"Martain Rattler" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ballantyne R.M)

"Of course, not for my own use, ma'am; nor for the use of my family, for I have
no family, and if I had, that would be an unnecessarily large supply. The fact
is, Mrs. Grumbit, I am a merchant, and I send very large supplies of home-made
articles to foreign lands, and two thousand pairs of socks are a mere driblet.
Of course I do not expect you to make them all for me, but I wish you to make as
many pairs as you can.
"I shall be very happy --" began Mrs. Grumbit. "But, Mrs. Grumbit, there is a
peculiar formation which I require in my socks that will give you extra trouble
I fear; but I must have it, whatever the additional expense may be. What is your
charge for the pair you are now making?"
"Three shillings," said Mrs. Grumbit.
"Ah very good. Now, take up the wires, if you please, ma'am, and do what I tell
you. Now, drop that stitch good - and take up this one- capital; and pull this
one across that way-so, and that one across this way exactly. Now, what is the
result?"
The result was a complicated knot; and Mrs. Grumbit, after staring a few seconds
at the old gentleman in surprise, said so, and begged to know what use it was
of.
"Oh, never mind, never mind! We merchants have strange fancies, and foreigners
have curious tastes now and then. Please to make all my socks with a hitch like
that in them all round, just above the ankle. It will form an ornamental ring.
I'm sorry to put you to the trouble, but of course I pay extra for fancy-work.
Will six shillings a pair do for these?"
"My dear sir," said Mrs. Grumbit, "it is no additional--
"Well, well, never mind," said Mr. Jollyboy. "Two thousand pairs, remember, as
soon as possible - close knitted, plain stitch, rather coarse worsted; and don't
forget the hitch, Mrs. Grumbit, don't forget the hitch."
Ah! reader, there are many Mrs. Grumbits in this world requiring hitches to be
made in their stockings!
At this moment the door burst open. Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit uttered a piercing
scream, Mr. Jollyboy dropped his spectacles and sat down on his hat, and Martin
Rattler stood before them with the white kitten in his arms.
For a few seconds there was a dead silence, while an expression of puzzled
disappointment passed over Mr. Jollyboy's ruddy countenance. At last he said:
"Is this, madam, the nephew who, you told me a little ago, is not addicted to
fighting ?"
"Yes," answered the old lady faintly, and covering her eyes with her hands,
"that is Martin."
"If my aunt told you that, sir, she told you the truth," said Martin, setting
down the blood-stained white kitten, which forthwith began to stretch its limbs
and lick itself dry. "I don't ever fight if I can help it, but I couldn't help
it to-day."
With a great deal of energy, and a revival of much of his former indignation
when he spoke of the kitten's sufferings, Martin recounted all the circumstances
of the fight; during the recital of which Mrs. Dorothy Grumbit took his hand in
hers and patted it, gazing the while into his swelled visage, and weeping
plentifully, but very silently. When he had finished, Mr. Jollyboy shook hands
with him, and said he was a trump, at the same time recommending him to go and
wash his face. Then he whispered a few words in Mrs. Grumbit's ear, which seemed
to give that excellent lady much pleasure; after which he endeavoured to