Japhet in Search of a Father by Frederick Marryat

Japhet in Search of a Father by Frederick Marryat

Author:Frederick Marryat [Marryat, Frederick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Runaway teenagers -- Fiction
Published: 2008-01-30T16:00:00+00:00


* * *

Part 2—Chapter XVIII.

I affront an Irish Gentleman and make a handsome Apology, which is accepted.

Before I had gained my own room, I informed Mr Cophagus, who had just returned from a visit to his maiden aunt’s house, of what had passed.

“Can’t see anything in it, Japhet—wild-goose chase—who told you?—oh! Pleggit’s men—sad liars—De Benyon not name, depend upon it—all stuff, and so on.”

And when I reflected, I could but acknowledge that the worthy apothecary might be right, and that I was running after shadows; but this was only in my occasional fits of despondency: I soon rallied, and was as sanguine as ever. Undecided how to proceed, and annoyed by what Cophagus had said, I quitted the hotel, to walk out in no very good humour. As I went out, I perceived the agent McDermott speaking to the people in the bar, and the sight of him reminded me of what, for a moment, I had forgotten, which was, to ascertain whether Melchior and Sir Henry de Clare were one and the same person. As I passed a crossing, a man in tattered habiliments, who was sweeping it, asked for alms, but being in no very charitable humour, I walked on. He followed me, pestering me so much, that I gave him a tap with the cane in my hand, saying to him, “Be off, you scoundrel.”

“Oh! very well. Be off, is it you mane? By the blood of the O’Rourkes but you’ll answer for that same, anyhow.”

I passed on, and having perambulated the city of Dublin for some time, returned to the hotel. A few minutes afterwards, I was told by the waiter that a Mr O’Donaghan wished to speak to me. “I have not the honour of his acquaintance,” replied I, “but you may show him up.”

Mr O’Donaghan entered, a tall, thick-whiskered personage, in a shabby-genteel dress, evidently not made for him, a pair of white cotton gloves, and a small stick. “I believe that I have the honour of spaking to the gentleman who crossed over the street about two hours ago?”

“Upon my word, sir,” replied I, “that is so uncertain a definition that I can hardly pretend to say whether I am the person you mean; indeed, from not having the pleasure of anyone’s acquaintance in Dublin, I rather think there must be some mistake.”

“The devil a bit of a mistake, at all at all; for there’s the little bit of a cane with which you paid my friend, Mr O’Rourke, the compliment over his shoulders.”

“I really am quite mystified, sir, and do not understand you; will you favour me with an explanation?”

“With all the pleasure in life, for then we shall come to a right understanding. You were crossing the street, and a gentleman, a particular friend of mine, with a broom which he carries for his own amusement, did himself the honour to address you, whereupon, of that same little stick of yours, you did him the honour to give him a slight taste.



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