A Woman-Hater [28]
must be drawn by an imaginary ship-owner or a visionary merchant, and indorsed by at least one shadow, and a man of straw.
The man of straw sat down to inscribe self and shadows, and became a dishonest writer of fiction; for the art he now commenced appears to fall short of forgery proper, but to be still more distinct from justifiable fiction. The ingenious Mr. De Foe's certificate by an aeial justice of the peace to the truth of his ghostly narrative comes nearest to it, in my poor reading.
Qualms he had, but not deep. If the bills were drawn by Imagination, accepted by Fancy, and indorsed by Impudence, what did it matter to Ned Straw, since his system would enable him to redeem them at maturity? His only real concern was to conceal their recent origin. So he wrote them with a broad-nibbed pen, that they might be the blacker, and set them to dry in the sun.
He then proceeded to a change of toilet.
While thus employed, there was a sharp tap at his door and Vizard's voice outside. Severne started with terror, snapped up the three bills with the dexterity of a conjurer--the handle turned--he shoved them into a drawer--Vizard came in--he shut the drawer, and panted.
Vizard had followed the custom of Oxonians among themselves, which is to knock, and then come in, unless forbidden.
"Come," said he, cheerfully, "those bills. I'm in a hurry to cash them now, and end the only difference we have ever had, old fellow."
The blood left Severne's cheek and lips for a moment, and he thought swiftly and hard. The blood returned, along with his ready wit. "How good you are!" said he; "but no. It is Sunday."
"Sunday!" ejaculated Vizard. "What is that to you, a fellow who has been years abroad?"
"I can't help it," said Severne, apologetically. "I am superstitious--don't like to do business on a Sunday. I would not even shunt at the tables on a Sunday--I don't think."
"Ah, you are not quite sure of that. There _is_ a limit to your superstition! Well, will you listen to a story on a Sunday?"
"Rather!"
"Then, once on a time there was a Scotch farmer who had a bonny cow; and another farmer coveted her honestly. One Sunday they went home together from kirk and there was the cow grazing. Farmer Two stopped, eyed her, and said to Farmer One, 'Gien it were Monday, as it is the Sabba' day, what would ye tak' for your coow?' The other said the price would be nine pounds, _if it were Monday._ And so they kept the Sabbath; and the cow changed hands, though, to the naked eye, she grazed on _in situ._ Our negotiation is just as complete. So what does it matter whether the actual exchange of bills and cash takes place to-day or to-morrow?"
"Do you really mean to say it does not matter to you?" asked Severne.
"Not one straw."
"Then, as it does not matter to you, and does to me, give me my foolish way, like a dear good fellow."
"Now, that is smart," said Vizard--"very smart;" then, with a look of parental admiration, "he gets his own way in everything. He _will_ have your money--he _won't_ have your money. I wonder whether he _will_ consent to walk those girls out, and disburden me of their too profitable discourse."
"That I will, with pleasure."
"Well, they are at luncheon--with their bonnets on."
"I will join them in five minutes."
After luncheon, Miss Vizard, Miss Dover, and Mr. Severne started for a stroll.
Miss Maitland suggested that Vizard should accompany them.
"Couldn't think of deserting you," said he dryly.
The young ladies giggled, because these two rarely opened their mouths to agree, one being a professed woman-hater, and the other a man-hater, in words.
Says Misander, in a sourish way, "Since you value my conversation so, perhaps you will be good enough not to smoke for the next ten minutes."
Misogyn consented, but sighed. That sigh went unpitied, and the lady wasted no time.
"Do you see what is going on between your sister and that young man?"
"Yes; a little flirtation."
"A great deal more than that. I caught them, in this very room, making love."
The man of straw sat down to inscribe self and shadows, and became a dishonest writer of fiction; for the art he now commenced appears to fall short of forgery proper, but to be still more distinct from justifiable fiction. The ingenious Mr. De Foe's certificate by an aeial justice of the peace to the truth of his ghostly narrative comes nearest to it, in my poor reading.
Qualms he had, but not deep. If the bills were drawn by Imagination, accepted by Fancy, and indorsed by Impudence, what did it matter to Ned Straw, since his system would enable him to redeem them at maturity? His only real concern was to conceal their recent origin. So he wrote them with a broad-nibbed pen, that they might be the blacker, and set them to dry in the sun.
He then proceeded to a change of toilet.
While thus employed, there was a sharp tap at his door and Vizard's voice outside. Severne started with terror, snapped up the three bills with the dexterity of a conjurer--the handle turned--he shoved them into a drawer--Vizard came in--he shut the drawer, and panted.
Vizard had followed the custom of Oxonians among themselves, which is to knock, and then come in, unless forbidden.
"Come," said he, cheerfully, "those bills. I'm in a hurry to cash them now, and end the only difference we have ever had, old fellow."
The blood left Severne's cheek and lips for a moment, and he thought swiftly and hard. The blood returned, along with his ready wit. "How good you are!" said he; "but no. It is Sunday."
"Sunday!" ejaculated Vizard. "What is that to you, a fellow who has been years abroad?"
"I can't help it," said Severne, apologetically. "I am superstitious--don't like to do business on a Sunday. I would not even shunt at the tables on a Sunday--I don't think."
"Ah, you are not quite sure of that. There _is_ a limit to your superstition! Well, will you listen to a story on a Sunday?"
"Rather!"
"Then, once on a time there was a Scotch farmer who had a bonny cow; and another farmer coveted her honestly. One Sunday they went home together from kirk and there was the cow grazing. Farmer Two stopped, eyed her, and said to Farmer One, 'Gien it were Monday, as it is the Sabba' day, what would ye tak' for your coow?' The other said the price would be nine pounds, _if it were Monday._ And so they kept the Sabbath; and the cow changed hands, though, to the naked eye, she grazed on _in situ._ Our negotiation is just as complete. So what does it matter whether the actual exchange of bills and cash takes place to-day or to-morrow?"
"Do you really mean to say it does not matter to you?" asked Severne.
"Not one straw."
"Then, as it does not matter to you, and does to me, give me my foolish way, like a dear good fellow."
"Now, that is smart," said Vizard--"very smart;" then, with a look of parental admiration, "he gets his own way in everything. He _will_ have your money--he _won't_ have your money. I wonder whether he _will_ consent to walk those girls out, and disburden me of their too profitable discourse."
"That I will, with pleasure."
"Well, they are at luncheon--with their bonnets on."
"I will join them in five minutes."
After luncheon, Miss Vizard, Miss Dover, and Mr. Severne started for a stroll.
Miss Maitland suggested that Vizard should accompany them.
"Couldn't think of deserting you," said he dryly.
The young ladies giggled, because these two rarely opened their mouths to agree, one being a professed woman-hater, and the other a man-hater, in words.
Says Misander, in a sourish way, "Since you value my conversation so, perhaps you will be good enough not to smoke for the next ten minutes."
Misogyn consented, but sighed. That sigh went unpitied, and the lady wasted no time.
"Do you see what is going on between your sister and that young man?"
"Yes; a little flirtation."
"A great deal more than that. I caught them, in this very room, making love."