Chiswick (London, England) -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Terrace houses -- Fiction
The rain had ceased. The sun was again shining brightly, turning the
rain-drops on the foliage of the elm into diamonds. The air sparkled,
newly washed. The Eyesore in his corner had, for some time, been
showing symptoms of discomfort. With appetites refreshed by the shower,
the fish were displaying a lively interest in his bait. To be sure,
they refused to swallow his hook; but they nibbled at his worm with
great zest, and kept his float bobbing up and down in a manner which
made it impossible for him to attend to anything else. Yet out of the
corner of his eye he could see Sempronius, stretched at full length,
creeping slowly, almost imperceptibly, but with deadly determination,
towards the fish Jack had caught.
The Eyesore said "Hoo!" but Sempronius took no notice. The Eyesore
kicked; but Sempronius was out of reach. The Eyesore shook his
disengaged fist; but Sempronius only smiled.
As the sun came out, out came Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn, as resplendent
as the sun. He was truly wonderful to behold: his magnificent beaver
hat poised at an improbable angle, his buckles glittering, and his vast
person imposing under the countless capes of his driving-coat. Just as
he had swaggered to his gate he was evidently arrested by a voice from
the upper chamber.
[Illustration: AS THE SUN CAME OUT, OUT CAME MR. JEROME BROOKE-HOSKYN,
AS RESPLENDENT AS THE SUN]
"Eh? What?" he asked peevishly, making an ear-trumpet of his hand.
"Late home?—Yes; I told you I should be. Pitt is to speak, and when
once he’s on his legs the Lord only knows when he’ll stop. But I have
the doorkey. What? Yes, I did! I found the keyhole easily enough, but
the key was twisted. What?" He grew purple with indignation.
"Sober!—Reely, Selina!—" The Walk was astir, as he observed to his
confusion. "Dammit, Ma’am, they’ll hear you howling all round the
Walk!" He turned just in time to face Miss Ruth, who had come sailing
up to him. Everybody was either at their open windows, or had come out
to taste the fresh air. The Admiral was fussing with his sweet peas;
Jim was helping him; Mrs. Poskett was watching the Admiral; Basil
Pringle was struggling with the Kreutzer Sonata; Barbara had left Doctor
Johnson and was leaning out of the lower window; listening to Basil.
Even the servants were out and about; only Madame was missing.
Miss Ruth addressed Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. "Off to the whirl of fashion so
early?"
Brooke-Hoskyn did his best to edge her away from the house while he
nervously pulled on his buckskin gloves. "H’m, it is a long way to the
City," he explained, "my good friends, the Goldsmiths’ Company—a banquet
to the Chinese Ambassador—my shay is waiting round the corner."
Miss Ruth tried to pass him. "I’ll go and sit with your wife," she
said, with the kindest intention.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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