The Astonishing History of Troy TownQuiller-Couch, Arthur
General
The Astonishing History of Troy Town
Quiller-Couch, Arthur
Cornwall (England : County) -- Fiction
"Ef that's so," broke in Caleb from above with fine irony, "p'raps
you wudn' mind handin' up your visitin' cards an' doin' the thing
proper. At present maaster's busy."
"Busy?"
"Iss. A-makin' proposals o' marriage--which es a serious thing, an'
not to be interrupted."
The Twins set down the basket and stared at each other. Paul was the
first to recover.
"Ef 'tes fully allowable to put the question, Peter an' me wud like
to knaw the young leddy's name. 'Tes makin' bould to ax, but there's
a reason."
"Well," said Caleb, disappearing for a moment and then poking his
head forth again, "at the present moment 'tes a party answerin' to
the name o' Geraldin'. A minnit agone 'twas--But maybe you'd
better step up an' see for yoursel'."
"What!"
"Step up an' see."
"Now, Peter," said the Twin, turning from Caleb to contemplate his
brother, "puttin' the case (an' far be et from me to say et cudn' be)
as you was payin' your addresses to a young leddy answerin' to the
name o' Geraldin' (which she wudn' be call'd that, anyway), an'
puttin' the case as you was a-makin' offers o' marriage, an' a pair
o' twin-brothers (same as you an' me might be) walked up to the front
door an' plumped in afore you'd well finished talkin' o' the
weather-prospec's (bein' a slow man, though a sure)--now, what I
wants to knaw es, wud 'ee like et yoursel'?"
"No, I shudn'."
"Well, I reckon'd not. An' that bein' so, Go's the word."
"Afore Peter talks 'bout gettin' a wife," broke in Caleb, "he'd
better read 'bout Peter's wife's mother. She was sick wi' a fever,
I've heerd, an' so's maaster. Ef you don't believe, walk up an' see;
'cos 'tain't good for a sick man to ha' all this palaverin' outside
hes windey."
The Twins stared, whispered together, took off their boots, and
softly entered the house. At the door of the sick-room Caleb met
them.
"Brain fever," he whispered, "which es on'y catchin' for them as has
brains to catch et wi'."
The trio stood together at the foot of the bed on which Mr. Fogo
tossed and chattered. Peter and Paul looked from the sick man to
their hats, and back again in silence. At length the elder Twin
spoke--
"I' the matter o' behavin' rum, some folks does it wi' cause an'
others not so. But I reckons ef you allows as there's likely a
cause, you'm 'pon the safe side--'speshully wi' Mr. Fogo. Wherefore,
Caleb, what's the meanin' o' this here?"
"Tamsin!"
The answer came so pat from the sick man's lips that Peter fairly
jumped. Caleb looked up with finger on lip and a curious smile on
his weather-tanned face.
"Don't leave me! Look! There are devils around me--cold white
devils--devils with blank faces--no features, only flesh.
Look! Sunday, Monday, Tuesday--every day with a devil, every day in
the year--look, look!"
"Pore soul!" whispered Paul; "an' 'tes Leap Year, too, which makes
wan extry."
"Don't leave me, Tamsin--don't leave me!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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