"Ask Mamma"; or, The Richest Commoner In EnglandSurtees, Robert Smith
General
"Ask Mamma"; or, The Richest Commoner In England
Surtees, Robert Smith
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Fox hunting -- Fiction
“The w-h-a-at?” drawled Billy, dreading a “do;” his mother having
cautioned him always to be mindful after dinner.
“O, merely the gorse,” continued Mr. Smoothley, in the most
affable matter-of-course way imaginable, “merely the gorse—if
you’ll step this way, I’ll show you,” continued he, leading the
way to where a large dirty board was suspended against the wall
below the portrait of Lord Martingal on his horse.
“_Now he’s running into him!_” muttered Sir Moses to himself, his
keen eye supplying the words to the action.
“This, you see,” explained Mr. Smoothley, hitching the board off
its brass-headed nail, and holding it to the light—“this, you
see, is a list of all the covers in the country—Screechley,
Summer-field, Reddingfield, Bewley, Lanton Hill, Baxterley, and
so forth. Then you see here,” continned he, pointing to a ruled
column opposite, “are the names of the owners or patrons—yes”
(reading), “owners or patrons—Lord Oilcake, Lord Polkaton, Sir
Harry Fuzball, Mr. Heslop, Lord Harpsichord, Mr. Drew, Mr. Smith.
Now young Mr. Treadcroft, who has had as many falls as he likes,
and perhaps more, has just announced his intention of retiring
and giving up this cover,” pointing to Waverley, with Mr.
Treadcroft, Jun.‘s name opposite to it, “and it struck me that it
would be a capital opportunity for you who have just joined us,
to take it before anybody knows, and then it will go by the name
of Pringle’s gorse, and you’ll get the credit of all the fine
runs that take place from it.”
“Y-a-r-s-e,” drawled Billy, thinking that that would be a sharp
thing to do, and that it would be fine to rank with the lords.
“Then,” continued Mr. Smoothley, taking the answer for an assent,
“I’ll just strike Treadey’s name ont, and put yours in;” so
saying, he darted at the sideboard, and seizing an old
ink-clotted stump of a pen, with just enough go in it to make the
required alteration, and substituted Mr. Pringle’s name for that
of Mr. Treadcroft. And so, what with his cover, his dinner, and
his button, poor Billy was eased of above twenty pounds.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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