Sheppard Lee, Written by Himself. Vol. 1 (of 2)Bird, Robert Montgomery
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Sheppard Lee, Written by Himself. Vol. 1 (of 2)
Bird, Robert Montgomery
American fiction -- 19th century; Satire
I ascended the steps and rang the bell, somewhat faintly, I must
acknowledge; for though I had my friend Tickle's assurance, and a
confused consciousness of my own, that I was at the right place, there
was a certain strangeness in it, naturally arising from my situation,
that made me hesitate. The door, however, opened, and the reception
that followed convinced me I was not intruding where I was not known.
The door was opened by a bouncing Irish wench, of some twenty-five
years or thereabouts, with hair as yellow as a broom-whisk, and
shoulders twice as broad as my own; besides which, she was not
handsome; she had staring gray eyes, brick-coloured cheeks, a nose that
looked up at her forehead, and a mouth not so ugly as spacious.
I was about to pass by this fair apparition with no further notice than
a nod, which I made somewhat instinctively; but I was not fated to get
off so easily. No sooner did she lay eyes upon me than she set up a
squeak, "Oh, hubbuboo! and is it _you_, Misther Dawkins, dear?" and
threw her great beef-steak arms round my neck.
An embrace from a creature of her attractions I could have easily
dispensed with; yet I might have been affected by her joy at seeing
me return alive from the bottom of the river, it was so truly natural
and exuberant, had she not been in a great hurry to qualify it. "Oh,
murder, dear!" she cried, "and I'm glad; for they said, bad luck
till'em, the vagabones! you was drownded, dear, and was after chating
me out iv my money for the washin' and mindin'!"
"The washing and mending?" thought I. "Do I patronise such a tasty body
as this? and do I owe her money?"
But while I muttered thus within, the girl, giving me another hug that
I thought would have made my shoulders change place with one another,
roared out, in continuation,--
"Och, throth, but the man must drown dape that chates Nora Magee of her
own! Musha, hinny darlint, jist pit yer finger into yer pocket and pull
me out the tin dollars and seventy cents that you owe me."
"Certainly, Nora," said I; "and Succuba let me go. But, ged now, Nora,"
I cried, for well I knew my pockets were as empty as the promises I
intended to make her, and I was driven by a sort of instinct upon the
proper course for pacifying the harpy,--a course, I suppose, that
I,--that is, my prototype, the true Dawkins,--had often practised
before;--I say, "Nora, don't talk of dollars and cents; for I intend to
pay you in eagles and half-eagles some of these days, when my uncle
comes; and besides, Nora, you jade you, I intend to give you a buss
into the bargain, as, ged, I believe I will _now_."
And with that I returned the compliment she had paid me, took the great
creature by the neck, and (yea, faith, and I presume I should have done
the same thing with my tailor, if he could have been managed the same
way) absolutely kissed her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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