Now that they are gone, I could almost wish that I were dead!
VI. Noblesse Oblige.
The young English sportmans is, after all, a good infant. He brings me a big goblet and a biscuit, which comfort me, and tries to speak to me in French.
Words sympathetic, but mysterious.
“Ah, Monsieur,” he says, “il faut décidément maintenir votre pivert!”
Enigma! “I must keep up my wood-pecker?” I have no wood-pecker! I tell him so in his own tongue; adding that I am very fond of shooting at the doves.
“Ah,” he rejoins, “we don’t call ’em Doves, we call ’em les hiboux du coiffeur—Barbers’ Owls!”
We become more and more friendly, as the pain subsides. When we reach Douvres, I give him my card.
He says that he has forgotten his; but that I shall have no difficulty in finding him at any of the tambours de la chasse—Sporting Drums—especially if I ask for Lord William Wiggins, of Wapping.
What a droll of a name! Not facile to pronounce, that! Let us essay, with the help of the dictionary of pronunciation: