Peregrines Progress | Page 4

instead.
MY AUNT (patient and sighful). What have you to remark, George Vereker?
UNCLE GEORGE (measuring me with knowing eye). I should say he would strip devilish--I mean--uncommonly light--
MY AUNT (in murmurous horror). Strip? An odious suggestion! Only ostlers, pugilists, and such as yourself, George, would stoop to do such a thing! Oh, monstrous!
UNCLE GEORGE (pathetically). No, no, Julia m'dear, you mistake; to "strip" is a term o' the "fancy"--milling, d'ye see--fibbing is a very gentlemanly art, assure you; I went three rounds with the "Camberwell Chicken" before I--
My AUNT (scornfully). Have done with your chickens, sir--
UNCLE GEORGE (ruefully). B'gad, he nearly did for me--naked mauleys, you'll understand. In--
MY AUNT (covers ears). Horrors! this ribaldry, George Vereker!
UNCLE GEORGE. O Lord! (Sinks into chair and gloomy silence.)
MY UNCLE JERVAS (rising gracefully, taking aunt Julia's indignant hands and kissing them gallantly). George is perfectly right, dear soul. Our Peregrine requires a naked mauley (clenches Aunt Julia's white hand into a fist)--something like this, only bigger and harder--applied to his torso--
UNCLE GEORGE. Of course, above the belt, you'll understand, Julia! Now the Camberwell Chicken--
MY UNCLE JERVAS. Applied, I say, with sufficient force to awake him to the stern--shall we say the harsh realities of life.
AUNT JULIA. Life can be real without sordid brutality.
UNCLE JERVAS. Not unless one is blind and deaf, or runs away and hides from his fellows like a coward; for brutality, alas, is a very human attribute and slumbers more or less in each one of us, let us deny it how we will.
UNCLE GEORGE. True enough, Jervas, and as you'll remember when I fought the "Camberwell Chicken," my right ogle being closed and claret flowing pretty freely, the crowd afraid of their money--
MY AUNT (coldly determined). Enough! My nephew shall never experience such horrors or consort with such brutish ruffians.
UNCLE GEORGE. Then he'll never be a man, Julia.
MY AUNT. Nature made him that. I intend him for a poet.
Here my uncle George rose up, sat down and rose again, striving for speech, while uncle Jervas smiled and dangled his eyeglass.
MY UNCLE GEORGE (breathing heavily). That's done it, Jervas, that's one in the wind. A poet! Poor, poor lad.
MY AUNT (triumphantly). He has written some charming sonnets, and an ode to a throstle that has been much admired.
UNCLE GEORGE (faintly). Ode! B'gad! Throstle!
MY UNCLE JERVAS. He trifles with paints and brushes, too, I believe?
MY AUNT. Charmingly! He may dazzle the world with a noble picture yet; who knows?
MY UNCLE JERVAS. Oh, my dear Julia, who indeed! He has a pronounced aversion for most manly sports, I believe: horses, for instance--
MY AUNT. He rides with me occasionally, but as for your inhuman hunting and racing--certainly not!
UNCLE GEORGE. And before we were his age, I had broken my collarbone and you had won the county steeplechase from me by a head, Jervas. Ha, that was a race, lad, never enjoyed anything more unless it was when the "Camberwell Chicken" went down and couldn't come up to time and the crowd--
AUNT JULIA. You were both so terribly wild and reckless!
UNCLE JERVAS. No, my sweet woman, just ordinary healthy young animals.
AUNT JULIA. My nephew is a young gentleman.
UNCLE GEORGE. Ha!
UNCLE JERVAS. H'm! A gentleman should know how to use his fists--there is Sir Peter Vibart, for instance.
UNCLE GEORGE. And to shoot straight, Julia.
UNCLE JERVAS. And comport himself in the society of the Sex. Yet you keep Peregrine as secluded as a young nun.
MY AUNT. He prefers solitude. Love will come later.
UNCLE JERVAS. Most unnatural! Before I was Peregrine's age I had been head over ears in and out of love with at least--
MY AUNT. Reprobate!
UNCLE GEORGE. So had I, Julia. There was Mary--or was it Ann--at least if it wasn't Ann it was Betty or Bessie; anyhow, I know she was--
AUNT JULIA. Rake!
UNCLE JERVAS. Remember, we were very young and had never been privileged to behold the Lady Julia Conroy--
UNCLE GEORGE. Begad, Julia--and there y'have it!
MY AUNT. We were discussing my nephew, I think!
MY UNCLE JERVAS. True, Julia, and I was about to remark that since you refuse to send him up to Oxford or Cambridge, the only chance I see for him is to quit your apron strings and go out into the world to find his manhood if he can.
My aunt turned upon the speaker, handsome head upflung, but, ere she could speak, the grandfather clock in the corner rang the hour in its mellow chime. Thereupon my aunt rose to her stately height and reached out to me her slender, imperious hand.
"Peregrine, it is ten o'clock. Good night, dear boy!" said she and kissed me. Thereafter, having kissed the hand that clasped mine, I bowed to my two uncles and went dutifully to bed.
CHAPTER II
TELLS HOW AND WHY I SET FORTH UPON THE QUEST IN QUESTION
"Ladylike!" said I to myself, leaning forth from