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Holiday Romance By: Charles Dickens (1812-1870) |
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HOLIDAY ROMANCE IN FOUR PARTS
PART I INTRODUCTORY ROMANCE PROM THE PEN OF WILLIAM TINKLING,
ESQ. (Aged eight.) THIS beginning part is not made out of anybody's head, you know.
It's real. You must believe this beginning part more than what
comes after, else you won't understand how what comes after came to
be written. You must believe it all; but you must believe this
most, please. I am the editor of it. Bob Redforth (he's my
cousin, and shaking the table on purpose) wanted to be the editor
of it; but I said he shouldn't because he couldn't. HE has no idea
of being an editor. Nettie Ashford is my bride. We were married in the right hand
closet in the corner of the dancing school, where first we met,
with a ring (a green one) from Wilkingwater's toy shop. I owed for
it out of my pocket money. When the rapturous ceremony was over,
we all four went up the lane and let off a cannon (brought loaded
in Bob Redforth's waistcoat pocket) to announce our nuptials. It
flew right up when it went off, and turned over. Next day, Lieut.
Col. Robin Redforth was united, with similar ceremonies, to Alice
Rainbird. This time the cannon burst with a most terrific
explosion, and made a puppy bark. My peerless bride was, at the period of which we now treat, in
captivity at Miss Grimmer's. Drowvey and Grimmer is the
partnership, and opinion is divided which is the greatest beast.
The lovely bride of the colonel was also immured in the dungeons of
the same establishment. A vow was entered into, between the
colonel and myself, that we would cut them out on the following
Wednesday when walking two and two. Under the desperate circumstances of the case, the active brain of
the colonel, combining with his lawless pursuit (he is a pirate),
suggested an attack with fireworks. This, however, from motives of
humanity, was abandoned as too expensive. Lightly armed with a paper knife buttoned up under his jacket, and
waving the dreaded black flag at the end of a cane, the colonel
took command of me at two P.M. on the eventful and appointed day.
He had drawn out the plan of attack on a piece of paper, which was
rolled up round a hoop stick. He showed it to me. My position and
my full length portrait (but my real ears don't stick out
horizontal) was behind a corner lamp post, with written orders to
remain there till I should see Miss Drowvey fall. The Drowvey who
was to fall was the one in spectacles, not the one with the large
lavender bonnet. At that signal I was to rush forth, seize my
bride, and fight my way to the lane. There a junction would be
effected between myself and the colonel; and putting our brides
behind us, between ourselves and the palings, we were to conquer or
die. The enemy appeared, approached. Waving his black flag, the
colonel attacked. Confusion ensued. Anxiously I awaited my
signal; but my signal came not. So far from falling, the hated
Drowvey in spectacles appeared to me to have muffled the colonel's
head in his outlawed banner, and to be pitching into him with a
parasol. The one in the lavender bonnet also performed prodigies
of valour with her fists on his back. Seeing that all was for the
moment lost, I fought my desperate way hand to hand to the lane.
Through taking the back road, I was so fortunate as to meet nobody,
and arrived there uninterrupted. It seemed an age ere the colonel joined me. He had been to the
jobbing tailor's to be sewn up in several places, and attributed
our defeat to the refusal of the detested Drowvey to fall. Finding
her so obstinate, he had said to her, 'Die, recreant!' but had
found her no more open to reason on that point than the other. My blooming bride appeared, accompanied by the colonel's bride, at
the dancing school next day. What? Was her face averted from me?
Hah? Even so. With a look of scorn, she put into my hand a bit of
paper, and took another partner... Continue reading book >>
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Literature |
Short stories |
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