212520_The_Adve ... _Way_Through_The_World.pdf - OUDL Home

184 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP
quite too fat, lazy, and unfit for his present post of hero of a novel.
But stay — there are obstacles; coy, reluctant, amorous delays.
After all, Philip is a dear, brave, handsome, wild, reckless, blundering
boy, treading upon everybody's dress-skirts, smashing the little
Dresden ornaments and the pretty little decorous gimcracks of society,
life, conversation ;—but there is time yet. Are you so very sure
about that money of his mother's ? and how is it that his father,
the Doctor, has not settled accounts with him yet? C'est louche.
A family of high position and principle must look to have the
money matters in perfect order, before they consign a darling accustomed
to every luxury to the guardianship of a confessedly wild
and eccentric, though generous and amiable young man. Besides
—ah ! besides—besides !
"... It's horrible, Arthur ! It's cruel, Arthur ! It's a shame
to judge a woman, or Christian people so ! Oh! my loves! my
blessings! would I sell you ?" says this young mother, clutching
a little belaced, befurbelowed being to her heart, infantine, squalling,
with blue shoulder-ribbons, a mottled little arm that has just been
vaccinated, and the sweetest red shoes. " Would I sell you ?" says
mamma. Little Arty, I say, squalls; and little Nelly looks up
from her bricks with a wondering whimpering expression.
Well, I am ashamed to say what the " besides" is ; but the
fact is, that young Woolcomb of the Life Guards Green, who has
inherited immense West India property, and, we will say, just a
teaspoonful of that dark blood which makes a man naturally partial
to blonde beauties, has cast his opal eyes very warmly upon the
golden-haired Agnes of late ; has danced with her not a little ; and
when Mrs. Twysdcn's barouche appears by the Serpentine, you may
not unfrequently see a pair of the neatest little yellow kid gloves
just playing with the reins, a pair of the prettiest little boots just
touching the stirrup, a magnificent horse dancing, and tittupping,
and tossing, and performing the most graceful caracoles and gambadoes,
and on the magnificent horse a neat little man with a blazing
red flower in his bosom, and glancing opal eyes, and a dark complexion,
and hair so very black and curly, that I really almost think
in some of the Southern States of America he would be likely to
meet with rudeness in a railway-car.
But in England we know better. In England Grenville Woolcomb
is a man and a brother. Half of Arrowroot Island, they say,
belongs to him ; besides Mangrove Hall, in Hertfordshire ; ever so
much property in other counties, and that fine house in Berkeley
Square. He is called the Black Prince behind the scenes of many
theatres : ladies nod at him from those broughams which, you
Understand, need not be particularised. The idea of his immense