Great Britain -- History -- Regency, 1800-1837 -- Fiction
THE HONOURABLE
MR. TAWNISH
CHAPTER ONE
_Introducing Mr. Tawnish, and what befell
at "The Chequers"_
Myself and Bentley, who, though a good fellow in many ways, is yet a
fool in more (hence the prominence of the personal pronoun, for, as
every one knows, a fool should give place to his betters)--myself and
Bentley, then, were riding home from Hadlow, whither we had been to
witness a dog-fight (and I may say a better fight I never saw, the dog I
had backed disabling his opponent very effectively in something less
than three-quarters of an hour--whereby Bentley owes me a hundred
guineas)--we were riding home as I say, and were within a half-mile or
so of Tonbridge, when young Harry Raikes came up behind us at his usual
wild gallop, and passing with a curt nod, disappeared down the hill in a
cloud of dust.
"Were I but ten years younger," says I, looking after him, "Tonbridge
Town would be too small to hold yonder fellow and myself--he is becoming
a positive pest."
"True," says Bentley, "he's forever embroiling some one or other."
"Only last week," says I, "while you were away in London, he ran young
Richards through the lungs over some triviality, and they say he lies
a-dying."
"Poor lad! poor lad!" says Bentley. "I mind, too, there was Tom
Adams--shot dead in the Miller's Field not above a month ago; and before
that, young Oatlands, and many others besides--"
"Egad," says I, "but I've a great mind to call 'out' the bully myself."
"Pooh!" says Bentley, "the fellow's a past master at either weapon."
"If you will remember, there was a time when I was accounted no mean
performer either, Bentley."
"Pooh!" says Bentley, "leave it to a younger man--myself, for instance."
"Why, there is but a month or two betwixt us," says I.
"Six months and four days," says he in his dogged fashion; "besides," he
went on, argumentatively, "should it come to small-swords, you are a
good six inches shorter in the reach than Raikes; now as for me--"
"You!" says I, "Should it come to pistols you could not help but stop a
bullet with your vast bulk."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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