Booksellers and bookselling -- Fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Poets -- Fiction
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dodson, opening at a leisure which conferred an
adventitious weight upon an utterance which stood not in the least need
of it; “well, sir, it is not my intention to enter into petty details
nor into the minutiæ and fine points of scholarship. I think, sir,
those can be resigned with every propriety into more competent hands.
But what I would like to do, sir, with your kind indulgence, is to
view this work as a whole. I do not know, sir, that I have any special
claim to do this, but I would like to say just in what manner your--ah,
achievement strikes me----”
“Pray proceed, Mr. Dodson, pray proceed,” said Mr. Octavius Crumpett,
as Mr. M. A. Dodson inserted one of those masterful pauses in his
oratory which in after days were likely to stand him in such good stead
in both houses of parliament, and on political platforms in the United
Kingdom far too numerous to mention.
“My survey of your achievement as a whole, sir,” Mr. M. A. Dodson
continued at a forensically magnificent leisure, “can be summed up in
one word. That word is the word _consummate_. To my mind, sir, the
word consummate alone envisages in any adequate sense that which you
have achieved. I say, sir, I do not propose to go into fine points of
scholarship, which even under the most favourable auspices are apt to
be vexed and over-nice. I speak merely as an amateur, sir, as a humble,
but ardent lover of letters. And in that capacity, sir, and in no
other, as I hope, sir, you will please understand, I have been unable
to refrain from underlining certain passages of your--ah, rendering
which to my mind are in-comparably fe-lic-i-tous.”
Mr. M. A. Dodson paused to take from his pocket a slip of paper on
which was set forth a collocation of mystic numerals. Mr. Octavius
Crumpett lay back in his revolving chair with closed eyes, and with his
hands folded over that portion of his being that was embellished by his
waistcoat of immaculate whiteness; and he seemed to vibrate internally
with that large content which it is only given to the good and great to
feel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account