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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England"

It was plain it would have to be talked over in
all the inn-kitchens for thirty miles about, and likely for six
months to come. It only remained for me, therefore, to settle on
that gratuity which should be least conspicuous--so large that
nobody could grumble, so small that nobody would be tempted to
boast. My decision was hastily and nor wisely taken. The one
fellow spat on his tip (so he called it) for luck; the other
developing a sudden streak of piety, prayed God bless me with
fervour. It seemed a demonstration was brewing, and I determined
to be off at once. Bidding my own post-boy and Rowley be in
readiness for an immediate start, I reascended the terrace and
presented myself, hat in hand, before Mr. Greensleeves and the
archdeacon.
'You will excuse me, I trust,' said I. 'I think shame to interrupt
this agreeable scene of family effusion, which I have been
privileged in some small degree to bring about.'
And at these words the storm broke.
'Small degree! small degree, sir!' cries the father; 'that shall
not pass, Mr. St. Eaves! If I've got my darling back, and none the
worse for that vagabone rascal, I know whom I have to thank. Shake
hands with me--up to the elbows, sir! A Frenchman you may be, but
you're one of the right breed, by God! And, by God, sir, you may
have anything you care to ask of me, down to Dolly's hand, by God!'
All this he roared out in a voice surprisingly powerful from so
small a person.


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