United States or Tajikistan ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
As to the truth of the story of Whittington's cat, there has been much earnest discussion. Although Whittington lived from about 1360 to 1425, the story seems to have been pretty generally accepted for three hundred years after his death.
Here the ribs of a thousand pounds beating against the Needles those dangerous rocks, credulity here floated, to and fro, silks, stuffs, camlets, and velvet, without giving place to each other, according to their dignity; here rolled so many pipes of canary, whose bungholes lying open, were so damaged that the merchant may go hoop for his money," A less picturesque, but more truthful, and, therefore, more melancholy description of the same scene, is furnished by the shrewd and satirical Ned Ward, who informs us, in the "Delectable History of Whittington's College," that "When the prisoners are disposed to recreate themselves with walking, they go up into a spacious room, called the Stone Hall; where, when you see them taking a turn together, it would puzzle one to know which is the gentleman, which the mechanic, and which the beggar, for they are all suited in the same garb of squalid poverty, making a spectacle of more pity than executions; only to be out at the elbows is in fashion here, and a great indecorum not to be threadbare."
Well, here's the court. How'll we play?" In Whittington's room father and son silently removed the traces of the disaster. Then the father pointed to a chair. "Sit there! I've something to say to you." Percy took the indicated seat. Whittington, senior's, jaw stiffened. "Well!" he snapped. "Seems to me excuses are in order.
Miss Anderson said to him, as they drove up to Wormley's, where she set him down. Miss Van Hook had long ceased to say anything; Dan thought her a perfect duenna. "You know you can go late there," she added. "No, I can't go at all," said Dan. "I don't know them." "They're New England people," urged Miss Anderson; as if to make him try to think that he was asked to Mrs. Whittington's.
He amused himself with imagining how it looked over there, and nearly every night added some new charm to this unseen country, when his mother told him fairy tales to get him to sleep. He peopled it with the dear old characters all children know and love. The white cat that sat on the wall was Puss in Boots to him, or Whittington's good friend.
The boys and their unexpected guests, sandwiched closely together on the floor and in the bunks, drifted off into fitful slumber. But John P. Whittington's eyes remained wide open. He was outstretched in Percy's bunk. His clothes hung drying before the stove, and he had on an old suit of Jim's, as nothing that Percy wore was large enough to fit his father's square, bulky figure.
'Had ever king such a subject? he murmured. 'Had ever subject such a king? was Whittington's return. 'Thou hast conquered, Whittington, said the King, presently looking up with a sunny smile. 'To send me over the seas a free man, beholden to you in heart though not by purse, is, as I well believe, worth all that sum to thy loyal heart.
Whittington's your man." "Me for Whittington!" said Julius darkly. The train was just starting as he swung himself aboard. "So long, Tommy." The train slid out of the station. Tommy drew a deep breath. The man Boris was coming along the platform towards him. Tommy allowed him to pass and then took up the chase once more. From Waterloo Boris took the tube as far as Piccadilly Circus.
The sleeves of his outing shirt were rolled up above his elbows, revealing his bony, sunburnt arms. He wore a gay red tie, and a tennis blazer, striped black and white, lay on the seat beside him. "No, thanks, Percy," replied Lane. "Sorry we can't go; but we're too busy." Spurling and Stevens nodded as Whittington's light-blue eyes traveled inquiringly from one to the other.
He assented very willingly, and at six o'clock he was already so much in the spirit of this free and simple society, so much opener and therefore so much wiser than any other, that he professed a profound disappointment with the two or three Cabinet ladies whose failure to receive brought his pleasure to a premature close. "But I suppose you're going to Mrs. Whittington's to-night!"
Word Of The Day