In truth, he was, during the
influence of love over him, and up to the very day of his marriage,
secretly as blue-moulded as ever for want of a beating. The heroic
penchant lay snugly latent in his heart, unchecked and unmodified. He
flattered himself that he was achieving a capital imposition upon the
world at large--that he was actually hoaxing mankind in general--and
that such an excellent piece of knavish tranquillity had never been
perpetrated before his time.
On the first week after his marriage, there chanced to be a fair in
the next market-town. Neal, after breakfast, brought forward a bunch of
shillelahs, in order to select the best; the wife inquired the purpose
of the selection, and Neal declared that he was resolved to have a fight
that day, if it were to be had, he said, for love or money. "The thruth
is," he exclaimed, strutting with fortitude about the house, "the thruth
is, that I've done the whole of yez--I'm as _blue-mowlded_ as ever for
want of a batin'."
"Don't go," said the wife.
"I will go," said Neal, with vehemence; "I'll go if the whole parish was
to go to prevint me."
In about another half-hour Neal sat down quietly to his business,
instead of going to the fair!
Much ingenious speculation might be indulged in, upon this abrupt
termination to the tailor's most formidable resolution; but, for our own
part, we will prefer going on with the narrative, leaving the reader
at liberty to solve the mystery as he pleases.
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