quality, called
_eloquence_; but, nevertheless, without for one moment interrupting
his declamation, he had in an instant investigated every point of his
new fellow-traveller's exterior, while he was getting in, and had
doubtless made his own comments thereon, with proper sagacity.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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