_Abimelech Henley to Frank Henley_
_Wenbourne-Hill_
Why, ay! To be sure! This will do! I shall be fain to think a summut of
ee, now you can flamgudgin 'em a thisn. I did'nt a think it was innee.
Why you will become a son of my own begettin. I write to tellee the
good news, and that ee mightn't a kick down the milk. You have a
sifflicated Sir Arthur. I could a told ee afore that you had a
sifflicated Missee. But I was afeard as that you wur a too adasht. But
I tellee it will do! Father's own lad! An ear-tickler! Ay, ay! That's
the trade! Sugar the sauce, and it goes down glibly.
Listen to me. I a learnt the secret on't. What was I, I pray you?
Pennyless Aby! Wet and weary! And what am I now? A tell me that. Why
I'm a worth--But that's a nether here nor there, I tellee. And what may
you be an you please? What should I a bin, an I ad had your settins
out? Why Ide a bin what Ide a pleased. A dooke, mayhap; or a lord mayor
of Lunnun?--No--A sekittary prime minister?--No--A member of
parliament?--No--Ide a bin treasurer!--Treasurer of the three kinkdums.
Ide a handled the kole!--I've a feathered my nest as it is; and what
would I a done then thinkee?
Stick close to Sir Arthur. Mind your hits, and you have him a safe
enough. Didn't I always tellee you must catch 'n by the ear? A cunnin
curr always catches a pig by the ear. He expects a proposal for Missee;
he does not a know how soon. And who does he expect to propose? Guess,
Nicodemus, if you can. Do you mind me? He shan't refuse his consent.
Mark you me that! They are his own words. Twenty thousand pounds down!
His own words again. What do you say to me now? It's all your own! I
mean it's all _our_ own--Do you mind me? For who have you to thank for
it? I tellee it is but ask and have--And how do I know that?--What's
that to you, Dolt?--No, no--You are a no dolt now--You are a good lad.
I tellee I'm in the secret! So do you flamdazzle Missee. I a heard of
your jumpins and swimmins: and so that you do but swim to the main
chance, why ay! That's a summut! I a bin to Clifton-Hall. For why? I
begind to smell a rat! And there I talked with t'other Missee. I a
palavered her over. I a ferretted and a feagued and a worked and a
wormed it all out of she. Your name is up! You may go to bed! Do you
mind me? You may go to bed to twenty thousand pounds! It is as good as
all your own.
I am a to find the kole: that is, I first havin and holdin the
wherewithalls, and the whys, and the wherefores. And so do you see me,
I expect to have the handlin ont--But that's a nether here nor there.
Sir Arthur as good as said it to me--So don't a stand like a Gabriel
Gallymaufry all a mort, shilly shally, I would if I durst--A dip in the
skimmin dish and a lick of the fingur--That's a not the way with a
maiden--What! A don't I know?--Make up to Missee, and say to her,
Missee! Here am I! My name is Frank Henley! My father's name is
Abimelech Henley! A's a cunnin warm old codger--A tell her that--And
says you, here Missee says you am I, at your onnurable Ladyship's
reverend sarvice. My father has a got the rhino--A don't forget to tell
her that--Smug and snug and all go snacks--Do you mind me? And so, says
you, I have a paradventerd umbelly to speak my foolish thofts, says
you. That is take me ritely, your Ladyship, says you; under your
Ladyship's purtection and currection, and every think of that there
umbel and very submissive obedient kind, says you. And so says you, do
ee see me Missee, I onnurs and glorifies your Ladyship; and am ready to
have and to hold, says you; go fairly go fouly, be happy be lucky, any
day o'the week, says you; I and my father, honest Aby, says you. He can
raise the wind, says you! He can find the wherewithalls to pay for
lawyer's parchment, says you--But mind, that's a nether here nor
there--So a here Missee stands I, says you; I and my honest old
father--A's got the marygolds, says you! The gilly flowers, the yellow
boys, says you! Golore!--But that's a nether here nor there.
So do you tell her all a that I bid ee, and a mind your pees and cues.
Who knows but Wenbourne-Hill itself may be one day all our own? I say
who knows? There be old fools and young fools--I tellee that--Old
planners, and improvers, and bite bubbles; and young squitter
squanders, gamblers, and chouse chits--Mark you me that--And there be
wax and parchment too--Ay and post obits[1]; and besides all doosoors
and perkissits. A what is money good for but to make money? A tell me
that.
[Footnote 1: The original reads postt-off bites. The context suggested
post obits, which reading is confirmed by succeeding letters. The
syllable _bits_ might very naturally, in the mind of honest Aby, be
changed into _bites_. Dates have for certain reasons been omitted; but,
from this and other passages, we may perceive that the date of this
correspondence is antecedent to the bill for protecting minors against
usury.]
And so in the name and the lovin kindness of the mercifool sufferins of
almighty goodness, and peace and glory and heavenly joys, no more at
present.