Lay Morals, and Other PapersStevenson, Robert Louis
Philosophy
Lay Morals, and Other Papers
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Essays; Short stories
‘You wouldn’t?’ said the old man grimly. ‘Well, and did I when I was
your age? Wait till your back’s broke and your hands tremble, and your
eyes fail, and you’re weary of the battle and ask no more but to lie down
in your bed and give the ghost up like an honest man; and then let there
up and come some insolent, ungodly fellow—ah! if I had him in these
hands! “Where’s my money that you gambled?” I should say. “Where’s my
money that you drank and diced?” “Thief!” is what I would say; “Thief!”’
he roared, ‘“Thief”’
‘Mr. Archer will hear you if you don’t take care,’ said Nance, ‘and I
would be ashamed, for one, that he should hear a brave, old, honest,
hard-working man like Jonathan Holdaway talk nonsense like a boy.’
‘D’ ye think I mind for Mr. Archer?’ he cried shrilly, with a clack of
laughter; and then he came close up to her, stooped down with his two
palms upon his knees, and looked her in the eyes, with a strange hard
expression, something like a smile. ‘Do I mind for God, my girl?’ he
said; ‘that’s what it’s come to be now, do I mind for God?’
‘Uncle Jonathan,’ she said, getting up and taking him by the arm; ‘you
sit down again, where you were sitting. There, sit still; I’ll have no
more of this; you’ll do yourself a mischief. Come, take a drink of this
good ale, and I’ll warm a tankard for you. La, we’ll pull through,
you’ll see. I’m young, as you say, and it’s my turn to carry the bundle;
and don’t you worry your bile, or we’ll have sickness, too, as well as
sorrow.’
‘D’ ye think that I’d forgotten you?’ said Jonathan, with something like
a groan; and thereupon his teeth clicked to, and he sat silent with the
tankard in his hand and staring straight before him.
‘Why,’ says Nance, setting on the ale to mull, ‘men are always children,
they say, however old; and if ever I heard a thing like this, to set to
and make yourself sick, just when the money’s failing. Keep a good heart
up; you haven’t kept a good heart these seventy years, nigh hand, to
break down about a pound or two. Here’s this Mr. Archer come to lodge,
that you disliked so much. Well, now you see it was a clear Providence.
Come, let’s think upon our mercies. And here is the ale mulling lovely;
smell of it; I’ll take a drop myself, it smells so sweet. And, Uncle
Jonathan, you let me say one word. You’ve lost more than money before
now; you lost my aunt, and bore it like a man. Bear this.’
His face once more contracted; his fist doubled, and shot forth into the
air, and trembled. ‘Let them look out!’ he shouted. ‘Here, I warn all
men; I’ve done with this foul kennel of knaves. Let them look out!’
‘Hush, hush! for pity’s sake,’ cried Nance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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