Dariel: A Romance of SurreyBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
Dariel: A Romance of Surrey
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Surrey (England) -- Fiction
"Go ahead," I said, for he had had his dinner, though that made very
little difference to him, his ardour of truth being toast and water now.
"But if you won't have a pipe, I will. Is the smell anti-hygienic?"
"Undoubtedly it is. About that there cannot be two sane opinions. Puff
away; but be well assured that at every pull you are inhaling, and at
every expiration spreading--"
"All right. Tell us something new, and you are never far to seek in
that--Pennyroyal, fenugreek, ruta nigra, tin-tacks hydrised, hyoscyamus,
colocasia, geopordon carbonised--what is the next panacea?"
"Tabacum Nicotianum." Nothing pleased my brother more than the charge of
inconsistency and self-contradiction. Seeing that he lay in wait for
this, I would not let him have it, but answered with indifference--
"That is right, old fellow. I am glad that you have come to a sensible
view of Tobacco. Any very choice cigars in your trunk, old chap? But I
should fear that you had invented them."
No one could help liking Harold at first sight. He was simply the most
amiable fellow ever seen. Amiable chiefly in a passive way, although he
was ready for any kind action, when the claims of discovery permitted.
And now as we were strolling in the park, and the fine Surrey air had
brightened his handsome face with more "hygiene" than he ever would
produce, I was not surprised at the amount of money he extracted even
from our groans.
"Would you like to know what is in my trunk?" he asked with that simple
smile, which was at once the effect and the cause of his magnetism. "I
have done it for the sake of the family first, and then of the
neighbourhood, and then of the county. I shall offer the advantages to
Surrey first. As an old County family, that is our duty. There is some
low typhoid in the valleys still. Run and fetch my trunk, George. It is
heavy for me, but nothing for your great shoulders. Bring it to the
bower here; I don't want to open it in the house, because,
because--well, you'll soon know why, when you follow my course of
reasoning."
I brought him his trunk, and he put it on a table, where people had tea
in the park sometimes, to watch a game of cricket from a sheltered
place. "Come quite close," he said very kindly, throwing open the trunk,
and then making for the door, while I rashly stooped over his property.
In another minute I was lying down, actually sneezed off my legs, and
unable to open my eyes from some spasmodic affection or affliction.
"That's right," said Harold, in a tone of satisfaction; "don't be
uneasy, my dear brother. For at least a fortnight you are immune from
the biggest enterprises of the most active Local Board. You may sit upon
the manholes of the best sanitated town; you may sleep in the House of
Commons; you may pay a medical fee, and survive it. It is my own
discovery. See those boxes?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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