Well, I grew up and was a
moderately happy man despite my uncle, until I took to my bosom a
friend who deceived me and a mistress who broke my heart."
"Oh," said I, not a little touched by this gloomy and romantic tale,
"then this explains your--your--"
"My present misery, Peregrine? Not altogether. Had I been a
philosopher and bent to the storm, I might perchance have gone my
solitary way a broken and embittered man, but philosophy and bending
to storms is not in me, unhappily, for chancing to encounter my
faithless friend, I twisted his nose to such a tune that he demanded
satisfaction which resulted in my wounding him; after which I
consigned my perjured mistress to perdition; after which again, purely
because she happened to be a wealthy heiress, my curmudgeonly uncle
cast me adrift, cut me off and consigned me to the devil."
"Here is a very moving story!" said I.
"It is, Peregrine, it is, egad--and consequently I have been moving
ever since and going to the devil as fast as I can, though sadly
hampered by lack of funds."
"What do you mean by 'going to the devil?'"
"Why, there are many ways, Peregrine, as of course you know, but mine
would be ale, beer, wine, brandy--had I the necessary money."
"Are you determined on it?"
"Absolutely!" said he, taking off his battered hat to scowl at it and
clap it on again. "Absolutely, Peregrine--I am firmly determined to
drink myself to the final exodus.
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