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Three Men in a Boat / Three Men on the Bummel

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— 71 —<br />

about, mak<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>g me mad, chivy<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>g away all my better feel<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>gs<br />

with this silly tombst<strong>on</strong>e n<strong>on</strong>sense of yours. Go away, and get<br />

somebody to bury you cheap, and I’ll pay half <strong>the</strong> expense.”<br />

He was bewildered for a moment. He rubbed his eyes, and<br />

looked hard at me. I seemed human enough <strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> outside: he<br />

couldn’t make it out.<br />

He said:<br />

“Yuise a stranger <str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g> <strong>the</strong>se parts? You d<strong>on</strong>’t live here?”<br />

“No,” I said, “I d<strong>on</strong>’t. You wouldn’t if I did.”<br />

“Well <strong>the</strong>n,” he said, “you want to see <strong>the</strong> tombs — graves —<br />

folks been buried, you know — coff<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>s!”<br />

“You are an untru<strong>the</strong>r,” I replied, gett<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>g roused; “I do not<br />

want to see tombs — not your tombs. Why should I? We have<br />

graves of our own, our family has. Why my uncle Podger has<br />

a tomb <str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g> Kensal Green Cemetery, that is <strong>the</strong> pride of all that<br />

country-side; and my grandfa<strong>the</strong>r’s vault at Bow is capable of<br />

accommodat<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>g eight visitors, while my great-aunt Susan has<br />

a brick grave <str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g> F<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>chley Churchyard, with a headst<strong>on</strong>e with<br />

a coffee-pot sort of th<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>g <str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g> bas-relief up<strong>on</strong> it, and a six-<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>ch<br />

best white st<strong>on</strong>e cop<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>g all <strong>the</strong> way round, that cost pounds.<br />

When I want graves, it is to those places that I go and revel. I<br />

do not want o<strong>the</strong>r folk’s. When you yourself are buried, I will<br />

come and see yours. That is all I can do for you.”<br />

He burst <str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>to tears. He said that <strong>on</strong>e of <strong>the</strong> tombs had a bit<br />

of st<strong>on</strong>e up<strong>on</strong> <strong>the</strong> top of it that had been said by some to be<br />

probably part of <strong>the</strong> rema<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>s of <strong>the</strong> figure of a man, and that<br />

ano<strong>the</strong>r had some words, carved up<strong>on</strong> it, that nobody had ever<br />

been able to decipher.<br />

I still rema<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>ed obdurate, and, <str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g> broken-hearted t<strong>on</strong>es, he<br />

said:<br />

“Well, w<strong>on</strong>’t you come and see <strong>the</strong> memorial w<str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g>dow?”<br />

I would not even see that, so he fired his last shot. He drew<br />

near, and whispered hoarsely:<br />

“I’ve got a couple of skulls down <str<strong>on</strong>g>in</str<strong>on</strong>g> <strong>the</strong> crypt,” he said;<br />

“come and see those. Oh, do come and see <strong>the</strong> skulls! You are

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