Japhet In Search Of A Father Part 1 by Frederick Marryat (unputdownable books TXT) 📕

Bottles In His Windows More Than We Had; But Then We Had Two Horses,  And

He Had Only One. He Tied Over The Corks Of His Bottles With Red-Coloured

Paper; We Covered Up The Lips Of Our Vials With Delicate Blue. It

Certainly Was The Case--For Though An Enemy,  I'Ll Do Him Justice--That,

After Mr Brookes Had Left Us,  Mr Pleggit Had Two Shopmen,  And Mr

Cophagus Only One; But Then That One Was Mr Japhet Newland; Besides,  One

Of His Assistants Had Only One Eye,  And The Other Squinted Horribly,  So

If We Measured By Eyes,  I Think The Advantage Was Actually On Our Side;

And,  As Far As Ornament Went,  Most Decidedly; For Who Would Not Prefer

Putting On His Chimney-Piece One Handsome,  Elegant Vase,  Than Two

Damaged,  Ill-Looking Pieces Of Crockery? Mr Pleggit Had Certainly A

Gilt Mortar And Pestle Over His Door,  Which Mr Cophagus Had Omitted When

He Furnished His Shop; But Then The Mortar Had A Great Crack Down The

Middle,  And The Pestle Had Lost Its Knob. And Let Me Ask Those Who Have

Been Accustomed To Handle It,  What Is A Pestle Without A Knob? On The

Whole,  I Think,  With The Advantage Of Having Two Fronts,  Like Janus,  We

Certainly Had The Best Of The Comparison; But I Shall Leave The

Impartial To Decide.

All I Can Say Is,  That The Feuds Of The Rival Houses Were Most

Bitter--The Hate Intense--The Mutual Scorn Unmeasurable. Did Mr Ebenezer

Pleggit Meet Mr Phineas Cophagus In The Street,  The Former Immediately

Began To Spit As If He Had Swallowed Some Of His Own Vile Adulterated

Drugs; And In Rejoinder,  Mr Cophagus Immediately Raised The Cane From

His Nose High Above His Forehead In So Threatening An Attitude As Almost

To Warrant The Other Swearing The Peace Against Him,  Muttering,  "Ugly

Puppy--Knows Nothing--Um--Patients Die--And So On."

It May Be Well Supposed That This Spirit Of Enmity Extended Through The

Lower Branches Of The Rival Houses--The Assistants And I Were At Deadly

Feud; And This Feud Was Even More Deadly Between The Boys Who Carried

Out The Medicines,  And Whose Baskets Might,  In Some Measure,  Have Been

Looked Upon As The Rival Ensigns Of The Parties,  They Themselves

Occupying The Dangerous And Honourable Post Of Standard Bearers.

Timothy,  Although The Kindest-Hearted Fellow In The World,  Was As Good A

Hater As Dr Johnson Himself Could Have Wished To Meet With; And When

Sometimes His Basket Was Not So Well Filled As Usual,  He Would Fill Up

With Empty Bottles Below,  Rather Than That The Credit Of The House

Should Be Suspected,  And His Deficiencies Create A Smile Of Scorn In The

Mouth Of His Red-Haired Antagonist,  When They Happened To Meet Going

Their Rounds. As Yet,  No Actual Collision Had Taken Place Between Either

The Principals Or The Subordinates Of The Hostile Factions; But It Was

Fated That This State Of Quiescence Should No Longer Remain.

Homer Has Sung The Battles Of Gods,  Demigods,  And Heroes; Milton The

Strife Of Angels. Swift Has Been Great In His Battle Of The Books; But I

Am Not Aware That The Battle Of The Vials Has As Yet Been Sung; And It

Requires A Greater Genius Than Was To Be Found In Those Who Portrayed

The Conflicts Of Heroes,  Demigods,  Gods,  Angels,  Or Books,  To Do

Adequate Justice To The Mortal Strife Which Took Place Between The

Lotions,  Potions,  Draughts,  Pills,  And Embrocations. I Must Tell The

Story As Well As I Can,  Leaving It As An Outline For A Future Epic.

Burning With All The Hate Which Infuriated The Breasts Of The Two Houses

Of Capulet And Montague,  Hate Each Day Increasing From Years Of "Biting

Thumbs" At Each Other,  And Yet No Excuse Presenting Itself For An

Affray,  Timothy Oldmixon--For On Such An Occasion It Would Be A Sin To

Omit His Whole Designation--Timothy Oldmixon,  I Say,  Burning With Hate

And Eager With Haste,  Turning A Corner Of The Street With His Basket

Well Filled With Medicines Hanging On His Left Arm,  Encountered,  Equally

Eager In His Haste,  And Equally Burning In His Hate,  The Red-Haired

Mercury Of Mr Ebenezer Pleggit. Great Was The Concussion Of The Opposing

Baskets,  Dire Was The Crash Of Many Of The Vials,  And Dreadful Was The

Mingled Odour Of The Abominations Which Escaped,  And Poured Through The

Wicker Interstices. Two Ladies From Billingsgate,  Who Were Near,

Indulging Their Rhetorical Powers,  Stopped Short. Two Tom Cats,  Who Were

On An Adjacent Roof,  Just Fixing Their Eyes Of Enmity,  And About To Fix

Their Claws,  Turned Their Eyes To The Scene Below. Two Political

Antagonists Stopped Their Noisy Arguments. Two Dustmen Ceased To Ring

Their Bells; And Two Little Urchins Eating Cherries From The Crowns Of

Their Hats,  Lost Sight Of Their Fruit,  And Stood Aghast With Fear. They

Met,  And Met With Such Violence,  That They Each Rebounded Many Paces;

But Like Stalwart Knights,  Each Kept His Basket And His Feet. A Few

Seconds To Recover Breath; One Withering,  Fiery Look From Timothy,

Returned By His Antagonist,  One Flash Of The Memory In each To Tell Them

That They Each Had The _La_ On Their Side,  And "Take That!" Was Roared

By Timothy,  Planting A Well-Directed Blow With His Dexter And Dexterous

Hand Upon The Sinister And Sinisterous Eye Of His Opponent. "Take That!"

Continued He,  As His Adversary Reeled Back; "Take That,  And Be D----D To

You,  For Running Against A _Gentleman_."

He Of The Rubicund Hair Had Retreated,  Because So Violent Was The Blow

He Could Not Help So Doing,  And We All Must Yield To Fate. But It Was

Not From Fear. Seizing A Vile Potation That Was Labelled "To Be Taken

Immediately," And Hurling It With Demoniacal Force Right On The Chops Of

The Courageous Timothy,  "Take That!" Cried He,  With A Rancorous Yell.

This Missile,  Well Directed As The Spears Of Homer'S Heroes,  Came Full

Upon The Bridge Of Timothy'S Nose,  And The Fragile Glass Shivering,

Inflicted Divers Wounds Upon His Physiognomy,  And At The Same Time

Poured Forth A Dark Burnt-Sienna Coloured Balsam,  To Heal Them,  Giving

Pain Unutterable. Timothy,  Disdaining To Lament The Agony Of His Wounds,

Followed The Example Of His Antagonist,  And Hastily Seizing A Similar

Bottle Of Much Larger Dimensions,  Threw It With Such Force That It Split

Between The Eyes Of His Opponent. Thus With These Dreadful Weapons Did

They Commence The Mortal Strife.

The Lovers Of _Good Order_,  Or At Least Of Fair Play,  Gathered Round The

Combatants,  Forming An Almost Impregnable Ring,  Yet Of Sufficient

Dimensions To Avoid The Missiles. _"Go It,  Red-Head!" "Bravo! White

Apron!"_ Resounded On Every Side. Draughts Now Met Draughts In Their

Passage Through The Circumambient Air,  And Exploded Like Shells Over A

Besieged Town. Bolusses Were Fired With The Precision Of Cannon Shot,

Pill-Boxes Were Thrown With Such Force That They Burst Like Grape And

Canister,  While Acids And Alkalies Hissed,  As They Neutralised Each

Other'S Power,  With All The Venom Of Expiring Snakes,  "Bravo! White

Apron!" "Red-Head For Ever!" Resounded On Every Side As The Conflict

Continued With Unabated Vigour. The Ammunition Was Fast Expending On

Both Sides,  When Mr Ebenezer Pleggit,  Hearing The Noise,  And Perhaps

Smelling His Own Drugs,  Was So Unfortunately Rash And So Unwisely

Foolhardy,  As To Break Through The Sacred Ring,  Advancing From Behind

With Uplifted Cane To Fell The Redoubtable Timothy,  When A Mixture Of

His Own,  Hurled By His Own Red-Haired Champion,  Caught Him In His Open

Mouth,  Breaking Against His Only Two Remaining Front Teeth,  Extracting

Them As The Discharged Liquid Ran Down His Throat,  And Turning Him As

Sick As A Dog. He Fell,  Was Taken Away On A Shutter,  And It Was Some

Days Before He Was Again To Be Seen In His Shop,  Dispensing Those

Medicines Which,  On This Fatal Occasion,  He Would But Too Gladly Have

Dispensed With.

Reader,  Have You Not Elsewhere Read In The Mortal Fray Between Knights,

When The Casque Has Been Beaten Off,  The Shield Lost,  And The Sword

Shivered,  How They Have Resorted To Closer And More Deadly Strife With

Their Daggers Raised On High? Thus It Was With Timothy: His Means Had

Failed,  And Disdaining Any Longer To Wage A Distant Combat,  He Closed

Vigorously With His Panting Enemy,  Overthrew Him In The First Struggle,

Seizing From His Basket The Only Weapons Which Remained,  One Single

Vial,  And One Single Box Of Pills. As He Sat Upon His Prostrate Foe,

First He Forced The Box Of Pills Into His Gasping Mouth,  And Then With

The Lower End Of The Vial He Drove It Down His Throat,  As A Gunner Rams

Home The Wad And Shot Into A Thirty-Two Pound Carronade. Choked With The

Box,  The Fallen Knight Held Up His Hands For Quarter; But Timothy

Continued Until The End Of The Vial Breaking Out The Top And Bottom Of

The Pasteboard Receptacle,  Forty-And-Eight Of Antibilious Pills Rolled

In Haste Down Red-Head'S Throat. Timothy Then Seized His Basket,  And

Amid The Shouts Of Triumph,  Walked Away. His Fallen-Crested Adversary

Coughed Up The Remnants Of The Pasteboard,  Once More Breathed,  And Was

Led Disconsolate To The Neighbouring Pump; While Timothy Regained Our

Shop With His Blushing Honours Thick Upon Him.

But I Must Drop The Vein Heroical. Mr Cophagus,  Who Was At Home When

Timothy Returned,  Was At First Very Much Inclined To Be Wroth At The

Loss Of So Much Medicine; But When He Heard The Story,  And The Finale,

He Was So Pleased At Tim'S Double Victory Over Mr Pleggit And His

Messenger,  That He Actually Put His Hand In His Pocket,  And Pulled Out

Half-A-Crown.

Mr Pleggit,  On The Contrary,  Was Any Thing But Pleased; He Went To A

Lawyer,  And Commenced An Action For Assault And Battery,  And All The

Neighbourhood Did Nothing But Talk About The Affray Which Had Taken

Place,  And The Action At Law Which It Was Said Would Take Place In The

Ensuing Term.

But With The Exception Of This Fracas,  Which Ended In The Action Not

Holding Good,  Whereby The Animosity Was Increased,  I Have Little To

Recount During The Remainder Of The Time I Served Under Mr Cophagus. I