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46 pages

English

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Though Jerome K. Jerome achieved literary fame on the strength of his humor writing, this collection of tales spans humor and a number of other genres. The title story, "John Ingerfield," is regarded by critics and fans alike as one of Jerome's finest works.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 mars 2017
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776677832
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

JOHN INGERFIELD AND OTHER STORIES
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JEROME K. JEROME

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John Ingerfield and Other Stories First published in 1894 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-783-2 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-784-9 © 2015 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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To the Gentle Reader;Alsoto the Gentle Critic In Remembrance of John Ingerfield, and of Anne, His Wife The Woman of the Saeter Variety Patter Silhouettes The Lease of the "Cross Keys"
To the Gentle Reader;Alsoto the Gentle Critic
*
Once upon a time, I wrote a little story of a woman who was crushed todeath by a python. A day or two after its publication, a friend stoppedme in the street. "Charming little story of yours," he said, "that aboutthe woman and the snake; but it's not as funny as some of your things!"The next week, a newspaper, referring to the tale, remarked, "We haveheard the incident related before with infinitely greater humour."
With this—and many similar experiences—in mind, I wish distinctly tostate that "John Ingerfield," "The Woman of the Saeter," and"Silhouettes," are not intended to be amusing. The two otheritems—"Variety Patter," and "The Lease of the Cross Keys"—I give overto the critics of the new humour to rend as they will; but "JohnIngerfield," "The Woman of the Saeter," and "Silhouettes," I repeat, Ishould be glad if they would judge from some other standpoint than thatof humour, new or old.
In Remembrance of John Ingerfield, and of Anne, His Wife
*
A Story of Old London, in Two Chapters
CHAPTER I.
If you take the Underground Railway to Whitechapel Road (the Eaststation), and from there take one of the yellow tramcars that start fromthat point, and go down the Commercial Road, past the George, in front ofwhich starts—or used to stand—a high flagstaff, at the base of whichsits—or used to sit—an elderly female purveyor of pigs' trotters atthree-ha'pence apiece, until you come to where a railway arch crosses theroad obliquely, and there get down and turn to the right up a narrow,noisy street leading to the river, and then to the right again up a stillnarrower street, which you may know by its having a public-house at onecorner (as is in the nature of things) and a marine store-dealer's at theother, outside which strangely stiff and unaccommodating garments ofgigantic size flutter ghost-like in the wind, you will come to a dingyrailed-in churchyard, surrounded on all sides by cheerless, many-peopledhouses. Sad-looking little old houses they are, in spite of the tumultof life about their ever open doors. They and the ancient church intheir midst seem weary of the ceaseless jangle around them. Perhaps,standing there for so many years, listening to the long silence of thedead, the fretful voices of the living sound foolish in their ears.
Peering through the railings on the side nearest the river, you will seebeneath the shadow of the soot-grimed church's soot-grimed porch—thatis, if the sun happen, by rare chance, to be strong enough to cast anyshadow at all in that region of grey light—a curiously high and narrowheadstone that once was white and straight, not tottering and bent withage as it is now. There is upon this stone a carving in bas-relief, asyou will see for yourself if you will make your way to it through thegateway on the opposite side of the square. It represents, so far as canbe made out, for it is much worn by time and dirt, a figure lying on theground with another figure bending over it, while at a little distancestands a third object. But this last is so indistinct that it might bealmost anything, from an angel to a post.
And below the carving are the words (already half obliterated) that Ihave used for the title of this story.
Should you ever wander of a Sunday morning within sound of the crackedbell that calls a few habit-bound, old-fashioned folk to worship withinthose damp-stained walls, and drop into talk with the old men who on suchdays sometimes sit, each in his brass-buttoned long brown coat, upon thelow stone coping underneath those broken railings, you might hear thistale from them, as I did, more years ago than I care to recollect.
But lest you do not choose to go to all this trouble, or lest the old menwho could tell it you have grown tired of all talk, and are not to beroused ever again into the telling of tales, and you yet wish for thestory, I will here set it down for you.
But I cannot recount it to you as they told it to me, for to me it wasonly a tale that I heard and remembered, thinking to tell it again forprofit, while to them it was a thing that had been, and the threads of itwere interwoven with the woof of their own life. As they talked, facesthat I did not see passed by among the crowd and turned and looked atthem, and voices that I did not hear spoke to them below the clamour ofthe street, so that through their thin piping voices there quivered thedeep music of life and death, and my tale must be to theirs but as agossip's chatter to the story of him whose breast has felt the press ofbattle.
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John Ingerfield, oil and tallow refiner, of Lavender Wharf, Limehouse,comes of a hard-headed, hard-fisted stock. The first of the race thatthe eye of Record, piercing the deepening mists upon the centuries behindher, is able to discern with any clearness is a long-haired, sea-bronzedpersonage, whom men call variously Inge or Unger. Out of the wild NorthSea he has come. Record observes him, one of a small, fierce group,standing on the sands of desolate Northumbria, staring landward, hisworldly wealth upon his back. This consists of a two-handed battle-axe,value perhaps some forty stycas in the currency of the time. A carefulman, with business capabilities, may, however, manipulate a small capitalto great advantage. In what would appear, to those accustomed to ourslow modern methods, an incredibly short space of time, Inge's two-handedbattle-axe has developed into wide lands and many head of cattle; whichlatter continue to multiply with a rapidity beyond the dreams of present-day breeders. Inge's descendants would seem to have inherited the geniusof their ancestor, for they prosper and their worldly goods increase.They are a money-making race. In all times, out of all things, by allmeans, they make money. They fight for money, marry for money, live formoney, are ready to die for money.
In the days when the most saleable and the highest priced article in themarkets of Europe was a strong arm and a cool head, then each Ingerfield(as "Inge," long rooted in Yorkshire soil, had grown or been corruptedto) was a soldier of fortune, and offered his strong arm and his coolhead to the highest bidder. They fought for their price, and they tookgood care that they obtained their price; but, the price settled, theyfought well, for they were staunch men and true, according to theirlights, though these lights may have been placed somewhat low down, nearthe earth.
Then followed the days when the chief riches of the world lay tossed fordaring hands to grasp upon the bosom of the sea, and the sleeping spiritof the old Norse Rover stirred in their veins, and the lilt of a wild sea-song they had never heard kept ringing in their ears; and they built themships and sailed for the Spanish Main, and won much wealth, as was theirwont.
Later on, when Civilisation began to lay down and enforce sterner rulesfor the game of life, and peaceful methods promised to prove moreprofitable than violent, the Ingerfields became traders and merchants ofgrave mien and sober life; for their ambition from generation togeneration remains ever the same, their various callings being but meansto an end.
A hard, stern race of men they would seem to have been, but just—so faras they understood justice. They have the reputation of having been goodhusbands, fathers, and masters; but one cannot help thinking of them asmore respected than loved.
They were men to exact the uttermost farthing due to them, yet notwithout a sense of the thing due from them, their own duty andresponsibility—nay, not altogether without their moments of heroism,which is the duty of great men. History relates how a certain CaptainIngerfield, returning with much treasure from the West Indies—howacquired it were, perhaps, best not to inquire too closely—is overhauledupon the high seas by King's frigate. Captain of King's frigate sendspolite message to Captain Ingerfield requesting him to be so kind as topromptly hand over a certain member of his ship's company, who, by somemeans or another, has made himself objectionable to King's friends, inorder that he (the said objectionable person) may be forthwith hangedfrom the yard-arm.
Captain Ingerfield returns polite answer to Captain of King's frigatethat he (Captain Ingerfield) will, with much pleasure, hang any member ofhis ship's company that needs hanging, but that neither the King ofEngland nor any one else on God Almighty's sea is going to do it for him.Captain of King's frigate sends back word that if objectionable person benot at once given up he shall be compelled with much regret to sendIngerfield and his ship to the bottom of the Atlantic. Replies CaptainIngerfield, "That is just what he will have to do before I give up one ofmy people," and fights the big frigate—fights it so fiercely that afterthree hours Captain of King's frigate thinks it will be good to tryargument again, and sends therefore a further message, courteouslyacknowledging Captain Ingerfield's courage an