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Length:
50 pages
39 minutes
Publisher:
Released:
Apr 7, 2015
ISBN:
9786155564505
Format:
Book

Description

IT was Christmas Eve. I remember it just as if it was yesterday. The Colonel had been pretending not to notice it, but when Drinkwater Torm knocked over both the great candlesticks, and in his attempt to pick them up lurched over himself and fell sprawling on the floor, he yelled at him. Torm pulled himself together, and began an explanation, in which the point was that he had not "teched a drap in Gord knows how long," but the Colonel cut him short.
"Get out of the room, you drunken vagabond!" he roared.


Torm was deeply offended. He made a low, grand bow, and with as much dignity as his unsteady condition would admit, marched very statelily from the room, and passing out through the dining-room, where he stopped to abstract only one more drink from the long, heavy, cut-glass decanter on the sideboard, meandered to his house in the back-yard, where he proceeded to talk religion to Charity, his wife, as he always did when he was particularly drunk. He was expounding the vision of the golden candlestick, and the bowl and seven lamps and two olive-trees, when he fell asleep.


The roarer, as has been said, was the Colonel; the meanderer was Drinkwater Torm. The Colonel gave him the name, "because," he said, "if he were to drink water once he would die."
As Drinkwater closed the door, the Colonel continued, fiercely:
"Damme, Polly, I will! I'll sell him to-morrow morning; and if I can't sell him I'll give him away."
Polly, with troubled great dark eyes, was wheedling him vigorously.


"No; I tell you, I'll sell him.—'Misery in his back!' the mischief! he's a drunken, trifling, good-for-nothing nigger! and I have sworn to sell him a thousand—yes, ten thousand times; and now I'll have to do it to keep my word."

Publisher:
Released:
Apr 7, 2015
ISBN:
9786155564505
Format:
Book

About the author

Thomas Nelson Page was an American writer and lawyer, as well as the U.S. Ambassador to Italy during the presidency of Woodrow Wilson. Despite his family’s wealthy lineage—both the Nelson and Page families were First Families of Virginia—Page was raised largely in poverty. Based on his own experiences living on a plantation in the Antebellum South, Page’s writing helped popularize the plantation-tradition genre, which depicted an idealized version of slavery and presented emancipation as a sign of moral decline in society. Page’s best-known works include the short story collections The Burial of the Guns and In Ole Virginia, the latter of which contains the influential story “Marse Chan.” Thomas Nelson Page died in 1922.

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Polly - Thomas Nelson Page

Polly

{Illustrated}

By

Thomas Nelson Page

Illustrated by A. Castaigne & Murat Ukray

ILLUSTRATED &

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Istanbul

ISBN: 978-615-5564-505

* * * * *

POLLY

A CHRISTMAS RECOLLECTION

BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE

ILLUSTRATED BY A. CASTAIGNE

NEW YORK, 1897

***

"The young man found it necessary to lean over and throw a steadying arm around her."


IT was Christmas Eve. I remember it just as if it was yesterday. The Colonel had been pretending not to notice it, but when Drinkwater Torm knocked over both the great candlesticks, and in his attempt to pick them up lurched over himself and fell sprawling on the floor, he yelled at him. Torm pulled himself together, and began an explanation, in which the point was that he had not teched a drap in Gord knows how long, but the Colonel cut him short.

Get out of the room, you drunken vagabond! he roared.

Torm was deeply offended. He made a low, grand bow, and with as much dignity as his unsteady condition would admit, marched very statelily from the room, and passing out through the dining-room, where he stopped to abstract only one more drink from the long, heavy, cut-glass decanter on the sideboard, meandered to his house in the back-yard, where he proceeded to talk religion to Charity, his wife, as he always did when he was particularly drunk. He was expounding the vision of the golden candlestick, and the bowl and seven lamps and two olive-trees, when he fell asleep.

The roarer, as has been said, was the Colonel; the meanderer was Drinkwater Torm. The Colonel gave him the name, because, he said, if he were to drink water once he would die.

As Drinkwater closed the door, the Colonel continued, fiercely:

Damme, Polly, I will! I'll sell him to-morrow morning; and if I can't sell him I'll give him away.

Polly, with troubled great dark eyes, was wheedling him vigorously.

No; I tell you, I'll sell him.—'Misery in his back!' the mischief! he's a drunken, trifling, good-for-nothing nigger! and I have sworn to sell him a thousand—yes, ten thousand times; and now I'll have to do it to keep my word.

This was true. The Colonel swore this a dozen times a day—every time Torm got drunk, and as that had occurred very frequently for many years before Polly was born, he was not outside of the limit. Polly, however, was the only one this threat ever troubled. The Colonel knew he could no more have gotten on without Torm than his old open-faced watch, which looked for all the world like a model of himself, could have run without the mainspring. From tying his shoes and getting his shaving-water to making his juleps and lighting his candles, which was all he had to do, Drinkwater Torm was necessary to him. (I think he used to make the threat just to prove to himself that Torm did not own

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