Andrewes treated me, and resented the very different style of
another friend of my father, who always bantered me in a playful,
nonsensical fashion, which he deemed suitable to my years.
The friend in question was an old gentleman, and a very benevolent
one. I think he was fond of children, and I am sure he was kind.
He never came without giving me half-a-guinea before he left,
generally slipping it down the back of my neck, or hiding it under my
plate at dinner, or burying it in an orange. He had a whole store of
funny tricks, which would have amused and pleased me if I might have
enjoyed them in peace. But he never ceased teasing me, and playing
practical jokes on me. And the worst of it was, he teased Rubens also.
Mr. Andrewes often afterwards told of the day when I walked into the
Rectory--my indignant air, he vowed, faithfully copied by the dog at
my heels, and without preface began:
"I know I ought to forgive them that trespass against us, but I
can't. He put cayenne pepper on to Rubens' nose."
In justice to ourselves, I must say that neither Rubens nor I bore
malice on this point, but it added to the anxiety which I always felt
to get out of the old gentleman's way.
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