The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices HTML version

Chapter III
The Cumberland Doctor's mention of Doncaster Races, inspired Mr. Francis
Goodchild with the idea of going down to Doncaster to see the races. Doncaster
being a good way off, and quite out of the way of the Idle Apprentices (if anything
could be out of their way, who had no way), it necessarily followed that Francis
perceived Doncaster in the race-week to be, of all possible idleness, the
particular idleness that would completely satisfy him.
Thomas, with an enforced idleness grafted on the natural and voluntary power of
his disposition, was not of this mind; objecting that a man compelled to lie on his
back on a floor, a sofa, a table, a line of chairs, or anything he could get to lie
upon, was not in racing condition, and that he desired nothing better than to lie
where he was, enjoying himself in looking at the flies on the ceiling. But, Francis
Goodchild, who had been walking round his companion in a circuit of twelve
miles for two days, and had begun to doubt whether it was reserved for him ever
to be idle in his life, not only overpowered this objection, but even converted
Thomas Idle to a scheme he formed (another idle inspiration), of conveying the
said Thomas to the sea-coast, and putting his injured leg under a stream of salt-
Plunging into this happy conception headforemost, Mr. Goodchild immediately
referred to the county-map, and ardently discovered that the most delicious piece
of sea-coast to be found within the limits of England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales,
the Isle of Man, and the Channel Islands, all summed up together, was Allonby
on the coast of Cumberland. There was the coast of Scotland opposite to
Allonby, said Mr. Goodchild with enthusiasm; there was a fine Scottish mountain
on that Scottish coast; there were Scottish lights to be seen shining across the
glorious Channel, and at Allonby itself there was every idle luxury (no doubt) that
a watering-place could offer to the heart of idle man. Moreover, said Mr.
Goodchild, with his finger on the map, this exquisite retreat was approached by a
coach-road, from a railway-station called Aspatria - a name, in a manner,
suggestive of the departed glories of Greece, associated with one of the most
engaging and most famous of Greek women. On this point, Mr. Goodchild
continued at intervals to breathe a vein of classic fancy and eloquence
exceedingly irksome to Mr. Idle, until it appeared that the honest English
pronunciation of that Cumberland country shortened Aspatria into 'Spatter.' After
this supplementary discovery, Mr. Goodchild said no more about it.
By way of Spatter, the crippled Idle was carried, hoisted, pushed, poked, and
packed, into and out of carriages, into and out of beds, into and out of tavern
resting-places, until he was brought at length within sniff of the sea. And now,
behold the apprentices gallantly riding into Allonby in a one-horse fly, bent upon
staying in that peaceful marine valley until the turbulent Doncaster time shall