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The Salamanca Corpus: Yeoman Fleetwood (1900 ... - Gredos

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<strong>The</strong> <strong>Salamanca</strong> <strong>Corpus</strong>: <strong>Yeoman</strong> <strong>Fleetwood</strong> (<strong>1900</strong>)<br />

when, after a little preliminary fondling and soothing, he vaulted on the noble creature's<br />

back and made it carry him at break-neck speed round the field, the enthusiasm of the<br />

good fellow knew no bounds.<br />

"Eh, Neighbour <strong>Fleetwood</strong>, he's a rare ‘un, he is, for sure. A true chip o' th’ owd block<br />

he is. Never see sich a seet i' my life. Eh, yo' mun be proud on him."<br />

Mr. <strong>Fleetwood</strong> thrust his thumbs into the pockets of his flowered waistcoat and<br />

chuckled. "Well, I am a bit proud, I’ll own it," he said. "I couldn't do what he does now,<br />

but Pm very near as pleased to see him doing it. It brings back old times and makes me<br />

young again."<br />

“He mun be gettin' on now, isn't he? My word, I’d finished my schoolin' long before I<br />

was half his height Yo'll be for gettin' him awhoam soon, wunnot you?"<br />

"Aye, hell soon have finished school, but there's college to come next. He must put in a<br />

matter of three years there before he comes home for good."<br />

"College? Why, what do yo' reckon to make of him?"<br />

"He'll follow in my footsteps, won't ye, lad?" said Mr. <strong>Fleetwood</strong>, as Simon, having<br />

finished his course round the field, and dismissed his steed with a resounding pat or<br />

two, now joined them.<br />

"Yes, that I will," agreed the lad warmly. "I’ll follow as close as ever I can."<br />

"Well said!" cried the friend, clapping him on the shoulder. “Well, neighbour, every<br />

man knows his own<br />

[45]<br />

business best, but I should ha' thought it waste o' time to send that chap to college. All<br />

the Latin and Greek in the world won't help wi’ th' farmin’. And as for figures — i' my<br />

opinion, them new fangled ways o' contrivin’ wi' figures is good for nought but to addle<br />

a man's brains. Why, what wi' X's and crosses and dashes and dots, it's fair moiderin'.<br />

And at the end of it all ye can't prove theer's more nor twenty hundredweight to a ton!"<br />

Simon looked eagerly at his father, but the latter's eyes were bent on the ground.<br />

"<strong>The</strong>re are reasons, you see," he said hesitatingly, "special reasons, in Simon's case."

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