Georgiana Tidman comes from a respectable, well-to-do background —
Georgiana: You found out that that other woman’s plan went lame, didn’t you?
[The Dean: I discovered its limitations after a prolonged period of ineffectual whistling.]
Georgiana: But we ascertained the road that the genial constable was going to follow. He was bound for the edge of the hill, up Pear Tree Lane, to watch the races. Directly we knew this, Tris and I made for the hill. Bless your soul, there were hundreds of my old friends there — welshers, pickpockets, cardsharpers, all the lowest racecourse cads in the kingdom. In a minute I was in the middle of ‘em, as much at home as a duchess in a drawing room.
[Sir Tristram: A queen in a palace!]
Georgiana: Boadicea among the Druids! ‘Do you know me?’ I holloaed out. Instantly there was a cry of ‘Blessed if it ain’t George Tidd!’ Tears of real joy sprang to my eyes; while I was wiping them away, Tris had his pockets emptied and I lost my watch.
[Sir Tristram: Ah, Jedd, it was a glorious moment!]
Georgiana: ‘Dear friends,’ I said; ‘Brothers! I’m with you once again.’ You should have heard the shouts of honest welcome. ‘Listen to me,’ I said. ‘A very dear relative of mine has been collared for playing the three-card trick on his way down from Town.’ There was a groan of sympathy. ‘He’ll be on the brow of the hill with a bobby in half an hour,’ said I. ‘Who’s for the rescue?’ A dead deep silence followed, broken only by the sweet voice of a young child asking ‘What’ll we get for it?’ ‘A pound a-piece,’ said I. There was a roar of assent, and my concluding words, ‘an possibly six months,’ were never heard. (Seizing the Dean by the hand and dragging him up) So now you know whose hands have led you back to your own manger. (Embracing him) And oh, brother, confess — isn’t there something good and noble in true English sport after all?
Pinero, Arthur Wing, Dandy Dick, Oberon Books Ltd., 2012, pp. 88-89.
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