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A few of them had heard of Old Man Curry, a queer, harmless individual who owned bad horses and raced them on worse tracks. A hasty survey of turf guides brought the horse Pharaoh to unfavourable light as a nonwinner in cheap company, and in no sense to be considered as a competitor in the second greatest of Western turf classics.
Miss Huddle was the first to rally; she disliked thunderbolts as fervently as her brother did, but the womanly instinct in her told her that thunderbolts must be fed. "We can curry the cold duck," she said. It was not the appointed day for curry, but the little orange envelope involved a certain departure from rule and custom. Her brother said nothing, but his eyes thanked her for being brave.
Strange to say, however, the ladies were constantly found wanting in one or other of these matters. There was always a wrong flavour somewhere, either in the curry, or the church opinions, or the reading aloud, and perhaps this result was partly caused by the close observation of Mrs Fotheringham and the parrot, who seemed to lie in wait for all shortcomings with cold and critical glances.
Solomon was the smartest man that ever lived, I reckon, and there was a lot of things he never figured out. I reckon now, if he'd been in this business " "Good-bye, Mr. Curry," said the presiding judge, "and good luck!" The Bald-faced Kid might see miracles with his eyes, but there was that about him which demanded explanation.
It was on one of these journeys that a little lad, named Christian David, the son of one of the converts, was attending him one evening, when, halting at a native village, the supper was brought, of rice and curry. The Padre made so long a grace out of the fulness of his heart, that at last the boy broke in with a murmur that the curry would be cold!
A few days later Old Man Curry, sunning himself in the paddock, caught sight of the Kid. That engaging youth had a victim pinned in a corner and, programme in hand, was pointing the way to prosperity. "Now, listen," he was saying; "you ain't taking a chance when you bet on this bird to-day. Didn't I tell you that the boy that rides him is my cousin? And ain't the owner my pal?
But our ingenious professor of Jena dispenses with both the hare and the curry, in serving up his pabulum to the "protamoebA|." The improvident pabulum "evolves" its own eaters, and then, spider-like, is eviscerated by them, as was Actaeon by his own hounds.
"But I have visited many families in New York and Boston who dined late," said Arnold. "Dare say," she replied carelessly. "I'm going to have some more of that curry stuff, please. And don't ask any more questions, anybody, till I've worried through with it. I'm a wolf at curry." "She likes England, Arnold," said Clara, covering up this remark, so to speak.
Defending himself against the critics who attacked him for intermingling truth and fiction in “Lavengro,” he afterwards wrote: “In the preface ‘Lavengro’ is stated to be a dream; and the writer takes this opportunity of stating that he never said it was an autobiography; never authorised any person to say that it was one; and that he has in innumerable instances declared in public and in private, both before and after the work was published, that it was not what is generally termed an autobiography: but a set of people who pretend to write criticisms on books, hating the author for various reasons, amongst others, because, having the proper pride of a gentleman and a scholar, he did not in the year 1843, choose to permit himself to be exhibited and made a zany of in London, and especially because he will neither associate with, nor curry favour with, them who are neither gentlemen nor scholars—attack his book with abuse and calumny.”
The two natives sat down some distance away and, turning their backs on each other, drew out cloths in which their midday repast of chupatis, or thick pancakes, with curry and an onion or two was tied up. The elephants left to themselves grazed close by and did not attempt to wander away. Their meal and a smoke finished the party mounted again and moved on. But luck seemed to have deserted them.
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