Ravenshoe. By Henry Kingsley.

CGONCLUSION. 421
1529, when Lionel Humby bit his thumb at our old friend,
Alured Ravenshoe, in Cardinal Wolsey's antechamber, at Hampton, and Alured Ravenshoe asked him, what the devil he meant
by that. They fought in Twickenham meadow, but held no relations for two hundred and fourteen years, that is to say, till 1745,
when Chichester Humby squeezed an orange at Ambrose Ravenshoe, at an election dinner in Stonnington, and Boddy Fortescue
went out as second to Chichester Humby, and Lord Segur to
Ambrose Ravenshoe. After this the families did not speak again
for one hundred and ten years, that is to say, till the time we are
speaking of, the end of April, 1855, when James Humby to
Hele frightened us all out of our wits, by coming into the diningroom at Ravenshoe, in a blue coat and brass buttons, and shaking
hands with Charles, and saying, beside what I have written
above, -
" Mrs. Humby and my daughters are in London for the season,
and I go to join them the day after to-morrow. There has been a
slight cloud between the two houses lately," (that is to say, as we
know it, for seven hundred and eighty-nine years. But what is
time?) "and I wish to remove it. I am not a very old man, but
I have my whimsies, my dear sir. I wish my daughters to appear among Miss Corby's bridesmaids, and do you know, I fancy,
when you get to London, that you will find the whole matter
arranged."
Who was to resist this? Old Humby went up in the train
with all of us the next day but one. And if I were asked to
pick out the most roystering, boisterous, jolly old county member
in England, Scotland, or Ireland, I should pick out old Humby
of Hele. What fun he made at the stations where the express
stopped! The way he allowed himself to be fetched out of the
refreshment room by the guard, and then, at the last moment,
engaged him in a general conversation about the administration
of the line, until the station-master was mad, and an accident
imminent, was worthy of a much younger man, to say the least.
But then, in a blue coat and brass buttons, with drab small
clothes, you may do anything. They are sure to take you for al
swell. If I am ever old enough, and fat enough, and rich enough,
I shall dress like that myself, for reasons. If my figure does not
develop, I shall try black br-ch-s and gaiters, with a shovel
hat, and a black silk waistcoat buttoned up under my throat.
That very often succeeds. Either are better than pegtops and a
black bowler hat, which strike no awe into the beholders.
When we all got to town, we were, of course, very busy.
There was a great deal of millinery business. Old Humby insisted on helping at it. One day lie went to Madame Tulle's, in
Conduit Street, with his wife and two daughters, and asked me to