The Argosy — page 307: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

282 Michael’s Mistake. The young man threw back his head, laughing. ‘“ After that— shall I tell you my adventures ?” He nodded, adjusting his cigar again, and settling himself com- fortably back on the soft cushions. The dimly-lighted streets gave place to broader and brighter ones ; the red and green lights of the jingling trams flashed in on them; the heavy-laden omnibuses, thundered past them; but Michael talked and laughed on, raising his cheery voice so as to be heard through the din, and Fabian -Les- treve listened to his nephew smilingly, and with half-closed, con- tented eyes. For if ever one human being idolised another, little Fabian idolised this nephew of his. He was an easy-going, kind-hearted, even-tempered little gentle- man; and, more valuable, perhaps, than all these qualities put together, he had a will of his own. When Michael had taken his degree at Oxford, and was preparing to shoot and fish, and—speak- ing figuratively—dream his life away as a country gentleman, it was then that jaunty Fabian stepped in, showing his will. He came from wandering to and fro over the face of the earth, to Hillsborough ; and when he left it, he took his nephew with him. He had argued, and expostulated, and cajoled, and finally carried his point. Michael must travel. And Michael did travel. For three long years he went, nothing loath, exactly where the wind and Uncle Fabian listed. At the end of these three years they were at Hobart Town, and Heaven knows what possessed Michael, but he suddenly took it into his head to insist upon starting there and then for Hillsborough. Uncle Fabian argued ; so did Michael. They had a nearer approach to a quarrel just then than either of them had before deemed possible. The end of it was, Michael went off, and Uncle Fabian stayed on at Hobart Town, nearly broken hearted. Two days afterwards Michael re- appeared, overcome with. remorse for what he called his abominable selfishness, and declaring his intention of carrying out the remainder of the tour, if Uncle Fabian still wished it. Uncle Fabian did not still wish it ; he had formed other plans in the meantime: but perhaps, after all, they were only feigned ones to prevent what he called his Michael’s unselfishness. Be that as it may, uncle and nephew said good-bye again—a laughing good-bye this time—upon the quay at Hobart Town. Michael came home vid the civilised parts of the East, and the Continent, taking about four months to his journey in all. Uncle Fabian after nearly losing his life a dozen times in various difficult and inaccessible regions of the globe, came home too. He arrived there upon the evening of the 15th August, 1881, just eight months after his nephew Michael. They had rolled on, past the quiet twinkling cottages and solitary passers-by of the turnpikes ; they had threaded their way amongst sweetly-smelling country lanes, they had swept down a long, dark avenue, and come out of the carriage at an ivy-covered portico, bril- GEomicbooks.co