The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling Henry Fielding (ebook reader android .TXT) 📖

the more hereafter? This is not the first time I have suffered for your numscull’s pate. I wish you would always hold your tongue in the house, and meddle only in matters without doors, which concern you. Don’t you remember what happened about seven years ago?”⁠—“Nay, my dear,” returned he, “don’t rip up old stories. Come, come, all’s well, and I am sorry for what I have done.” The landlady was going to reply, but was prevented by the peace-making sergeant, sorely to the displeasure of Partridge, who was a great lover of what is called fun, and a great promoter of those harmless quarrels which tend rather to the production of comical than tragical incidents.

The sergeant asked Partridge whither he and his master were travelling? “None of your magisters,” answered Partridge; “I am no man’s servant, I assure you; for, though I have had misfortunes in the world, I write gentleman after my name; and, as poor and simple as I may appear now, I have taught grammar-school in my time; sed hei mihi! non sum quod fui.”⁠—“No offence, I hope, sir,” said the sergeant; “where, then, if I may venture to be so bold, may you and your friend be travelling?”⁠—“You have now denominated us right,” says Partridge. “Amici sumus. And I promise you my friend is one of the greatest gentlemen in the kingdom” (at which words both landlord and landlady pricked up their ears). “He is the heir of Squire Allworthy.”⁠—“What, the squire who doth so much good all over the country?” cries my landlady.⁠—“Even he,” answered Partridge.⁠—“Then I warrant,” says she, “he’ll have a swinging great estate hereafter.”⁠—“Most certainly,” answered Partridge.⁠—“Well,” replied the landlady, “I thought the first moment I saw him he looked like a good sort of gentleman; but my husband here, to be sure, is wiser than anybody.”⁠—“I own, my dear,” cries he, “it was a mistake.”⁠—“A mistake, indeed!” answered she; “but when did you ever know me to make such mistakes?”⁠—“But how comes it, sir,” cries the landlord, “that such a great gentleman walks about the country afoot?”⁠—“I don’t know,” returned Partridge; “great gentlemen have humours sometimes. He hath now a dozen horses and servants at Gloucester; and nothing would serve him, but last night, it being very hot weather, he must cool himself with a walk to yon high hill, whither I likewise walked with him to bear him company; but if ever you catch me there again: for I was never so frightened in all my life. We met with the strangest man there.”⁠—“I’ll be hanged,” cries the landlord, “if it was not the Man of the Hill, as they call him; if indeed he be a man; but I know several people who believe it is the devil that lives there.”⁠—“Nay, nay, like enough,” says Partridge; “and now you put me in the head of it, I verily and sincerely believe it was the devil, though I could not perceive his cloven foot: but perhaps he might have the power given him to hide that, since evil spirits can appear in what shapes they please.”⁠—“And pray, sir,” says the sergeant, “no offence, I hope; but pray what sort of a gentleman is the devil? For I have heard some of our officers say there is no such person; and that it is only a trick of the parsons, to prevent their being broke; for, if it was publicly known that there was no devil, the parsons would be of no more use than we are in time of peace.”⁠—“Those officers,” says Partridge, “are very great scholars, I suppose.”⁠—“Not much of schollards neither,” answered the sergeant; “they have not half your learning, sir, I believe; and, to be sure, I thought there must be a devil, notwithstanding what they said, though one of them was a captain; for methought, thinks I to myself, if there be no devil, how can wicked people be sent to him? and I have read all that upon a book.”⁠—“Some of your officers,” quoth the landlord, “will find there is a devil, to their shame, I believe. I don’t question but he’ll pay off some old scores upon my account. Here was one quartered upon me half a year, who had the conscience to take up one of my best beds, though he hardly spent a shilling a day in the house, and suffered his men to roast cabbages at the kitchen fire, because I would not give them a dinner on a Sunday. Every good Christian must desire there should be a devil for the punishment of such wretches.”⁠—“Harkee, landlord,” said the sergeant, “don’t abuse the cloth, for I won’t take it.”⁠—“D⁠⸺⁠n the cloth!” answered the landlord, “I have suffered enough by them.”⁠—“Bear witness, gentlemen,” says the sergeant, “he curses the king, and that’s high treason.”⁠—“I curse the king! you villain,” said the landlord. “Yes, you did,” cries the sergeant; “you cursed the cloth, and that’s cursing the king. It’s all one and the same; for every man who curses the cloth would curse the king if he durst; so for matter o’ that, it’s all one and the same thing.”⁠—“Excuse me there, Mr. Sergeant,” quoth Partridge, “that’s a non sequitur.”⁠—“None of your outlandish linguo,” answered the sergeant, leaping from his seat; “I will not sit still and hear the cloth abused.”⁠—“You mistake me, friend,” cries Partridge. “I did not mean to abuse the cloth; I only said your conclusion was a non sequitur.”13⁠—“You are another,” cries the sergeant, “an you come to that. No more a sequitur than yourself. You are a pack of rascals, and I’ll prove it; for I will fight the best man of you all for twenty pound.” This challenge effectually silenced Partridge, whose stomach for drubbing did not so soon return after the hearty meal which he had lately been treated with; but the coachman, whose bones were less sore, and whose appetite for fighting was somewhat sharper, did not so