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Updated: May 22, 2025
I say, you shall have Kate and her plum when three Sundays come together in a week but not till then you young scapegrace not till then, if I die for it. You know me I'm a man of my word now be off!" Here he swallowed his bumper of port, while I rushed from the room in despair. A very "fine old English gentleman," was my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon, but unlike him of the song, he had his weak points.
This set him off at a tangent; and just at the epoch of this story for story it is getting to be after all my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon was accessible and pacific only upon points which happened to chime in with the caprioles of the hobby he was riding. For the rest, he laughed with his arms and legs, and his politics were stubborn and easily understood.
"YOU hard-headed, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty, fusty, old savage!" said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my grand uncle Rumgudgeon shaking my fist at him in imagination. Only in imagination. The fact is, some trivial discrepancy did exist, just then, between what I said and what I had not the courage to say between what I did and what I had half a mind to do.
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