- end_line
- 1968
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.590Z
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- start_line
- 1870
- text
- Brentford again, then, if nothing happens, you will have a chance to
survey this celebrated capital ere taking ship for America. Now go
directly, and pay the boot-black. Stop, have you the exact change
ready? Don’t be taking out all your money in the open street.”
“Doctor,” said Israel, “I am not so simple.”
“But you knocked over the box.”
“That, Doctor, was bravery.”
“Bravery in a poor cause, is the height of simplicity, my friend.—Count
out your change. It must be French coin, not English, that you are to
pay the man with.—Ah, that will do—those three coins will be enough.
Put them in a pocket separate from your other cash. Now go, and hasten
to the bridge.”
“Shall I stop to take a meal anywhere, Doctor, as I return? I saw
several cookshops as I came hither.”
“Cafes and restaurants, they are called here, my honest friend. Tell
me, are you the possessor of a liberal fortune?”
“Not very liberal,” said Israel.
“I thought as much. Where little wine is drunk, it is good to dine out
occasionally at a friend’s; but where a poor man dines out at his own
charge, it is bad policy. Never dine out that way, when you can dine
in. Do not stop on the way at all, my honest friend, but come directly
back hither, and you shall dine at home, free of cost, with me.”
“Thank you very kindly, Doctor.”
And Israel departed for the Pont Neuf. Succeeding in his errand
thither, he returned to Dr. Franklin, and found that worthy envoy
waiting his attendance at a meal, which, according to the Doctor’s
custom, had been sent from a neighboring restaurant. There were two
covers; and without attendance the host and guest sat down. There was
only one principal dish, lamb boiled with green peas. Bread and
potatoes made up the rest. A decanter-like bottle of uncolored glass,
filled with some uncolored beverage, stood at the venerable envoy’s
elbow.
“Let me fill your glass,” said the sage.
“It’s white wine, ain’t it?” said Israel.
“White wine of the very oldest brand; I drink your health in it, my
honest friend.”
“Why, it’s plain water,” said Israel, now tasting it.
“Plain water is a very good drink for plain men,” replied the wise man.
“Yes,” said Israel, “but Squire Woodcock gave me perry, and the other
gentleman at White Waltham gave me port, and some other friends have
given me brandy.”
“Very good, my honest friend; if you like perry and port and brandy,
wait till you get back to Squire Woodcock, and the gentleman at White
Waltham, and the other friends, and you shall drink perry and port and
brandy. But while you are with me, you will drink plain water.”
“So it seems, Doctor.”
“What do you suppose a glass of port costs?”
“About three pence English, Doctor.”
“That must be poor port. But how much good bread will three pence
English purchase?”
“Three penny rolls, Doctor.”
“How many glasses of port do you suppose a man may drink at a meal?”
“The gentleman at White Waltham drank a bottle at a dinner.”
“A bottle contains just thirteen glasses—that’s thirty-nine pence,
supposing it poor wine. If something of the best, which is the only
sort any sane man should drink, as being the least poisonous, it would
be quadruple that sum, which is one hundred and fifty-six pence, which
is seventy-eight two-penny loaves. Now, do you not think that for one
man to swallow down seventy-two two-penny rolls at one meal is rather
extravagant business?”
“But he drank a bottle of wine; he did not eat seventy-two two-penny
rolls, Doctor.”
“He drank the money worth of seventy-two loaves, which is drinking the
loaves themselves; for money is bread.”
“But he has plenty of money to spare, Doctor.”
“To have to spare, is to have to give away. Does the gentleman give
much away?”
“Not that I know of, Doctor.”
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