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'Say, brandy. 'Does not Mr. Durance accuse you of an addiction to the brandy novel? 'Colney may call it what he pleases. If I read fiction, let it be fiction; airier than hard fact. If I see a ballet, my troop of short skirts must not go stepping like pavement policemen. I can't read dull analytical stuff or "stylists" when I want action if I'm to give my mind to a story.
'Sounds like old Colney, Victor remarked to himself. 'But, believe me, I'm ashamed of the number of servants who wait on me. It wouldn't so much matter, as Skepsey says, if they were trained to arms and self-respect. That little fellow Skepsey's closer to the right notion, and the right practice, too, than any of us. With his Matilda Pridden!
'Good, but when do we reach your level? 'Sir, I do not say more than that we do not want instruction from foreigners. 'Pupil to paedagogue indeed. You have the wreath in Music, in Jurisprudence, Chemistry, Scholarship, Beer, Arms, Manners. Dr. Schlesien puffed a tempest of tobacco and strode. 'He is chiselling for wit in the Teutonic block, Colney said, falling back to Fenellan.
"I've just been informed on respectable authority, that Walt Whitman is the new Socrates," he said laughingly. "I felt rather stunned at the moment but I've got over it now. Oh, this deliciously mad London! what a gigantic Colney Hatch it is for the crazed folk of the world to air their follies in!
The greatness of his enterprise laid such hold of him that the smallest of obstacles had a villanous aspect; and when, as anticipated, Colney and Fenellan were sultry flies for whomsoever they could fret, he was blind to the reading of absurdities which caused Fredi's eyes to stream and Lady Grace beside him to stand awhile and laugh out her fit.
'Sir, I do not say more than that we do not want instruction from foreigners. 'Pupil to paedagogue indeed. You have the wreath in Music, in Jurisprudence, Chemistry, Scholarship, Beer, Arms, Manners. Dr. Schlesien puffed a tempest of tobacco and strode. 'He is chiselling for wit in the Teutonic block, Colney said, falling back to Fenellan.
Colney had to be overcome afresh, and he fled, but managed, with two or three of his bitter phrases, to make a cuttle-fish fight of it, that oppressively shadowed his vanquisher: The Daniel Lambert of Cities: the Female Annuitant of Nations: and such like, wretched stuff, proper to Colney Durance, easily dispersed and out- laughed when we have our vigour.
'It appears to me, you're on the road of Priscilla Graves and Pempton, observed Simeon. 'Strike off Priscilla's viands and friend Pempton's couple of glasses, and there's your aristocracy established; but with rather a dispersed recognition of itself. 'Upon my word, you talk like old Colney, except for a twang of your own, said Victor. 'Colney sours at every fresh number of that Serial.
My hero called my heroine "little woman," and the concluding passage where he kissed her was written in a sly, roguish vein, for which I suppose I shall have to atone in the next world. Only the editor of the Colney Hatch Argus could have accepted work like mine. Yet I toiled on.
'But, my good sir! you quote me your English Latin. I must beg of you you write it down. It is orally incomprehensible to Continentals. 'We are Islanders! Colney shrugged in languishment. 'Oh, you do great things . . . Dr. Schlesien rejoined in kindness, making his voice a musical intimation of the smallness of the things. 'We build great houses, to employ our bricks'
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