United States or Nepal ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Toine, who was perspiring with emotion and anxiety, murmured: "I have another now under the left arm." His' wife plunged her great bony hand into the bed, and pulled out a second chicken with all the care of a midwife. The neighbors wanted to see it. It was passed from one to another, and examined as if it were a phenomenon.
It was hoped at first that his immense legs would regain some degree of power; but this hope soon disappeared, and Toine spent his days and nights in the bed, which was only made up once a week, with the help of four neighbors who lifted the innkeeper, each holding a limb, while his mattress was turned.
His customers came from Fecamp and Montvilliers, just for the fun of seeing him and hearing him talk; for fat Toine would have made a tombstone laugh. He had a way of chaffing people without offending them, or of winking to express what he didn't say, of slapping his thighs when he was merry in such a way as to make you hold your sides, laughing. And then, merely to see him drink was a curiosity.
Instead of manifesting his approach, as with others, in white hairs, in emaciation, in wrinkles, in the gradual collapse which makes the onlookers say: "Gad! how he has changed!" he took a malicious pleasure in fattening Toine, in making him monstrous and absurd, in tingeing his face with a deep crimson, in giving him the appearance of superhuman health, and the changes he inflicts on all were in the case of Toine laughable, comic, amusing, instead of being painful and distressing to witness.
But he went in whenever a customer appeared, for it was only right that Toine should be invited to take his thimbleful of whatever was drunk in his wine shop. His inn bore the sign: "The Friends' Meeting-Place" and old Toine was, indeed, the friend of all.
For the last twenty years he had served the whole countryside with his Extra-Special and his "Burnt-Brandy," for whenever he was asked: "What shall I drink, Toine?" he invariably answered: "A burnt-brandy, my son-in-law; that warms the inside and clears the head there's nothing better for your body." He called everyone his son-in-law, though he had no daughter, either married or to be married.
But he went in whenever a customer appeared, for it was only right that Toine should be invited to take his thimbleful of whatever was drunk in his wine shop. His inn bore the sign: "The Friends' Meeting-Place" and old Toine was, indeed, the friend of all.
You'll burst one of these fine days like a sack of corn-you old bloat, you!" Toine would laugh heartily, patting his corpulent person, and replying: "Well, well, old hen, why don't you fatten up your chickens like that? just try!" And, rolling his sleeves back from his enormous arm, he said: "That would make a fine wing now, wouldn't it?"
The customers rushed to Toine's room, and made a circle round him as they would round a travelling showman; while Madame Toine picked up the chicken, which had taken refuge under her husband's beard. No one spoke, so great was the tension. It was a warm April day. Outside the window the yellow hen could be heard calling to her newly-fledged brood.
Is that you, Celestin?" And Celestin Maloisel answered: "Yes, it's me, Toine. Are you getting about again yet, old fellow?" "Not exactly getting about," answered Toine. "But I haven't grown thin; my carcass is still good." Soon he got into the way of asking his intimates into his room to keep him company, although it grieved him to see that they had to drink without him.
Word Of The Day