Japhet, In Search Of A Father Part 1 by Frederick Marryat (read people like a book .TXT) 📕

He,  As His Adversary Reeled Back; "Take That,  And Be D----D To

You,  For Running Against A _Gentleman_."

 

He Of The Rubicund Hair Had Retreated,  Because So Violent Was The Blow

He Could Not Help So Doing,  And We All Must Yield To Fate. But It Was

Not From Fear. Seizing A Vile Potation That Was Labelled "To Be Taken

Immediately," And Hurling It With Demoniacal Force Right On The Chops Of

The Courageous Timothy,  "Take That!" Cried He,  With A Rancorous Yell.

This Missile,  Well Directed As The Spears Of Homer'S Heroes,  Came Full

Upon The Bridge Of Timothy'S Nose,  And The Fragile Glass Shivering,

Inflicted Divers Wounds Upon His Physiognomy,  And At The Same Time

Poured Forth A Dark Burnt-Sienna Coloured Balsam,  To Heal Them,  Giving

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Pain Unutterable. Timothy,  Disdaining To Lament The Agony Of His Wounds,

Followed The Example Of His Antagonist,  And Hastily Seizing A Similar

Bottle Of Much Larger Dimensions,  Threw It With Such Force That It Split

Between The Eyes Of His Opponent. Thus With These Dreadful Weapons Did

They Commence The Mortal Strife.

 

The Lovers Of _Good Order_,  Or At Least Of Fair Play,  Gathered Round The

Combatants,  Forming An Almost Impregnable Ring,  Yet Of Sufficient

Dimensions To Avoid The Missiles. _"Go It,  Red-Head!" "Bravo! White

Apron!"_ Resounded On Every Side. Draughts Now Met Draughts In Their

Passage Through The Circumambient Air,  And Exploded Like Shells Over A

Besieged Town. Bolusses Were Fired With The Precision Of Cannon Shot,

Pill-Boxes Were Thrown With Such Force That They Burst Like Grape And

Canister,  While Acids And Alkalies Hissed,  As They Neutralised Each

Other'S Power,  With All The Venom Of Expiring Snakes,  "Bravo! White

Apron!" "Red-Head For Ever!" Resounded On Every Side As The Conflict

Continued With Unabated Vigour. The Ammunition Was Fast Expending On

Both Sides,  When Mr Ebenezer Pleggit,  Hearing The Noise,  And Perhaps

Smelling His Own Drugs,  Was So Unfortunately Rash And So Unwisely

Foolhardy,  As To Break Through The Sacred Ring,  Advancing From Behind

With Uplifted Cane To Fell The Redoubtable Timothy,  When A Mixture Of

His Own,  Hurled By His Own Red-Haired Champion,  Caught Him In His Open

Mouth,  Breaking Against His Only Two Remaining Front Teeth,  Extracting

Them As The Discharged Liquid Ran Down His Throat,  And Turning Him As

Sick As A Dog. He Fell,  Was Taken Away On A Shutter,  And It Was Some

Days Before He Was Again To Be Seen In His Shop,  Dispensing Those

Medicines Which,  On This Fatal Occasion,  He Would But Too Gladly Have

Dispensed With.

 

Reader,  Have You Not Elsewhere Read In The Mortal Fray Between Knights,

When The Casque Has Been Beaten Off,  The Shield Lost,  And The Sword

Shivered,  How They Have Resorted To Closer And More Deadly Strife With

Their Daggers Raised On High? Thus It Was With Timothy: His Means Had

Failed,  And Disdaining Any Longer To Wage A Distant Combat,  He Closed

Vigorously With His Panting Enemy,  Overthrew Him In The First Struggle,

Seizing From His Basket The Only Weapons Which Remained,  One Single

Vial,  And One Single Box Of Pills. As He Sat Upon His Prostrate Foe,

First He Forced The Box Of Pills Into His Gasping Mouth,  And Then With

The Lower End Of The Vial He Drove It Down His Throat,  As A Gunner Rams

Home The Wad And Shot Into A Thirty-Two Pound Carronade. Choked With The

Box,  The Fallen Knight Held Up His Hands For Quarter; But Timothy

Continued Until The End Of The Vial Breaking Out The Top And Bottom Of

The Pasteboard Receptacle,  Forty-And-Eight Of Antibilious Pills Rolled

In Haste Down Red-Head'S Throat. Timothy Then Seized His Basket,  And

Amid The Shouts Of Triumph,  Walked Away. His Fallen-Crested Adversary

Coughed Up The Remnants Of The Pasteboard,  Once More Breathed,  And Was

Led Disconsolate To The Neighbouring Pump; While Timothy Regained Our

Shop With His Blushing Honours Thick Upon Him.

 

But I Must Drop The Vein Heroical. Mr Cophagus,  Who Was At Home When

Timothy Returned,  Was At First Very Much Inclined To Be Wroth At The

Loss Of So Much Medicine; But When He Heard The Story,  And The Finale,

He Was So Pleased At Tim'S Double Victory Over Mr Pleggit And His

Messenger,  That He Actually Put His Hand In His Pocket,  And Pulled Out

Half-A-Crown.

 

Mr Pleggit,  On The Contrary,  Was Any Thing But Pleased; He Went To A

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Lawyer,  And Commenced An Action For Assault And Battery,  And All The

Neighbourhood Did Nothing But Talk About The Affray Which Had Taken

Place,  And The Action At Law Which It Was Said Would Take Place In The

Ensuing Term.

 

But With The Exception Of This Fracas,  Which Ended In The Action Not

Holding Good,  Whereby The Animosity Was Increased,  I Have Little To

Recount During The Remainder Of The Time I Served Under Mr Cophagus. I

Had Been More Than Three Years With Him When My Confinement Became

Insupportable. I Had But One Idea,  Which Performed An Everlasting Cycle

In My Brain--Who Was My Father? And I Should Have Abandoned The

Profession To Search The World In The Hope Of Finding My Progenitor,  Had

It Not Been That I Was Without The Means. Latterly,  I Had Hoarded Up All

I Could Collect; But The Sum Was Small,  Much Too Small For The Proposed

Expedition. I Became Melancholy,  Indifferent To The Business,  And

Slovenly In My Appearance,  When A Circumstance Occurred Which Put An End

To My Further Dispensing Medicines,  And Left Me A Free Agent.

 

 

 

 

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     Looking Out For Business Not Exactly Minding Your Own Business--The

     Loss Of The Scales Occasions The Loss Of Place To Timothy And Me,

     Who When Weighed In Other Scales Were Found Wanting--We Bundle Off

     With Our Bundles On.

 

 

 

 

It Happened One Market-Day That There Was An Overdriven,  Infuriated

Beast,  Which Was Making Sad Havoc. Crowds Of People Were Running Past

Our Shop In One Direction,  And The Cries Of "Mad Bull!" Were Re-Echoed

In Every Quarter. Mr Cophagus,  Who Was In The Shop,  And To Whom,  As I

Have Before Observed,  A Mad Bull Was A Source Of Great Profit,  Very

Naturally Looked Out Of The Shop To Ascertain Whether The Animal Was

Near To Us. In Most Other Countries,  When People Hear Of Any Danger,

They Generally Avoid It By Increasing Their Distance; But In england,  It

Is Too Often The Case,  That They Are So Fond Of Indulging Their

Curiosity,  That They Run To The Danger. Mr Cophagus,  Who Perceived The

People Running One Way,  Naturally Supposed,  Not Being Aware Of The

Extreme Proximity Of The Animal,  That The People Were Running To See

What Was The Matter,  And Turned His Eyes In That Direction,  Walking Out

On The Pavement That He Might Have A Fairer View. He Was Just Observing,

"Can'T Say--Fear--Um--Rascal Pleggit--Close To Him--Get All The

Custom--Wounds--Contusions--And"--When The Animal Came Suddenly Round

The Corner Upon Mr Cophagus,  Who Had His Eyes The Other Way,  And Before

He Could Escape,  Tossed Him Through His Own Shop Windows,  And Landed Him

On The Counter. Not Satisfied With This,  The Beast Followed Him Into The

Shop. Timothy And I Pulled Mr Cophagus Over Towards Us,  And He Dropped

Inside The Counter,  Where We Also Crouched,  Frightened Out Of Our Wits.

To Our Great Horror The Bull Made One Or Two Attempts To Leap The

Counter; But Not Succeeding,  And Being Now Attacked By The Dogs And

Butcher Boys,  He Charged At Them Through The Door,  Carrying Away Our

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Best Scales On His Horns As A Trophy,  As He Galloped Out Of The Shop In

Pursuit Of His Persecutors. When The Shouts And Hallooes Were At Some

Little Distance,  Timothy And I Raised Our Heads And Looked Round Us; And

Perceiving That All Was Safe,  We Proceeded To Help Mr Cophagus,  Who

Remained On The Floor Bleeding,  And In a State Of Insensibility. We

Carried Him Into The Back Parlour And Laid Him On The Sofa. I Desired

Timothy To Run For Surgical Aid As Fast As He Could,  While I Opened A

Vein; And In a Few Minutes He Returned With Our Opponent,  Mr Ebenezer

Pleggit. We Stripped Mr Cophagus,  And Proceeded To Examine Him. "Bad

Case This--Very Bad Case Indeed,  Mr Newland--Dislocation Of The Os

Humeri--Severe Contusion On The Os Frontis--And I'M Very Much Afraid

There Is Some Intercostal Injury. Very Sorry,  Very Sorry,  Indeed,  For My

Brother Cophagus." But Mr Pleggit Did Not Appear To Be Sorry; On The

Contrary,  He Appeared To Perform His Surgical Duties With The Greatest

Glee.

 

We Reduced The Dislocation,  And Then Carried Mr Cophagus Up To His Bed.

In An Hour He Was Sensible,  And Mr Pleggit Took His Departure,  Shaking

Hands With Mr Cophagus,  And Wishing Him Joy Of His Providential Escape.

 

"Bad Job,  Japhet," Said Mr Cophagus To Me.

 

"Very Bad Indeed,  Sir; But It Might Have Been Worse."

 

"Worse--Um--No,  Nothing Worse--Not Possible."

 

"Why,  Sir,  You Might Have Been Killed."

 

"Pooh!--Didn'T Mean That--Mean Pleggit--Rascal--Um--Kill Me If He

Can--Sha'N'T Though--Soon Get Rid Of Him--And So On."

 

"You Will Not Require His Further Attendance Now That Your Shoulder Is

Reduced. I Can Very Well Attend Upon You."

 

"Very True,  Japhet;--But Won'T Go--Sure Of That--Damned Rascal--Quite

Pleased--I Saw It--Um--Eyes Twinkled--Smile Checked--And So On."

 

That Evening Mr Pleggit Called In as Mr Cophagus Said That He Would,

And The Latter Showed A Great Deal Of Impatience; But Mr Pleggit

Repeated His Visits Over And Over Again,  And I Observed That Mr Cophagus

No Longer Made Any Objection; On The Contrary,  Seemed Anxious For His

Coming,  And Still More So,  After He Was Convalescent,  And Able To Sit At

His Table. But The Mystery Was Soon Divulged. It Appeared That Mr

Cophagus,  Although He