Explore "The Honourable Mr. Tawnish" by Jeffery Farnol on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Myself and Bentley, who, though a good fellow in many ways, is yet a fool in more (hence the prominence of the personal pronoun, for, as every one knows, a fool should give place to his betters) -- myself and Bentley, then, were riding home from Hadlow, whither we had been to witness a dog-fight (and I may say a better fight I never saw, the dog I had backed disabling his opponent very effectively in something less than three-quarters of an hour -- whereby Bentley owes me a hundred guineas) -- we were riding home as I say, and were within a half-mile or so of Tonbridge, when young Harry Raikes came up behind us at his usual wild gallop, and passing with a curt nod, disappeared down the hill in a cloud of dust.
"Were I but ten years younger," says I, looking after him, "Tonbridge Town would be too small to hold yonder fellow and myself -- he is becoming a positive pest."