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Edgar Allan Poe: Three Sundays In A Week
Up to the EServer | The Complete Works of Edgar Allan
Poe
THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK
by Edgar Allan Poe
1850
YOU hard-headed, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty, fusty,
old savage!" said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my grand uncle
Rumgudgeon–shaking my fist at him in imagination.
Only in imagination. The fact is, some trivial discrepancy did exist,
just then, between what I said and what I had not the courage to say–between
what I did and what I had half a mind to do.
The old porpoise, as I opened the drawing-room door, was sitting with his
feet upon the mantel-piece, and a bumper of port in his paw, making
strenuous efforts to accomplish the ditty.
Remplis ton verre vide!
Vide ton verre plein!
"My dear uncle," said I, closing the door gently, and approaching him
with the blandest of smiles, "you are always so very kind and considerate,
and have evinced your benevolence in so many–so very many ways–that–that I
feel I have only to suggest this little point to you once more to make sure
of your full acquiescence."
"Hem!" said he, "good boy! go on!"
"I am sure, my dearest uncle [you confounded old rascal!], that you have
no design really, seriously, to oppose my union with Kate. This is merely a
joke of yours, I know–ha! ha! ha!–how very pleasant you are at times."
"Ha! ha! ha!" said he, "curse you! yes!"
"To be sure–of course! I knew you were jesting. Now, uncle, all that Kate
and myself wish at present, is that you would oblige us with your advice
as–as regards the time–you know, uncle–in short, when will it be most
convenient for yourself, that the wedding shall–shall come off, you
know?"
"Come off, you scoundrel!–what do you mean by that?–Better wait till it
goes on."
"Ha! ha! ha!–he! he! he!–hi! hi! hi!–ho! ho! ho!–hu! hu! hu!- that's
good!–oh that's capital–such a wit! But all we want just now, you know,
uncle, is that you would indicate the time precisely."
"Ah!–precisely?"
"Yes, uncle–that is, if it would be quite agreeable to yourself."
"Wouldn't it answer, Bobby, if I were to leave it at random–some time
within a year or so, for example?–must I say precisely?"
"If you please, uncle–precisely."
"Well, then, Bobby, my boy–you're a fine fellow, aren't you?–since you
will have the exact time I'll–why I'll oblige you for once:"
"Dear uncle!"
"Hush, sir!" [drowning my voice]–I'll oblige you for once. You shall have
my consent–and the plum, we mus'n't forget the plum–let me see! when shall
it be? To-day's Sunday–isn't it? Well, then, you shall be married
precisely–precisely, now mind!–when three Sundays come together in a week!
Do you hear me, sir! What are you gaping at? I say, you shall have Kate and
her plum when three Sundays come together in a week–but not till then–you
young scapegrace–not till then, if I die for it. You know me–I'm a man of my
word–now be off!" Here he swallowed his bumper of port, while I rushed from
the room in despair.
A very "fine old English gentleman," was my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon, but
unlike him of the song, he had his weak points. He was a little, pursy,
pompous, passionate semicircular somebody, with a red nose, a thick scull,
[sic] a long purse, and a strong sense of his own consequence. With the best
heart in the world, he contrived, through a predominant whim of
contradiction, to earn for himself, among those who only knew him
superficially, the character of a curmudgeon. Like many excellent people, he
seemed possessed with a spirit of tantalization, which might easily, at a
casual glance, have been mistaken for malevolence. To every request, a
positive "No!" was his immediate answer, but in the end–in the long, long
end–there were exceedingly few requests which he refused. Against all
attacks upon his purse he made the most sturdy defence; but the amount
extorted from him, at last, was generally in direct ratio with the length of
the siege and the stubbornness of the resistance. In charity no one gave
more liberally or with a worse grace.
For the fine arts, and especially for the belles-lettres, he entertained
a profound contempt. With this he had been inspired by Casimir Perier, whose
pert little query "A quoi un poete est il bon?" he was in the habit of
quoting, with a very droll pronunciation, as the ne plus ultra of logical
wit. Thus my own inkling for the Muses had excited his entire displeasure.
He assured me one day, when I asked him for a new copy of Horace, that the
translation of "Poeta nascitur non fit" was "a nasty poet for nothing fit"–a
remark which I took in high dudgeon. His repugnance to "the humanities" had,
also, much increased of late, by an accidental bias in favor of what he
supposed to be natural science. Somebody had accosted him in the street,
mistaking him for no less a personage than Doctor Dubble L. Dee, the
lecturer upon quack physics. This set him off at a tangent; and just at the
epoch of this story–for story it is getting to be after all–my grand-uncle
Rumgudgeon was accessible and pacific only upon points which happened to
chime in with the caprioles of the hobby he was riding. For the rest, he
laughed with his arms and legs, and his politics were stubborn and easily
understood. He thought, with Horsley, that "the people have nothing to do
with the laws but to obey them."
I had lived with the old gentleman all my life. My parents, in dying, had
bequeathed me to him as a rich legacy. I believe the old villain loved me as
his own child–nearly if not quite as well as he loved Kate–but it was a
dog's existence that he led me, after all. From my first year until my
fifth, he obliged me with very regular floggings. From five to fifteen, he
threatened me, hourly, with the House of Correction. From fifteen to twenty,
not a day passed in which he did not promise to cut me off with a shilling.
I was a sad dog, it is true–but then it was a part of my nature–a point of
my faith. In Kate, however, I had a firm friend, and I knew it. She was a
good girl, and told me very sweetly that I might have her (plum and all)
whenever I could badger my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon, into the necessary
consent. Poor girl!–she was barely fifteen, and without this consent, her
little amount in the funds was not come-at-able until five immeasurable
summers had "dragged their slow length along." What, then, to do? At
fifteen, or even at twenty-one [for I had now passed my fifth olympiad] five
years in prospect are very much the same as five hundred. In vain we
besieged the old gentleman with importunities. Here was a piece de
resistance (as Messieurs Ude and Careme would say) which suited his perverse
fancy to a T. It would have stiffed the indignation of Job himself, to see
how much like an old mouser he behaved to us two poor wretched little mice.
In his heart he wished for nothing more ardently than our union. He had made
up his mind to this all along. In fact, he would have given ten thousand
pounds from his own pocket (Kate's plum was her own) if he could have
invented any thing like an excuse for complying with our very natural
wishes. But then we had been so imprudent as to broach the subject
ourselves. Not to oppose it under such circumstances, I sincerely believe,
was not in his power.
I have said already that he had his weak points; but in speaking of
these, I must not be understood as referring to his obstinacy: which was one
of his strong points–"assurement ce n' etait pas sa foible." When I mention
his weakness I have allusion to a bizarre old-womanish superstition which
beset him. He was great in dreams, portents, et id genus omne of rigmarole.
He was excessively punctilious, too, upon small points of honor, and, after
his own fashion, was a man of his word, beyond doubt. This was, in fact, one
of his hobbies. The spirit of his vows he made no scruple of setting at
naught, but the letter was a bond inviolable. Now it was this latter
peculiarity in his disposition, of which Kates ingenuity enabled us one fine
day, not long after our interview in the dining-room, to take a very
unexpected advantage, and, having thus, in the fashion of all modern bards
and orators, exhausted in prolegomena, all the time at my command, and
nearly all the room at my disposal, I will sum up in a few words what
constitutes the whole pith of the story.
It happened then–so the Fates ordered it–that among the naval
acquaintances of my betrothed, were two gentlemen who had just set foot upon
the shores of England, after a year's absence, each, in foreign travel. In
company with these gentlemen, my cousin and I, preconcertedly paid uncle
Rumgudgeon a visit on the afternoon of Sunday, October the tenth,–just three
weeks after the memorable decision which had so cruelly defeated our hopes.
For about half an hour the conversation ran upon ordinary topics, but at
last, we contrived, quite naturally, to give it the following turn:
CAPT. PRATT. "Well I have been absent just one year.–Just one year
to-day, as I live–let me see! yes!–this is October the tenth. You remember,
Mr. Rumgudgeon, I called, this day year to bid you good-bye. And by the way,
it does seem something like a coincidence, does it not–that our friend,
Captain Smitherton, here, has been absent exactly a year also–a year
to-day!"
SMITHERTON. "Yes! just one year to a fraction. You will remember, Mr.
Rumgudgeon, that I called with Capt. Pratol on this very day, last year, to
pay my parting respects."
UNCLE. "Yes, yes, yes–I remember it very well–very queer indeed! Both of
you gone just one year. A very strange coincidence, indeed! Just what Doctor
Dubble L. Dee would denominate an extraordinary concurrence of events.
Doctor Dub-"
KATE. [Interrupting.] "To be sure, papa, it is something strange; but
then Captain Pratt and Captain Smitherton didn't go altogether the same
route, and that makes a difference, you know."
UNCLE. "I don't know any such thing, you huzzy! How should I? I think it
only makes the matter more remarkable, Doctor Dubble L. Dee-
KATE. Why, papa, Captain Pratt went round Cape Horn, and Captain
Smitherton doubled the Cape of Good Hope."
UNCLE. "Precisely!–the one went east and the other went west, you jade,
and they both have gone quite round the world. By the by, Doctor Dubble L.
Dee-
MYSELF. [Hurriedly.] "Captain Pratt, you must come and spend the evening
with us to-morrow–you and Smitherton–you can tell us all about your voyage,
and well have a game of whist and-
PRATT. "Wist, my dear fellow–you forget. To-morrow will be Sunday. Some
other evening-
KATE. "Oh, no. fie!–Robert's not quite so bad as that. To-day's
Sunday."
PRATT. "I beg both your pardons–but I can't be so much mistaken. I know
to-morrow's Sunday, because-"
SMITHERTON. [Much surprised.] "What are you all thinking about? Wasn't
yesterday, Sunday, I should like to know?"
ALL. "Yesterday indeed! you are out!"
UNCLE. "To-days Sunday, I say–don't I know?"
PRATT. "Oh no!–to-morrow's Sunday."
SMITHERTON. "You are all mad–every one of you. I am as positive that
yesterday was Sunday as I am that I sit upon this chair."
KATE. [jumping up eagerly.] "I see it–I see it all. Papa, this is a
judgment upon you, about–about you know what. Let me alone, and I'll explain
it all in a minute. It's a very simple thing, indeed. Captain Smitherton
says that yesterday was Sunday: so it was; he is right. Cousin Bobby, and
uncle and I say that to-day is Sunday: so it is; we are right. Captain Pratt
maintains that to-morrow will be Sunday: so it will; he is right, too. The
fact is, we are all right, and thus three Sundays have come together in a
week."
SMITHERTON. [After a pause.] "By the by, Pratt, Kate has us completely.
What fools we two are! Mr. Rumgudgeon, the matter stands thus: the earth,
you know, is twenty-four thousand miles in circumference. Now this globe of
the earth turns upon its own axis- revolves–spins round–these twenty-four
thousand miles of extent, going from west to east, in precisely twenty-four
hours. Do you understand Mr. Rumgudgeon?-"
UNCLE. "To be sure–to be sure–Doctor Dub-"
SMITHERTON. [Drowning his voice.] "Well, sir; that is at the rate of one
thousand miles per hour. Now, suppose that I sail from this position a
thousand miles east. Of course I anticipate the rising of the sun here at
London by just one hour. I see the sun rise one hour before you do.
Proceeding, in the same direction, yet another thousand miles, I anticipate
the rising by two hours–another thousand, and I anticipate it by three
hours, and so on, until I go entirely round the globe, and back to this
spot, when, having gone twenty-four thousand miles east, I anticipate the
rising of the London sun by no less than twenty-four hours; that is to say,
I am a day in advance of your time. Understand, eh?"
UNCLE. "But Double L. Dee-"
SMITHERTON. [Speaking very loud.] "Captain Pratt, on the contrary, when
he had sailed a thousand miles west of this position, was an hour, and when
he had sailed twenty-four thousand miles west, was twenty-four hours, or one
day, behind the time at London. Thus, with me, yesterday was Sunday–thus,
with you, to-day is Sunday–and thus, with Pratt, to-morrow will be Sunday.
And what is more, Mr. Rumgudgeon, it is positively clear that we are all
right; for there can be no philosophical reason assigned why the idea of one
of us should have preference over that of the other."
UNCLE. "My eyes!–well, Kate–well, Bobby!–this is a judgment upon me, as
you say. But I am a man of my word–mark that! you shall have her, boy, (plum
and all), when you please. Done up, by Jove! Three Sundays all in a row!
I'll go, and take Dubble L. Dee's opinion upon that."
THE END
Edgar Allan Poe: Three Sundays In A Week
Up to the EServer | The Complete Works of Edgar Allan
Poe
THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK
by Edgar Allan Poe
1850
YOU hard-headed, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty, fusty,
old savage!" said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my grand uncle
Rumgudgeon–shaking my fist at him in imagination.
Only in imagination. The fact is, some trivial discrepancy did exist,
just then, between what I said and what I had not the courage to say–between
what I did and what I had half a mind to do.
The old porpoise, as I opened the drawing-room door, was sitting with his
feet upon the mantel-piece, and a bumper of port in his paw, making
strenuous efforts to accomplish the ditty.
Remplis ton verre vide!
Vide ton verre plein!
"My dear uncle," said I, closing the door gently, and approaching him
with the blandest of smiles, "you are always so very kind and considerate,
and have evinced your benevolence in so many–so very many ways–that–that I
feel I have only to suggest this little point to you once more to make sure
of your full acquiescence."
"Hem!" said he, "good boy! go on!"
"I am sure, my dearest uncle [you confounded old rascal!], that you have
no design really, seriously, to oppose my union with Kate. This is merely a
joke of yours, I know–ha! ha! ha!–how very pleasant you are at times."
"Ha! ha! ha!" said he, "curse you! yes!"
"To be sure–of course! I knew you were jesting. Now, uncle, all that Kate
and myself wish at present, is that you would oblige us with your advice
as–as regards the time–you know, uncle–in short, when will it be most
convenient for yourself, that the wedding shall–shall come off, you
know?"
"Come off, you scoundrel!–what do you mean by that?–Better wait till it
goes on."
"Ha! ha! ha!–he! he! he!–hi! hi! hi!–ho! ho! ho!–hu! hu! hu!- that's
good!–oh that's capital–such a wit! But all we want just now, you know,
uncle, is that you would indicate the time precisely."
"Ah!–precisely?"
"Yes, uncle–that is, if it would be quite agreeable to yourself."
"Wouldn't it answer, Bobby, if I were to leave it at random–some time
within a year or so, for example?–must I say precisely?"
"If you please, uncle–precisely."
"Well, then, Bobby, my boy–you're a fine fellow, aren't you?–since you
will have the exact time I'll–why I'll oblige you for once:"
"Dear uncle!"
"Hush, sir!" [drowning my voice]–I'll oblige you for once. You shall have
my consent–and the plum, we mus'n't forget the plum–let me see! when shall
it be? To-day's Sunday–isn't it? Well, then, you shall be married
precisely–precisely, now mind!–when three Sundays come together in a week!
Do you hear me, sir! What are you gaping at? I say, you shall have Kate and
her plum when three Sundays come together in a week–but not till then–you
young scapegrace–not till then, if I die for it. You know me–I'm a man of my
word–now be off!" Here he swallowed his bumper of port, while I rushed from
the room in despair.
A very "fine old English gentleman," was my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon, but
unlike him of the song, he had his weak points. He was a little, pursy,
pompous, passionate semicircular somebody, with a red nose, a thick scull,
[sic] a long purse, and a strong sense of his own consequence. With the best
heart in the world, he contrived, through a predominant whim of
contradiction, to earn for himself, among those who only knew him
superficially, the character of a curmudgeon. Like many excellent people, he
seemed possessed with a spirit of tantalization, which might easily, at a
casual glance, have been mistaken for malevolence. To every request, a
positive "No!" was his immediate answer, but in the end–in the long, long
end–there were exceedingly few requests which he refused. Against all
attacks upon his purse he made the most sturdy defence; but the amount
extorted from him, at last, was generally in direct ratio with the length of
the siege and the stubbornness of the resistance. In charity no one gave
more liberally or with a worse grace.
For the fine arts, and especially for the belles-lettres, he entertained
a profound contempt. With this he had been inspired by Casimir Perier, whose
pert little query "A quoi un poete est il bon?" he was in the habit of
quoting, with a very droll pronunciation, as the ne plus ultra of logical
wit. Thus my own inkling for the Muses had excited his entire displeasure.
He assured me one day, when I asked him for a new copy of Horace, that the
translation of "Poeta nascitur non fit" was "a nasty poet for nothing fit"–a
remark which I took in high dudgeon. His repugnance to "the humanities" had,
also, much increased of late, by an accidental bias in favor of what he
supposed to be natural science. Somebody had accosted him in the street,
mistaking him for no less a personage than Doctor Dubble L. Dee, the
lecturer upon quack physics. This set him off at a tangent; and just at the
epoch of this story–for story it is getting to be after all–my grand-uncle
Rumgudgeon was accessible and pacific only upon points which happened to
chime in with the caprioles of the hobby he was riding. For the rest, he
laughed with his arms and legs, and his politics were stubborn and easily
understood. He thought, with Horsley, that "the people have nothing to do
with the laws but to obey them."
I had lived with the old gentleman all my life. My parents, in dying, had
bequeathed me to him as a rich legacy. I believe the old villain loved me as
his own child–nearly if not quite as well as he loved Kate–but it was a
dog's existence that he led me, after all. From my first year until my
fifth, he obliged me with very regular floggings. From five to fifteen, he
threatened me, hourly, with the House of Correction. From fifteen to twenty,
not a day passed in which he did not promise to cut me off with a shilling.
I was a sad dog, it is true–but then it was a part of my nature–a point of
my faith. In Kate, however, I had a firm friend, and I knew it. She was a
good girl, and told me very sweetly that I might have her (plum and all)
whenever I could badger my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon, into the necessary
consent. Poor girl!–she was barely fifteen, and without this consent, her
little amount in the funds was not come-at-able until five immeasurable
summers had "dragged their slow length along." What, then, to do? At
fifteen, or even at twenty-one [for I had now passed my fifth olympiad] five
years in prospect are very much the same as five hundred. In vain we
besieged the old gentleman with importunities. Here was a piece de
resistance (as Messieurs Ude and Careme would say) which suited his perverse
fancy to a T. It would have stiffed the indignation of Job himself, to see
how much like an old mouser he behaved to us two poor wretched little mice.
In his heart he wished for nothing more ardently than our union. He had made
up his mind to this all along. In fact, he would have given ten thousand
pounds from his own pocket (Kate's plum was her own) if he could have
invented any thing like an excuse for complying with our very natural
wishes. But then we had been so imprudent as to broach the subject
ourselves. Not to oppose it under such circumstances, I sincerely believe,
was not in his power.
I have said already that he had his weak points; but in speaking of
these, I must not be understood as referring to his obstinacy: which was one
of his strong points–"assurement ce n' etait pas sa foible." When I mention
his weakness I have allusion to a bizarre old-womanish superstition which
beset him. He was great in dreams, portents, et id genus omne of rigmarole.
He was excessively punctilious, too, upon small points of honor, and, after
his own fashion, was a man of his word, beyond doubt. This was, in fact, one
of his hobbies. The spirit of his vows he made no scruple of setting at
naught, but the letter was a bond inviolable. Now it was this latter
peculiarity in his disposition, of which Kates ingenuity enabled us one fine
day, not long after our interview in the dining-room, to take a very
unexpected advantage, and, having thus, in the fashion of all modern bards
and orators, exhausted in prolegomena, all the time at my command, and
nearly all the room at my disposal, I will sum up in a few words what
constitutes the whole pith of the story.
It happened then–so the Fates ordered it–that among the naval
acquaintances of my betrothed, were two gentlemen who had just set foot upon
the shores of England, after a year's absence, each, in foreign travel. In
company with these gentlemen, my cousin and I, preconcertedly paid uncle
Rumgudgeon a visit on the afternoon of Sunday, October the tenth,–just three
weeks after the memorable decision which had so cruelly defeated our hopes.
For about half an hour the conversation ran upon ordinary topics, but at
last, we contrived, quite naturally, to give it the following turn:
CAPT. PRATT. "Well I have been absent just one year.–Just one year
to-day, as I live–let me see! yes!–this is October the tenth. You remember,
Mr. Rumgudgeon, I called, this day year to bid you good-bye. And by the way,
it does seem something like a coincidence, does it not–that our friend,
Captain Smitherton, here, has been absent exactly a year also–a year
to-day!"
SMITHERTON. "Yes! just one year to a fraction. You will remember, Mr.
Rumgudgeon, that I called with Capt. Pratol on this very day, last year, to
pay my parting respects."
UNCLE. "Yes, yes, yes–I remember it very well–very queer indeed! Both of
you gone just one year. A very strange coincidence, indeed! Just what Doctor
Dubble L. Dee would denominate an extraordinary concurrence of events.
Doctor Dub-"
KATE. [Interrupting.] "To be sure, papa, it is something strange; but
then Captain Pratt and Captain Smitherton didn't go altogether the same
route, and that makes a difference, you know."
UNCLE. "I don't know any such thing, you huzzy! How should I? I think it
only makes the matter more remarkable, Doctor Dubble L. Dee-
KATE. Why, papa, Captain Pratt went round Cape Horn, and Captain
Smitherton doubled the Cape of Good Hope."
UNCLE. "Precisely!–the one went east and the other went west, you jade,
and they both have gone quite round the world. By the by, Doctor Dubble L.
Dee-
MYSELF. [Hurriedly.] "Captain Pratt, you must come and spend the evening
with us to-morrow–you and Smitherton–you can tell us all about your voyage,
and well have a game of whist and-
PRATT. "Wist, my dear fellow–you forget. To-morrow will be Sunday. Some
other evening-
KATE. "Oh, no. fie!–Robert's not quite so bad as that. To-day's
Sunday."
PRATT. "I beg both your pardons–but I can't be so much mistaken. I know
to-morrow's Sunday, because-"
SMITHERTON. [Much surprised.] "What are you all thinking about? Wasn't
yesterday, Sunday, I should like to know?"
ALL. "Yesterday indeed! you are out!"
UNCLE. "To-days Sunday, I say–don't I know?"
PRATT. "Oh no!–to-morrow's Sunday."
SMITHERTON. "You are all mad–every one of you. I am as positive that
yesterday was Sunday as I am that I sit upon this chair."
KATE. [jumping up eagerly.] "I see it–I see it all. Papa, this is a
judgment upon you, about–about you know what. Let me alone, and I'll explain
it all in a minute. It's a very simple thing, indeed. Captain Smitherton
says that yesterday was Sunday: so it was; he is right. Cousin Bobby, and
uncle and I say that to-day is Sunday: so it is; we are right. Captain Pratt
maintains that to-morrow will be Sunday: so it will; he is right, too. The
fact is, we are all right, and thus three Sundays have come together in a
week."
SMITHERTON. [After a pause.] "By the by, Pratt, Kate has us completely.
What fools we two are! Mr. Rumgudgeon, the matter stands thus: the earth,
you know, is twenty-four thousand miles in circumference. Now this globe of
the earth turns upon its own axis- revolves–spins round–these twenty-four
thousand miles of extent, going from west to east, in precisely twenty-four
hours. Do you understand Mr. Rumgudgeon?-"
UNCLE. "To be sure–to be sure–Doctor Dub-"
SMITHERTON. [Drowning his voice.] "Well, sir; that is at the rate of one
thousand miles per hour. Now, suppose that I sail from this position a
thousand miles east. Of course I anticipate the rising of the sun here at
London by just one hour. I see the sun rise one hour before you do.
Proceeding, in the same direction, yet another thousand miles, I anticipate
the rising by two hours–another thousand, and I anticipate it by three
hours, and so on, until I go entirely round the globe, and back to this
spot, when, having gone twenty-four thousand miles east, I anticipate the
rising of the London sun by no less than twenty-four hours; that is to say,
I am a day in advance of your time. Understand, eh?"
UNCLE. "But Double L. Dee-"
SMITHERTON. [Speaking very loud.] "Captain Pratt, on the contrary, when
he had sailed a thousand miles west of this position, was an hour, and when
he had sailed twenty-four thousand miles west, was twenty-four hours, or one
day, behind the time at London. Thus, with me, yesterday was Sunday–thus,
with you, to-day is Sunday–and thus, with Pratt, to-morrow will be Sunday.
And what is more, Mr. Rumgudgeon, it is positively clear that we are all
right; for there can be no philosophical reason assigned why the idea of one
of us should have preference over that of the other."
UNCLE. "My eyes!–well, Kate–well, Bobby!–this is a judgment upon me, as
you say. But I am a man of my word–mark that! you shall have her, boy, (plum
and all), when you please. Done up, by Jove! Three Sundays all in a row!
I'll go, and take Dubble L. Dee's opinion upon that."
THE END
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