Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Irish -- England -- Fiction
For the rest of that week there was conference following conference at
the "Pig and Turnip" and elsewhere. My three companions were now as
eager as myself for the advent of the critical Sunday when I, with
Paddy and Jem, were to attempt our visit to Strammers's
flower-gardens. I had no difficulty in persuading the Doctor that his
services would be invaluable at another place; for the memory of the
blunderbuss seemed to linger with him. I had resolved to disguise
myself slightly, for I had no mind to have complications arising from
this gardener's eyes. I think a little disguise is plenty unless one
stalks mysteriously and stops and peers here and there. A little
unostentatious minding of one's own affairs is a good way to remain
undiscovered. Then nobody looks at you and demands: "Who is this
fellow?" My father always said that when he wished to disguise himself
he dressed as a common man, and although this gained him many a hard
knock of the fist and blow of the stick from people who were really
his inferiors, he found his disguise was perfection. However, my
father only disguised when on some secret mission from King Louis, for
it does not become a gentleman to accept a box on the ears from
anybody unless it is in the service of his sovereign.
I remember my father saying also these tours as a common man taught
him he must ever afterward ride carefully through the streets of
villages and towns. He was deeply impressed by the way in which men,
women, and children had to scud for their lives to keep from under the
hoofs of the chargers of these devil-may-care gentlemen who came like
whirlwinds through narrow crowded streets. He himself often had to
scramble for his life, he said.
However, that was many years back, and I did not fear any such
adventures in my prospective expedition. In such a case I would have
trembled for what might happen. I have no such philosophy of temper as
had my father. I might take the heel of a gay cavalier and throw him
out of the saddle, and then there would be a fine uproar. However, I
am quite convinced that it is always best to dodge. A good dodger
seldom gets into trouble in this world, and lives to a green old age,
while the noble patriot and others of his kind die in dungeons. I
remember an honest man who set out to reform the parish in the matter
of drink. They took him and--but, no matter; I must be getting on with
the main tale.
CHAPTER XXVI
On Saturday night I called the lads to my room and gave them their
final instructions.
"Now, you rogues," said I to them, "let there be no drinking this
night, and no trapesing of the streets, getting your heads broke just
at the critical moment; for, as my father used to say, although a
broken head is merrily come by, a clear head's worth two of it when
business is to be transacted. So go to your beds at once, the two of
you, if there's any drinking to be done, troth it's myself that'll
attend to it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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