Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 66, No 409, November 1849Various
History
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 66, No 409, November 1849
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
"Now you, sir," continued Gingham, "enjoyed your breakfast, and made a
good one; but found fault with nothing; because, I presume, there was
nothing to find fault with. I like to see a man enjoy his meals. And if
he does, I like to see him show it. It is one of the tokens by which I
judge of character. Your conduct, my dear sir, commanded my respect.
Shall I say more? It won my esteem. Then and there my resolution was
formed, to invite you, at the first convenient opportunity, to partake
of my humble hospitality."
It was too much. I extended my fist. A shaking of hands, of some
continuance--cordial on my part, and evidently so on Gingham's, by the
pain I felt in my shoulder.
"Well, sir," said Gingham, "I had already learned that you were a
passenger for the Peninsula. I was a passenger for the Peninsula; and,
as we were to sail together, and probably to campaign together, I
resolved to introduce myself. I said, this lad--I beg your pardon, this
youth--excuse me, this gentleman, this young gentleman--for I guess you
have some ten years the advantage of me in that respect--this gentleman
is, like myself, bound for the headquarters of the Peninsular army. I
know something of campaigning; he knows nothing. We campaign together."
"Well now," said I, "that is just what I should like amazingly."
Gingham now took the initiative, and put forth his paw. Again we
tackled, and, in the true pump-handle style, so dear to Englishmen,
expressed mutual cordiality: only that this time, being better
prepared, I reversed the electric stream, and brought tears into
Gingham's eyes. He sung out, "Oh!" and rubbed his arm.
"The rest," said Gingham, "is easily told. After breakfast you walked
out into the court-yard, lit a cigar, and stood on the steps. I lit
another, followed, and had the pleasure of making your acquaintance."
I gave audible expression to my profound self-congratulations.
"Allow me, however, to add," said Gingham, "you raised yourself greatly
in my esteem by asking the waiter for a red herring. The request
evinced a superiority to vulgar prejudices. Your way of putting it,
too, was in perfect good keeping: for you did not commit yourself by
_ordering_ a red herring; but asked whether you could have one in
the coffee-room. Believe me, I was pained, when he stated that red
herrings were not permitted; and could but admire your self-denial, in
accepting, as a substitute, the mutton-chops."
We adjourned to the public room.
Gingham had entertained me hospitably and handsomely. Yet this was
the same Gingham who, when I made him take part of my beefsteak at
breakfast, because his own was delayed, proposed that we should desire
the waiter to tell the landlady to charge only half a beefsteak to me,
and half a beefsteak to him, Gingham. My rejection of this proposal was
the immediate occasion of the dinner, at which the reader has just been
present.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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