What Will He Do with It? — CompleteLytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
What Will He Do with It? — Complete
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
Meanwhile the Comedian had made himself and Sir Isaac extremely
comfortable. No unabstemious man by habit was Gentleman Waife. He could
dine on a crust, and season it with mirth; and as for exciting drinks,
there was a childlike innocence in his humour never known to a brain
that has been washed in alcohol. But on this special occasion, Waife’s
heart was made so bounteous by the novel sense of prosperity that it
compelled him to treat himself. He did honour to the grilled chicken to
which he had vainly tempted Sophy. He ordered half a pint of port to be
mulled into negus. He helped himself with a bow, as if himself were a
guest, and nodded each time he took off his glass, as much as to say,
“Your health, Mr. Waife!” He even offered a glass of the exhilarating
draught to Sir Isaac, who, exceedingly offended, retreated under the
sofa, whence he peered forth through his deciduous ringlets, with brows
knit in grave rebuke. Nor was it without deliberate caution--a whisker
first, and then a paw--that he emerged from his retreat, when a plate
heaped with the remains of the feast was placed upon the hearth-rug.
The supper over, and the attendant gone, the negus still left, Waife
lighted his pipe, and, gazing on Sir Isaac, thus addressed that canine
philosopher: “Illustrious member of the Quadrupedal Society of Friends
to Man, and, as possessing those abilities for practical life which
but few friends to man ever display in his service, promoted to high
rank--Commissary-General of the Victualling Department, and Chancellor
of the Exchequer--I have the honour to inform you that a vote of
thanks in your favour has been proposed in this house, and carried
unanimously.” Sir Isaac, looking shy, gave another lick to the plate,
and wagged his tail. “It is true that thou wert once (shall I say
it?) in fault at ‘Beauty and Worth,’--thy memory deserted thee; thy
peroration was on the verge of a breakdown; but ‘Nemo mortalium omnibus
horis sapit, I as the Latin grammar philosophically expresseth
it. Mortals the wisest, not only on two legs but even upon four,
occasionally stumble. The greatest general, statesman, sage, is not he
who commits no blunder, but he who best repairs a blunder and converts
it to success. This was thy merit and distinction! It hath never been
mine! I recognize thy superior genius. I place in thee unqualified
confidence; and consigning thee to the arms of Morpheus, since I see
that panegyric acts on thy nervous system as a salubrious soporific, I
now move that this House do resolve itself into a Committee of Ways and
Means for the Consideration of the Budget!”
Therewith, while Sir Isaac fell into a profound sleep the Comedian
deliberately emptied his pockets on the table; and arranging gold and
silver before him, thrice carefully counted the total, and then divided
it into sundry small heaps.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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