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Updated: June 9, 2025
Let us turn the clean contrary way, and brush our former words against the wool: what if I encounter ill? Trouil. Then blame not me. Pan. But, of courtesy, be pleased to give me some advice. I heartily beseech you, what must I do? Trouil. Even what thou wilt. Pan. Wishy, washy; trolly, trolly. Trouil. Do not invocate the name of anything, I pray you. Pan. In the name of God, let it be so!
"I am glad to see, Lindsay," she said to her husband, whose eyes sprang dutifully over the glass fence as he heard his name, "that Washy has recovered his appetite. When he refused his dinner last night, I was afraid that he might be sickening for something. Especially as he had quite a flushed look. You noticed his flushed look?" "He did look flushed." "Very flushed.
Cette vie est vie amere, he had written. Yes, my poor French friend, it was bitter indeed! As for the hymn book, it contained two or three good pieces, like Newman's "Lead, Kindly Light," but for the rest it was the scraggiest collection I ever met with evangelical and wooden, with an occasional dash of weak music and washy sentiment.
"But Abe himself, now, I'd never believed would trust himself on open water." "Yet," cried Louise, "he's shipped on a sailing vessel, Uncle Amazon says. He's gone for a voyage." "Ye-as. But has he?" Washy retorted, his head on one side and his rheumy old eyes looking up at her as sly as a ferret's. "What do you mean?" "We none of us none of the neighbors, I mean seen him go.
And this, when he has an extraordinary large Residenz, to say nothing about other outlying palaces and comfortable places to live in, in which I know there are scores of elegantly furnished apartments, which stand idle almost the year round, and might as well be let to appreciative strangers, who would accustom the rather washy and fierce frescoes on the walls to be stared at.
I never hear washy talk about "changed characters" and "reformed natures" but I think of a sermon I once heard at a Wesleyan revivalist meeting in the Black Country. "Ah! my friends, we've all of us got the devil inside us. I've got him, you've got him," cried the preacher he was an old man, with long white hair and beard, and wild, fighting eyes.
The little airs he put on and the painful striving to assume the easy carriage of a man born to a dignified place in life would have been sickening had they not been ludicrous. He quite ignored my presence, though I credited him with being simply unable to see me. His pale, wishy- washy eyes were swimming like lazy summer seas, though what blissful visions they beheld were beyond my imagination.
"HE made me do it!" said Washy, with the stern joy a sixteen-year-old boy feels when he sees somebody on to whose shoulders he can shift trouble from his own. "That's the fellow who took me to the place!" "What are you talking about, Washington?" "I'm telling you! He got me into the thing." "Do you mean this this " Mrs. McCall shuddered. "Are you referring to this pie-eating contest?"
My children, if you fail to shine or triumph in your special line; if, let us say, your hopes are bent on some day being President, and folks ignore your proper worth, and say you've not a chance on earth Cheer up! for in these stirring days Fame may be won in many ways. Consider, when your spirits fall, the case of Washington McCall. Yes, cast your eye on Washy, please!
"Cap'n Abe warn't no seafarin' man," pursued Betty, "though he had the lingo on his tongue and 'peared as salt as a dried pollock. It's in my mind that he wouldn't never re'lly go to sea 'nless he was egged on to it." Here it was again! That same doubt as expressed by Washy Gallup the suggestion that Cap'n Abe Silt possessed an inborn fear of the sea that he had never openly confessed.
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