Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
Therefore we both regarded him in silence, and strove to maintain a
demeanour of the coldest disdain. It was not very easy, to be sure, in
that posture, with jeers and humiliation besetting us on every side.
Yet we persevered in it so well that presently it did not fail in its
effect. For our persecutor was such a poltroon at heart that although
we were secured and quite at his mercy, he no sooner observed that we
scorned him, than the torrent of his eloquence grew sensibly less. So
long as we were humble and appeared to shrink and tremble before him,
his rage knew no bounds. But the moment we called in a little disdain
to our aid, he grew less certain of himself, and was so baffled and
held in check by it, that at last he bethought himself that he would
best serve his dignity by taking himself off. His parasite the beadle
went with him, but a considerable number of the yokels stayed to keep
us company. Their disposition was to make sport of our misfortune.
But how true is that old saw--so the master, so the man.
For with a good deal of difficulty, as you may guess, we managed to
preserve an appearance of mighty dignified unconcern, however far we
might be from feeling it, and contrived to converse one with another in
a perfectly natural and amiable manner, for all the world as though we
were not sitting in the stocks at all, but in the village alehouse. In
the face of such a fine contempt the spectators were just as much at a
loss as ever the squire had been. They were there to bully and bait
us, but under our unwavering eyes had not the courage to do so. Indeed
it seemed to involve such a degree of initiative on their part to kick
two persons who after all were not thoroughly and effectually knocked
down, that one by one they followed the example of the squire and slunk
away.
When the best part of these idle and mischievous persons had departed,
and our admirers were diminished to about a score of the village
urchins who were not to be so easily daunted, says I to my little
companion, who to be sure had been wonderfully steadfast through all
our misfortunes:
"I think, your ladyship, we shall best forget the distresses of our
present situation by arrogating to ourselves the grandeur of our former
state. How was the dear queen when you saw her last? Had she quite
recovered of her whooping-cough?"
"Oh yes, I thank your lordship," says Cynthia glibly. "But surely your
lordship was at the levée last Tuesday month?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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