The Attache; Or, Sam Slick In England(Fiscle Part-3), Thomas Chandler Haliburton [best ereader for pdf TXT] 📗

Is Not Infinitely

Worse. Lake All Striking Pictures,  It Had Strong Lights

And Shades. Those Who Have Suffered,  Are Apt To Retaliate;

And A Man Who Has Been Duped,  Too Often Thinks He Has A

Right To Make Reprisals. Tattersall's,  Therefore,  Is Not

Without Its Privateers. Many Persons Of Rank And Character

Patronize Sporting,  From A Patriotic But Mistaken Notion,

That It Is To The Turf Alone The Excellence Of The English

Horse Is Attributable.

 

One Person Of This Description,  Whom I Saw There For A

Short Time,  I Had The Pleasure Of Knowing Before; And

From Him I Learned Many Interesting Anecdotes Of Individuals

Whom He Pointed Out As Having Been Once Well Known About

Town,  But Whose Attachment To Gambling Had Effected Their

Ruin. Personal Stories Of This Kind Are,  However,  Not

Within The Scope Of This Work.

 

As Soon As We Entered,  Mr. Slick Called My Attention To

The Carriages Which Were Exhibited For Sale,  To Their

Elegant Shape And "Beautiful Fixins," As He Termed It;

But Ridiculed,  In No Measured Terms,  Their Enormous

Weight. "It Is No Wonder," Said He,  "They Have To Get

Fresh Hosses Here Every Ten Miles,  And Travellin' Costs

So Much,  When The Carriage Alone Is Enough To Kill Beasts.

What Would Old Bull Say,  If I Was To Tell Him Of One Pair

Of Hosses Carryin' Three Or Four People,  Forty Or Fifty

Miles A-Day,  Day In And Day Out,  Hand Runnin' For A

Fortnight? Why,  He'd Either Be Too Civil To Tell Me It

Was A Lie,  Or Bein' Afeerd I'd Jump Down His Throat If

He Did,  He'd Sing Dumb,  And Let Me See By His Looks,  He

Thought So,  Though.

 

"I Intend To Take The Consait Out Of These Chaps,  And

That's A Fact. If I Don't Put The Leak Into 'Em Afore

I've Done With Them,  My Name Ain't Sam Slick,  That's A

Fact. I'm Studyin' The Ins And The Outs Of This Place,

So As To Know What I Am About,  Afore I Take Hold; For I

Feel Kinder Skittish About My Men. Gentlemen Are The

Lowest,  Lyinest,  Bullyinest,  Blackguards There Is,  When

They Choose To Be; 'Specially If They Have Rank As Well

As Money. A Thoroughbred Cheat,  Of Good Blood,  Is A

Clipper,  That's A Fact. They Ain't Right Up-And-Down,

Like A Cow's Tail,  In Their Dealin's; And They've Got

Accomplices,  Fellers That Will Lie For 'Em Like Any Thing,

For The Honour Of Their Company; And Bettin',  Onder Such

Circumstances,  Ain't Safe.

 

"But,  I'll Tell You What Is,  If You Have Got A Hoss That

Can Do It,  And No Mistake: Back Him,  Hoss Agin Hoss,  Or

What's Safer Still,  Hoss Agin Time,  And You Can't Be

Tricked. Now,  I'll Send For Old Clay,  To Come In Cunard's

Steamer,  And Cuss 'Em They Ought To Bring Over The Old

Hoss And His Fixins,  Free,  For It Was Me First Started

That Line. The Way Old Mr. Glenelg Stared,  When I Told

Him It Was Thirty-Six Miles Shorter To Go From Bristol

To New York By The Way Of Halifax,  Than To Go Direct

Warn't Slow. It Stopt Steam For That Hitch,  That's A

Fact,  For He Thort I Was Mad. He Sent It Down To The

Admiralty To Get It Ciphered Right,  And It Took Them Old

Seagulls,  The Admirals A Month To Find It Out.

 

"And When They Did,  What Did They Say? Why,  Cuss 'Em,

Says They,  'Any Fool Knows That.' Says I,  'If That's The

Case You Are Jist The Boys Then That Ought To Have Found

It Out Right Off At Oncet.'

 

"Yes,  Old Clay Ought To Go Free,  But Be Won't; And Guess

I Am Able To Pay Freight For Him,  And No Thanks To Nobody.

Now,  I'll Tell You What,  English Trottin' Is About A Mile

In Two Minutes And Forty-Seven Seconds,  And That Don't

Happen Oftener Than Oncet In Fifty Years,  If It Was Ever

Done At All,  For The English Brag So There Is No Telling

Right. Old Clay _Can_ Do His Mile In Two Minutes And

Thirty-Eight Seconds. He _Has_ Done That,  And I Guess He

_Could_ Do More. I Have Got A Car,  That Is As Light As

Whalebone,  And I'll Bet To Do It With Wheels And Drive

Myself. I'll Go In Up To The Handle,  On Old Clay. I Have

A Hundred Thousand Dollars Of Hard Cash Made In The

Colonies,  I'll Go Half Of It On The Old Hoss,  Hang Me If

I Don't,  And I'll Make Him As Well Knowd To England As

He Is To Nova Scotia.

 

"I'll Allow Him To Be Beat At Fust,  So As To Lead 'Em

On,  And Clay Is As Cunnin' As A Coon Too,  If He Don't

Get The Word G'lang (Go Along) And The Indgian Skelpin'

Yell With It,  He Knows I Ain't In Airnest,  And He'll

Allow Me To Beat Him And Bully Him Like Nothin'. He'll

Pretend To Do His Best,  And Sputter Away Like A Hen

Scratchin' Gravel,  But He Won't Go One Mossel Faster,

For He Knows I Never Lick A Free Hoss.

 

"Won't It Be Beautiful? How They'll All Larf And Crow,

Volume 2 Chapter 12 (Tattersall's Or, The Elder And The Grave Digger) Pg 160

When They See Me A Thrashin' Away At The Hoss,  And Then

Him Goin' Slower,  The Faster I Thrash,  And Me A Threatenin'

To Shoot The Brute,  And A Talkin' At The Tip Eend Of My

Tongue Like A Ravin' Distracted Bed Bug,  And Offerin' To

Back Him Agin,  If They Dare,  And Planken Down The Pewter

All Round,  Takin' Every One Up That Will Go The Figur',

Till I Raise The Bets To The Tune Of Fifty Thousand

Dollars. When I Get That Far,  They May Stop Their Larfin'

Till Next Time,  I Guess. That's The Turn Of The

Fever--That's The Crisis--That's My Time To Larf Then.

 

"I'll Mount The Car Then,  Take The Bits Of List Up,  Put

'Em Into Right Shape,  Talk A Little Connecticut Yankee

To The Old Hoss,  To Set His Ebenezer Up,  And Make Him

Rise Inwardly,  And Then Give The Yell," (Which He Uttered

In His Excitement In Earnest; And A Most Diabolical One

It Was. It Pierced Me Through And Through,  And Curdled

My Very Blood,  It Was The Death Shout Of A Savage.)

"G'lang You Skunk,  And Turn Out Your Toes Pretty," Said

He,  And He Again Repeated This Long Protracted,  Shrill,

Infernal Yell,  A Second Time.

 

Every Eye Was Instantly Turned Upon Us. Even Tattersall

Suspended His "He Is Five Years Old--A Good Hack--And Is

To Be Sold," To Give Time For The General Exclamation Of

Surprise. "Who The Devil Is That? Is He Mad? Where Did

_He_ Come From? Does Any Body Know Him? He Is A Devilish

Keen-Lookin' Fellow That; What An Eye He Has! He Looks

Like A Yankee,  That Fellow."

 

"He's Been Here,  Your Honour,  Several Days,  Examines

Every Thing And Says Nothing; Looks Like A Knowing One,

Your Honour. He Handles A Hoss As If He'd Seen One Afore

To-Day,  Sir."

 

"Who Is That Gentleman With Him?"

 

"Don't Know,  Your Honour,  Never Saw Him Before; He Looks

Like A Furriner,  Too."

 

"Come,  Mr. Slick," Said I,  "We Are Attracting Too Much

Attention Here,  Let Us Go."

 

"Cuss 'Em," Said He,  "I'll Attract More Attention Afore

I've Done Yet,  When Old Clay Comes,  And Then I'll Tell

'Em Who I Am--Sam Slick,  From Slickville,  Onion County,

State Of Connecticut,  United States Of America. But I Do

Suppose We Had As Good Make Tracks,  For I Don't Want

Folks To Know Me Yet. I'm Plaguy Sorry I Let Put That

Countersign Of Old Clay Too,  But They Won't Onderstand

It. Critters Like The English,  That Know Everything Have

Generally Weak Eyes,  From Studyin' So Hard.

 

"Did You Take Notice Of That Critter I Was A Handlin'

Volume 2 Chapter 12 (Tattersall's Or, The Elder And The Grave Digger) Pg 161

Of,  Squire? That One That's All Drawed Up In The Middle

Like A Devil's Darnin' Needle; Her Hair A Standin' Upon

Eend As If She Was Amazed At Herself,  And A Look Out Of

Her Eye,  As If She Thort The Dogs Would Find The Steak

Kinder Tough,  When They Got Her For Dinner. Well,  That's

A Great Mare That 'Are,  And There Ain't Nothin' Onder

The Sun The Matter Of Her,  Except The Groom Has Stole

Her Oats,  Forgot To Give Her Water,  And Let Her Make A

Supper Sometimes Off Of Her Nasty,  Mouldy,  Filthy Beddin'.

I Hante See'd A Hoss Here Equal To Her A'most--Short

Back,  Beautiful Rake To The Shoulder,  Great Depth Of

Chest,  Elegant Quarter,  Great Stifle,  Amazin' Strong Arm,

Monstrous Nice Nostrils,  Eyes Like A Weasel,  All Outside,

Game Ears,  First Chop Bone And Fine Flat Leg,  With No

Gum On No Part Of It. She's A Sneezer That; But She'll

Be Knocked Down For Twenty Or Thirty Pound,  Because She

Looks As If She Was Used Up.

 

"I Intended To A Had That Mare,  For I'd A Made Her Worth

Twelve Hundred Dollars. It Was A Dreadful Pity,  I Let

Go,  That Time,  For I Actilly Forgot Where I Was. I'll

Know Better Next Hitch,  For Boughten Wit Is The Best In

A General Way. Yes,  I'm Peskily Sorry About That Mare.

Well,  Swappin' I've Studied,  But I Doubt If It's As Much

The Fashion Here As With Us; And Besides,  Swappin' Where

You Don't Know The County And Its Tricks,  (For Every

County Has Its Own Tricks,  Different From Others),  Is

Dangersome Too. I've Seen Swaps Where Both Sides Got

Took In. Did Ever I Tell You The Story Of The "Elder And

The Grave-Digger?"

 

"Never," I Replied; "But Here We Are At Our Lodgings.

Come In,  And Tell It To Me."

 

"Well," Said He,  "I Must Have A Glass Of Mint Julip Fust,

To Wash Down That Ere Disappointment About The Mare. It

Was A Dreadful Go That. I Jist Lost A Thousand Dollars

By It,  As Slick As Grease. But It's An Excitin' Thing Is

A Trottin' Race,  Too. When You Mount,  Hear The Word

'Start!' And Shout Out 'G'lang!' And Give The Pass Word."

 

Good Heavens! What A Yell He Perpetrated Again. I Put

Both Hands To My Ears,  To Exclude The Reverberations Of

It From The Walls.

 

"Don't Be Skeered,  Squire; Don't Be Skeered. We Are Alone

Now: There Is No Mare To Lose. Ain't It Pretty? It Makes

Me Feel All Dandery And On Wires Like."

 

"But The Grave-Digger?" Said I.

 

"Well," Says He,  "The Year Afore I Knowed You,  I Was

A-Goin' In The Fall,  Down To Clare,  About Sixty Miles

Below Annapolis,  To Collect Some Debts Due To Me There

From The French. And As I Was A-Joggin' On Along The

Road,  Who Should I Overtake But Elder Stephen Grab,  Of

Beechmeadows,  A Mounted On A Considerable Of A

Clever-Lookin' Black Mare. The Elder Was A Pious Man;

At Least He Looked Like One,  And Spoke Like One Too. His

Face Was As Long As The Moral Law,  And P'rhaps An Inch

Longer,  And As Smooth As A Hone; And His Voice Was So

Soft And Sweet,  And His Tongue Moved So Ily On Its Hinges,

You'd A Thought You Might A Trusted Him With Ontold Gold,

If You Didn't Care Whether You Ever Got It Agin Or No.

He Had A Bran New Hat On,  With A Brim That Was None Of

The Smallest,  To Keep The Sun From Makin' His Inner Man

Wink,  And His Go-To-Meetin' Clothes On,  And A