"My good
fellow," said he, "I make it a point of conscience to allow you this
much run. Wait here, till I take my place by the stile, so that I
may see whether you go over it handsomely, and transcendentally, and
don't omit any flourishes of the pigeon-wing. A mere form, you know. I
will say 'one, two, three, and away.' Mind you, start at the word
'away'" Here he took his position by the stile, paused a moment as
if in profound reflection, then looked up and, I thought, smiled
very slightly, then tightened the strings of his apron, then took a
long look at Dammit, and finally gave the word as agreed upon-
One- two- three- and- away!
Punctually at the word "away," my poor friend set off in a strong
gallop. The stile was not very high, like Mr. Lord's- nor yet very
low, like that of Mr. Lord's reviewers, but upon the whole I made sure
that he would clear it. And then what if he did not?- ah, that was the
question- what if he did not? "What right," said I, "had the old
gentleman to make any other gentleman jump? The little old
dot-and-carry-one! who is he? If he asks me to jump, I won't do it,
that's flat, and I don't care who the devil he is.
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