Prev | Current Page 398 | Next

Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

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

My dear sir, a hair of the
dog that bit you is clearly indicated. A touch of Blue Ruin, now?
Or, come: it's early, but is man the slave of hours? what do you
say to a chop and a bottle in Dumbreck's Hotel?'
I refused all false comfort; but when he went on to remind me that
this was the day when the University of Cramond met; and to propose
a five-mile walk into the country and a dinner in the company of
young asses like himself, I began to think otherwise. I had to
wait until to-morrow evening, at any rate; this might serve as well
as anything else to bridge the dreary hours. The country was the
very place for me: and walking is an excellent sedative for the
nerves. Remembering poor Rowley, feigning a cold in our lodgings
and immediately under the guns of the formidable and now doubtful
Bethiah, I asked if I might bring my servant. 'Poor devil! it is
dull for him,' I explained.
'The merciful man is merciful to his ass,' observed my sententious
friend. 'Bring him by all means!

"The harp, his sole remaining joy,
Was carried by an orphan boy;"

and I have no doubt the orphan boy can get some cold victuals in
the kitchen, while the Senatus dines.'
Accordingly, being now quite recovered from my unmanly condition,
except that nothing could yet induce me to cross the North Bridge,
I arranged for my ball dress at a shop in Leith Street, where I was
not served ill, cut out Rowley from his seclusion, and was ready
along with him at the trysting-place, the corner of Duke Street and
York Place, by a little after two.


Pages:
386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410
sprawdz strone system wymiany linkow 906 brak hosta niezarejestrowana strona