What Will He Do with It? — Volume 03Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
What Will He Do with It? — Volume 03
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
"Suffered, but I liked it. And, besides, I must have done something; and
there were reasons--in short, I was quite happy; no, not actually happy,
but comfortable and merry. Providence gives thick hides to animals that
must exist in cold climates; and to the man whom it reserves for sorrow,
Providence gives a coarse, jovial temper. Then, when by a mercy I was
saved from what I most disliked and dreaded, and never would have thought
of but that I fancied it might be a help to you,--I mean the London
stage,--and had that bad accident on the railway, how did it end? Oh!
in saving you" (and Waife closed his eyes and shuddered), "in saving your
destiny from what might be much worse for you, body and soul, than the
worst that has happened to you with me. And so we have been thrown
together; and so you have supported me; and so, when we could exist
without Mr. Rugge, Providence got rid of him for us. And so we are now
walking along the high road; and through yonder trees you can catch a
peep of the roof under which we are about to rest for a while; and there
you will learn what I have done with the Three Pounds!"
"It is not the Spotted Boy, Grandy?"
"No," said Waife, sighing; "the Spotted Boy is a handsome income; but let
us only trust in Providence, and I should not wonder if our new
acquisition proved a monstrous--"
"Monstrous!"
"Piece of good fortune."
CHAPTER II.
The investment revealed.
Gentleman Waife passed through a turnstile, down a narrow lane, and
reached a solitary cottage. He knocked at the door; an old peasant woman
opened it, and dropped him a civil courtesy. "Indeed, sir, I am glad you
are come. I 'se most afeared he be dead."
"Dead!" exclaimed Waife. "Oh, Sophy, if he should be dead!"
"Who?"
Waife did not heed the question. "What makes you think him dead?" said
he, fumbling in his pockets, from which he at last produced a key. "You
have not been disobeying my strict orders, and tampering with the door?"
"Lor' love ye, no, sir. But he made such a noise at fust--awful! And
now he's as still as a corpse. And I did peep through the keyhole, and
he was stretched stark."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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