Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. 26, August, 1880Various
History
Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. 26, August, 1880
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- Periodicals
"Why, he's got the temper o' the old un to stand up agen, and wherever
he shows his face he must be head and chief and must lay down the law,
and you must hearken to act by it or else look out for squalls."
Reuben drew his breath more freely. "And what is he?" he asked.
"Wa-all, I reckon he's her cousin, you knaw," answered Triggs,
misinterpreting the question, "'cos he's ole Zebedee's awnly son, and
the ole chap's got houses and lands and I dunno what all. But, there! I
wouldn't change with 'em; for you knaw what they be, all alike--a
drunk-in', fightin', cussin' lot. Lor's! I cudn't stand it, I cudn't, to
be drunk from mornin' to night and from night to mornin'."
"And is he one of this sort?" exclaimed Reuben in horror. "Why, are her
relations like that?"
"They'm all tarred with the wan brush, I reckon," replied Triggs. "If
not, they cudn't keep things goin' as they do: 'tis the drink car'ies
'em through with it. Why, I knaws by the little I've a done that ways
myself how 'tis. Git a good skinful o' grog in 'ee, and wan man feels
he's five, and, so long as it lasts, he's got the sperrit and 'ull do
the work o' five too: then when 'tis beginnin' to drop a bit, in with
more liquor, and so go on till the job's over."
"And how long do they keep it up?" said Reuben.
"Wa-all, that's more than I can answer for. Let me see," said Triggs,
reflectively. "There was ole Zeke Spry: he was up eighty-seben, and he
used to say he'd never, that he knowed by and could help, bin to bed not
to say _sober_ since he'd comed to years o' discretion. But in that ways
he was only wan o' many; and after he was dead 't happened just as 't
ole chap had said it wud, for he used to say, 'When I'm tooked folks
'ull get up a talk that ole Zeke Spry killed hisself with drink; but
don't you listen to it,' he says, ''cos 'tain't nothin' o' the sort: he
died for want o' breath--that's what killed he;' and I reckon he was
about right, else there wudn't be nobody left to die in Polperro."
"Polperro?" said Reuben: "that's where your ship goes to?"
"No, not ezactly: I goes to Fowey, but they bain't over a step or so
apart--a matter o' six miles, say."
There was a pause, which Captain Triggs broke by saying, "Iss, I thought
whether it wudn't surprise 'ee to hear 'bout it bein' Adam Pascal.
They'm none of 'em overmuch took with it, I reckon, for they allays
counted on 'im havin' Joan Hocken: her's another cousin, and another
nice handful, by all that's told up."
Reuben's spirit groaned within him. "Oh, if I'd only known of this
before!" he said. "I'd have kept her by force from going, or if she
would have gone I'd have gone with her. She was brought up so
differently!" he continued, addressing Triggs. "A more respectable woman
never lived than her mother was."
"Awh! so the Pascals all be: there's none of 'em but what's respectable
and well-to-do. What I've bin tellin' of 'ee is their ways, you knaw:
'tain't nothing agen 'em."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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