Kitabı oku: «Трое в лодке, не считая собаки / Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)», sayfa 14

You pass Oatlands Park⁶⁶ on the right bank here. It is a famous old place. Henry VIII ⁶⁷ stole it from some one or the other, I forget whom now, and lived in it. There is a grotto in the park which you can see for a fee, and which is supposed to be very wonderful; but I cannot see much in it myself. The late Duchess of York ⁶⁸, who lived at Oatlands, was very fond of dogs. She had a special graveyard, in which she buried them when they died, and there they lie, about fifty of them, with a tombstone over each, and an epitaph inscribed thereon.

Well, I dare say they deserve it quite as much as the average Christian⁶⁹ does.

Halliford⁷⁰ and Shepperton ⁷¹ are both pretty little spots; but there is nothing remarkable about either of them. There is a tomb in Shepperton churchyard, however, with a poem on it, and I was nervous lest Harris should want to get out. So I jerked his cap into the water, and in the excitement of recovering that, he forgot all about his beloved graves.

At Weybridge⁷², the river enters the Thames ⁷³. The lock is just opposite the town, and the first thing that we saw, when we came in view of it, was George’s blazer on one of the lock gates. When we came close, we discovered George inside it.

Montmorency set up a furious barking, I shrieked, Harris roared; George waved his hat.

George had a curious thing in his hand. It was round and flat at one end, with a long straight handle.

“What’s that?” said Harris, “a frying-pan?”

“No,” said George, with a strange, wild look glittering in his eyes. “It’s a banjo.”

“I never knew you played the banjo!” cried Harris and I, in one breath.

“Not exactly,” replied George, “but it’s very easy, they tell me; and I’ve got the instruction book!”