The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 69, July, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
General
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 12, No. 69, July, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
there, or drove into Ethiopian wastes beyond, I cannot say; but I have no
doubt that the milk which she carried into Newburyport to market was blue,
the butter frowy, and the potatoes exceedingly small.
Now do you mean to tell me that any man would have been guilty of such a
thing? I don't mean, would have committed such discourtesy to a woman? Of
course not; but would a man ever do it to a man? Never. He might try it
once or twice, just for fun, just to show off his horse, but he never
would have persisted in it till a joke became an insult, not to say a
possible injury.
Still, as I was about to say, when that Rowley jade interrupted me, though
I have small faith in Di-Vernonism generally, and no large faith in my own
personal prowess, I did feel myself equal to the task of holding the reins
while our Rosinante walked along an open road to a pump. I therefore
resented Halicarnassus's contemptuous tones, mounted the wagon with as
much dignity as wagons allow, sat straight as an arrow on the driver's
seat, took the reins in both hands,--as they used to tell me I must not,
when I was a little girl, because that was women's way, but I find now
that men have adopted it, so I suppose it is all right,--and proceeded to
show, like Sam Patch, that some things can be done as well as others.
Halicarnassus and the Anakim took up their position in line on the other
side of the road, hat in hand, watching.
"Go fast, and shame them," whispered Grande, from the back-seat, and the
suggestion jumped with my own mood. It was a moment of intense excitement.
To be or not to be. I jerked the lines. Pegasus did not start.
"C-l-k-l-k!" No forward movement.
"Huddup!" Still waiting for reinforcements.
"H-w-e." (Attempt at a whistle. Dead failure.)
(_Sotto voce._) "O you beast!" (_Pianissimo._) "Gee! Haw! haw! haw!" with
a terrible jerking of the reins.
A voice over the way, distinctly audible, utters the cabalistic words,
"Two forty." Another voice, as audible, asks, "Which'll you bet on?" It
was not soothing. It did seem as if the imp of the perverse had taken
possession of that terrible nag to go and make such a display at such a
moment. But as his will rose, so did mine, and as my will went up, my whip
went with it; but before it came down, Halicarnassus made shift to drone
out, "Wouldn't Flora go faster, if she was untied?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account