“‘Isosceles’ or ‘isolated,’
it is all one,” said Uncle Jack, as he rapidly
performed three evolutions, by no means consistent
with his favorite theory of “the greatest happiness
of the greatest number,”— first,
he emptied into the cup which he took from my mother’s
hands half the thrifty contents of a London cream-jug;
secondly, he reduced the circle of a muffin, by the
abstraction of three triangles, to as nearly an isosceles
as possible; and thirdly, striding towards the fire,
lighted in consideration of Captain de Caxton, and
hooking his coat-tails under his arms while he sipped
his tea, he permitted another circle peculiar to humanity
wholly to eclipse the luminary it approached.
“‘Isolated’ or ‘isosceles,’
it is all the same thing. Alan is made for his
fellow-creatures. I had long been disgusted with
the interference of those selfish Squirearchs.
Your departure decided me. I have concluded
negotiations with a London firm of spirit and capital
and extended views of philanthropy. On Saturday
last I retired from the service of the oligarchy.
“I am now in my true capacity of protector of
the million. My prospectus is printed,—here
it is in my pocket. Another cup of tea, sister;
a little more cream, and another muffin. Shall
I ring?” Having disembarrassed himself of his
cup and saucer, Uncle Jack then drew forth from his
pocket a damp sheet of printed paper. In large
capitals stood out “The Anti-Monopoly Gazette;
or Popular Champion.” He waved it triumphantly
before my father’s eyes.
“Pisistratus,” said my father, “look
here. This is the way your Uncle Jack now prints
his pats of butter,—a cap of liberty growing
out of an open book! Good, Jack! good! good!”
“It is Jacobinical!” exclaimed the Captain.
“Very likely,” said my father; “but
knowledge and freedom are the best devices in the
world to print upon pats of butter intended for the
market.”
“Pats of butter! I don’t understand,”
said Uncle Jack. “The less you understand,
the better will the butter sell, Jack,” said
my father, settling back to his notes.
CHAPTER III.
Uncle Jack had made up his mind to lodge with us,
and my mother found some difficulty in inducing him
to comprehend that there was no bed to spare.
“That’s unlucky,” said he.
“I had no sooner arrived in town than I was
pestered with invitations; but I refused them all,
and kept myself for you.”
“So kind in you, so like you!” said my
mother; “but you see—”
“Well, then, I must be off and find a room.
Don’t fret; you know I can breakfast and dine
with you all the same,—that is, when my
other friends will let me. I shall be dreadfully
persecuted.” So saying, Uncle Jack repocketed
his prospectus and wished us good-night.
Copyrights
The Caxtons — Volume 05 from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
