It was his pride in his birthplace which sometimes made John MacDermott
hesitate to accept the advice of his Uncle Matthew and listen leniently
to the advice of his Uncle William. Uncle Matthew urged him to seek his
fortune in foreign parts, but Uncle William said, "Bedam to foreign
parts when you can live in Ballyards!" Uncle Matthew, who had never
been out of Ireland in his life, had much knowledge of the works of
English writers, and from these works, he had drawn a romantic picture
of London. The English city, in his imagination, was a place of
marvellous adventures, far mere wonderful than the ancient city of
Bagdad or the still more ancient city of Damascus, wherein anything
might happen to a man who kept his eyes open or, for the matter of
that, shut. He never tired of reading Mr. Andrew Lang's _Historical
Mysteries_, and he liked to think of himself suddenly being accosted
in the street by some dark stranger demanding to know whether he had a
taste for adventure. Uncle Matthew was not quite certain what he would
do if such a thing were to happen to him: whether to proclaim himself
as eager for anything that was odd and queer or to threaten the
stranger with the police. "You might think a man was going to lead you
to a hidden place, mebbe, where there'd be a lovely woman waiting to
receive you, and you blindfolded 'til you were shown into the room
where she was ... and mebbe you'd be queerly disappointed, for it
mightn't be that sort of a thing at all, but only some lad trying to
steal your watch and chain!"
He had heard very unpleasant stories of what he called the Confidence
Trick, whereby innocent persons were beguiled by seemingly amiable men
into parting with all their possessions!...
"Of course," he would admit, "you'd never have no adventures at all, if
you never ran no risks, and mebbe in the end, you do well to chance
things. It's a queer pity a man never has any adventures in this place.
Many's and many's a time I've walked the roads, thinking mebbe I'd meet
someone with a turn that way, but I never in all my born days met
anything queer or unusual, and I don't suppose I ever will now!"
Uncle Matthew had spoken so sadly and so longingly that John had deeply
pitied him. "Did you never fall in love with no one, Uncle Matthew?" he
asked.
"Och, indeed I did, John!" Uncle Matthew replied. "Many's and many's
the time! Your Uncle William used to make fun of me and sing
_'Shilly-shally with the wee girls, ha, ha, ha!'_ at me when I was
a wee lad because I was always running after the young girls and
sweethearting with them. He never ran after any himself: he was always
looking for birds' nests or tormenting people with his tricks. He was a
daft wee fellow for devilment, was your Uncle William, and yet he's
sobered down remarkably. Sometimes, I think he got more romance out of
his tormenting and nesting than I got out of my courting, though love's
a grand thing, John, when you can get it. I was always falling in love,
but sure what was the good? I never could be content with the way the
girls talked about furniture and us setting up house together, when all
the time I was wanting hard to be rescuing them from something. No
wonder they wouldn't have me in the end, for, of course, it's very
important to get good furniture and to set up a house somewhere nice
and snug ... but I never was one for scringing and scrounging ... my
money always melted away from the minute I got it ... and I couldn't
bear the look of the furniture-men when you asked them how much it
would cost to furnish a house on the hire-system!"
He paused for a moment, reflecting perhaps on the pleasures that had
been missed by him because of his inability to save money and his
dislike of practical concerns. Then in a brisker tone, as if he were
consoling himself for his losses, he said, "Oh, well, there's
consolation for everyone somewhere if they'll only take the trouble to
look for it, and after all I've had a queer good time reading books!"
"Mebbe, Uncle Matthew," John suggested, "if you'd left Ballyards and
gone to London, you'd have had a whole lot of adventures!"
"Mebbe I would," Uncle Matthew replied. "Though sometimes I think I'm
not the sort that has adventures, for there's men in the world would
find something romantic wherever they went, and I daresay if Lord Byron
were living here in Ballyards, he'd have the women crying their eyes
out for him. That was a terrible romantic man, John! Lord Byron! A
terrible man for falling in love, God bless him!..."
It was Uncle Matthew who urged John to read Shakespeare--"a very
plain-spoken, knowledgable man, Shakespeare!"--and Lord Byron--"a terrible
bad lord, John, but a fine courter of girls and a grand poet!"--and
Herrick--"a queer sort of minister, that man Herrick, but a good poet
all the same!"--and Dickens. Dickens was the incomparable one who
filled dull streets with vital figures: Sam Weller and Mr. Pickwick and
Mr. Micawber and Mrs. Nickleby and Mr. Mantalini and Steerforth and
David Copperfield and Barkis; and terrible figures: Fagan and Bill
Sykes and Uriah Heap and Squeers and Mr. Murdstone and that fearful man
who drank so much that he died of spontaneous combustion; and pathetic
figures: Sidney Carton and Little Nell and Oliver Twist and Nancy and
Dora and Little Dorritt and the Little Marchioness.
"You'd meet the like of them any minute of the day in London," said
Uncle Matthew. "You'd mebbe be walking up a street, the Strand, mebbe,
or in Hyde Park or Whitechapel, and in next to no time at all, you'd
run into the whole jam-boiling of them. London's the queer place for
seeing queer people. Never be content, John, when you're a man, to stay
on in this place where nothing ever happens to anyone, but quit off out
of it and see the world. There's all sorts in London, black men and
yellow men, and I wouldn't be surprised but there's a wheen of Red
Indians, too, with, feathers in their head!...."
"I'd be afeard of them fellows," said John. "They'd scalp you, mebbe!"
"Ah, sure, the peelers wouldn't let them," said Uncle Matthew. "And
anyway you needn't go near them. They keep that sort down by the Docks
and never let them near the places where the fine, lovely women live.
London's the place to see the lovely women, John, all dressed up in
silk dresses, for that's where the high-up women go ... in the Season,
they call it ... and they take their young, lovely daughters with them,
grand wee girls with nice hair and fine complexions and a grand way of
talking ... to get them married, of course. I read in a book one time,
there was a young fellow, come of a poor family, was walking in one of
the parks where the quality-women take their horses every day, and a
young and lovely girl was riding up and down as nice as you like, when
all of a sudden her horse ran away with her. The young fellow never
hesitated for a minute, but jumped over the railings and stopped the
horse, and the girl was that thankful and pleased, him and her was
married after. And she was a lord's daughter, John! A very high-up
lord! She belonged to a queer proud family, but she wasn't too proud to
fall in love with him, and they had a grand time together!"
"Were they rich?" said John.
Uncle Matthew nodded his head. "It would be a great thing now," he
said, "if a lord's daughter was to take a fancy to you!..."
"I'd have to be queer and adventurous for the like of that to happen to
me, Uncle Matthew," John exclaimed. He had never seen a lord's
daughter, but he had seen Lady Castlederry, a proud and beautiful
woman, who seemed to be totally unaware of his existence when he passed
by her on the road.
"Well, and aren't you as fond of adventure as anybody in the wide
world?" Uncle Matthew retorted.
"Indeed, that's true," John admitted, "but then I never had any
adventures in my born days, and you yourself would like to have one,
but you've never had any!"
Uncle Matthew sat quietly in his chair for a few moments. Then he drew
his nephew close to him and stroked his hair.
"Come here 'til I whisper to you," he said. "D'you know why I never had
any adventures, John?"
"No, Uncle Matthew, I do not!'
"Well, I'll tell you then, though I never admitted it to anyone else in
the world, and I'll mebbe never admit it again. I never had any because
I was afraid to have them!"
"Afeard, Uncle Matthew?" John exclaimed. He had net yet trimmed his
tongue to say "afraid."
"Aye, son, heart-afraid. There's many a fine woman I'd have run away
with, only I was afraid mebbe I'd be caught. You'll never have no
adventures if you're afraid to have them, that's a sure and certain
thing!"
John struggled out of his Uncle's embrace and turned squarely to face
him.
"I'm not afeard, Uncle Matthew," he asserted.
"Are you not, son?"
"I'm not afeard of anything. I'd give anybody their cowardy-blow!..."
"There's few people in the world can say that, John!" Uncle Matthew
said.