Augustus Carp, Esq., by Himself: Being the Autobiography of a Really Good ManBashford, H. H. (Henry Howarth), Sir
General
Augustus Carp, Esq., by Himself: Being the Autobiography of a Really Good Man
Bashford, H. H. (Henry Howarth), Sir
English fiction -- 20th century; Humorous stories; Satire
Even had I not been fortified, therefore, with the details, imparted at
such a price to me by my father, I should not have felt myself wholly
unequipped in confronting Mrs. Chrysostom Lorton; and, as it was, I made
the journey to Enfield serene in the knowledge of my instructed manhood.
This was the more fortunate in that, devoid of anxiety, I was enabled to
profit very fully from an expedition considerably the most involved that
I had ever engaged upon unaccompanied.
Nothing would have been easier, for instance, than, dazed by its
magnitude, to have wandered for hours in Liverpool Street Station,
whereas a few courteous and clearly-phrased questions soon led my
footsteps to the appropriate platform. Similarly, had I been engrossed
with a fearful apprehension of the ordeal that awaited me, I might have
been blind to the interesting objects that presented themselves to my
carriage window; whereas I was moved to pity and apprehension by the
rough streets of Bethnal Green, pricked to audible curiosity by the
uncommon nomenclature of Seven Sisters, agreeably reminded, at Bruce
Grove, of the well-known Caledonian monarch, and so overcome by mirth,
as we drew into Lower Edmonton, at a sudden recollection of John Gilpin
that an elderly female who was sitting opposite me hastily left the
compartment.
I was able to observe, too, with satisfaction the busy and prosperous
aspect of Enfield, and although, as I drew near to the mansion of Mr.
Chrysostom Lorton, I was naturally a little sobered by the imminence of
my task, I was gratified to perceive in Paternoster Towers a concrete
testimony to the worth of his enterprise. Solidly constructed of red
brick and surrounded by well-trimmed lawns and flower-beds, it was
further adhered to by a couple of large conservatories and approached by
a broad, gravelled drive. Nor was I less satisfied by the humble and
respectful demeanour of the good-looking parlourmaid who opened the
door, and who had proceeded, having taken my hat and stick, to admit me
to her mistress’s boudoir.
“Mrs. Lorton,” she said, “will be down in a minute.”
“I thank you,” I replied. “I will await her arrival.”
Favourably as I had been impressed, however, it must not be assumed that
I had in any degree relaxed my guard; and though I was aware, of course,
that I held every advantage I made a rapid survey of the contents of the
room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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