The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 3, October, 1894
General
The yellow book, an illustrated quarterly. Vol. 3, October, 1894
English literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Great Britain -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
“Oh, in your fair hands,” replied her client, “which I beg you to
consider respectfully kissed once more by your faithful servant to
command.”
Jeanne, blushing rosily, stepped back a pace, moistening her palms
as she grasped her axe, when a puffing and blowing behind caused her
to turn her head, and she perceived the Mayor hastily ascending the
scaffold.
“Hold on a minute, Jeanne, my girl,” he gasped. “Don’t be in a hurry.
There’s been some little mistake.”
Jeanne drew herself up with dignity. “I’m afraid I don’t quite
understand you, Mr. Mayor,” she replied in freezing accents. “There’s
been no little mistake on my part that I’m aware of.”
“No, no, no,” said the Mayor, apologetically; “but on somebody else’s
there has. You see it happened in this way: this here young fellow was
going round the town last night; and he’d been dining, I should say,
and he was carrying on rather free. I will only say so much in your
presence, that he was carrying on decidedly free. So the town-guard
happened to come across him, and he was very high and very haughty, he
was, and wouldn’t give his name nor yet his address--as a gentleman
should, you know, when he’s been dining and carrying on free. So our
fellows just ran him in--and it took the pick of them all their time
to do it, too. Well, then, the other chap who was in prison--the
gentleman who obliged you yesterday, you know--what does he do but
slip out and run away in the middle of all the row and confusion; and
very inconsiderate and ungentlemanly it was of him to take advantage
of us in that mean way, just when we wanted a little sympathy and
forbearance. Well, the Sheriff comes this morning to fetch out his man
for execution, and he knows there’s only one man to execute, and he
sees there’s only one man in prison, and it all seems as simple as A B
C--he never was much of a mathematician, you know--so he fetches our
friend here along, quite gaily. And--and that’s how it came about, you
see; _hinc illæ lachrymæ_, as the Roman poet has it. So now I shall
just give this young fellow a good talking to, and discharge him with a
caution; and we shan’t require you any more to-day, Jeanne, my girl.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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