Kit and Kitty: A Story of West MiddlesexBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
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Kit and Kitty: A Story of West Middlesex
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Middlesex (England) -- Fiction
“That has got nothing to do with it. He has held some appointment that
gave him the right to the title, if he liked it. The reason is that his
wife always calls him ‘Professor’; and so it reminds him of her. Ah,
don’t you be in this outrageous hurry for a wife of your own, Master
Kit, I say. For all I know, the Captain may have been as wild for her,
some time, as you are for your Kitty. What can you say to that, my lad?”
“Why, simply that you don’t know at all what you are talking about,
Uncle Corny. My Miss Fairthorn is not that lady’s daughter, and is not
to be blamed for the whole of her sex, any more than you are for the
whole of yours.”
“There is something in that, when one comes to see it,” my Uncle
replied; for his mind was generally fair, when it cost him nothing.
“But you must not keep on breaking in like this, or you won’t have
heard half of it, this side of Christmas. Well, I was going to take
them according to their sexes, the same as the Lord made them. And
first comes the lady, as she hath a right to do, being at the bottom of
the mischief.
“When I was a young man, thirty year or more agone, there used to be a
lot of talk about the two handsome Miss Coldpeppers, of the Manor Hall
down here. There used to be a lot also of coaches running, not so much
through Sunbury, which lay to one side of the road, though some used to
pass here on their way to Chertsey; and there was tootle-tootle along
father’s walls, three or four times a day. But the most of them went
further back, along the Staines and Windsor road, where the noise was
something wonderful; and it’s my opinion that these Railway things will
never be able to compare with it. They may make as much noise for the
time, but it seems to be over, before the boys can holloa.
“Lots of young sparks, and bucks, and dandies, and Corinthians, and
I forget what else, but all much finer than you can see now, used to
come down by the coaches then, some of them driving, some blowing the
horn, some upon the roof like merry-Andrews, making fools of themselves
as we should call it now, and not be far wrong either. They were much
bigger men than I see now, in their size, and their way of going on,
and their spirits, and their strength of life, and likewise in their
language. And the manners of the time were as different as can be, more
frolicsome like, and more free and jovial; and they talked about the
ladies, and to them also, ten times as much as they do now; and things
were altogether merrier for them that had the money, and no worse for
them that hadn’t got it, so far as I can see. Ah, there was something
to be done in growing then—pineapples ordered at a guinea a pound, and
grapes at fifteen shillings, though of course you didn’t always get
your money. I’m blest if I won’t have another glass of rum and water.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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