Why did Mr. Cheeseman now think nothing of as
much as three spots on his white linen apron, even in the first half of
the week? Why was he seldom at John Prater's now, and silent in a corner
even when he did appear? What was become of the ruddy polish, like that
of a Winter Redstrake, on his cheeks, which made a man long for a slice
of his ham? Why, the only joke he had made for the last three months was
a terrible one at his own expense. He had rushed down the street about
ten o'clock one morning, at a pace quite insane for a middle-aged man,
with no hat on his head and no coat on his back, but the strings of
his apron dashed wild on the breeze, and his biggest ham-carver making
flashes in his hand. It was thought that some boy must have run off with
a penny, or some visitor changed a bad shilling; but no, there was no
such good reason to give for it.
The yearning of all ages, especially dotage, is for a relapse to the
infantile state when all playthings were held in common. And this wisest
of all places (in its own opinion) had a certain eccentric inclination
towards the poetic perfection when it will be impossible to steal,
because there will be nothing left worth stealing. Still everybody
here stuck to his own rights, and would knock down anybody across them,
though finding it very nice to talk as if others could have no such
standing-point. Moreover, they had sufficient common-sense to begin with
the right end foremost, and to take a tender interest in one another's
goods, moveable, handy, and divisible; instead of hungering after hungry
land, which feeds nobody, until itself well fed and tended, and is as
useless without a master as a donkey or a man is.
Pages:
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240