There's Pippins and Cheese to Come by Charles S. Brooks
page 46 of 106 (43%)
page 46 of 106 (43%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
done at a window that overlooks this park. Were it not for several high
buildings in my sight I might fancy that I lived in one of the older squares of London. There is a look of Thackeray about the place as though the Osbornes might be my neighbors. A fat man who waddles off his steps opposite, if he would submit to a change of coat, might be Jos Sedley starting for his club to eat his chutney. If only there were a crest above my bell-pull I might even expect Becky Sharp in for tea. Or occasionally I divert myself with the fancy that I am of a still older day and that I have walked in from Lichfield--I choose the name at hazard--with a tragedy in my pocket, to try my fortune. Were it not for the fashion of dress in the park below and some remnant of reason in myself, I could, in a winking moment, persuade myself that my room is a garret and my pen a quill. On such delusion, before I issued on the street to seek my coffee-house, I would adjust my wig and dust myself of snuff. But for my exercise and recreation--which for a man of Grub Street is necessary in the early hours of afternoon when the morning fires have fallen--I go outside the park. I have a wide choice for my wanderings. I may go into the district to the east and watch the children play against the curb. If they pitch pennies on the walk I am careful to go about, for fear that I distract the throw. Or if the stones are marked for hop-scotch, I squeeze along the wall. It is my intention--from which as yet my diffidence withholds me--to present to the winner of one of these contests a red apple which I shall select at a corner stand. Or an ice wagon pauses in its round, and while the man is gone there is a pleasant thieving of bits of ice. Each dirty cheek is stuffed as though a plague of mumps had fallen on the street. Or there may be a game of baseball--a scampering on the bases, a home-run down the gutter--to engage me for an inning. Or shinny grips the street. But if a street organ comes--not a mournful one-legged box eked out with a monkey, but a big machine with an extra man |
|