Mason & Dixon Read Free Page B

throbbing redly. "You have heard it, then. Apologies," reaching to clasp Mason's arm, a gesture Mason retreats from in a Flinch as free of deliberation as a Sneeze. Dixon withdrawing, broken into a Sweat, "Why aye, it took me weeks of study to fathom that one, but I see You've a brisk Brain in Your gourd there, and I'm pleas'd to be working with such as it be...?" Resolutely a-beam, pronouncing the forms of You consciously, as if borrowing them from another Tongue.
    The two sit staring, one at the other, each with a greatly mistaken impression,— likewise in some Uncertainty as to how the power may come to be sorted out betwixt 'em. Dixon is a couple of inches taller, sloping more than towering, wearing a red coat of military cut, with brocade and silver buttons, and a matching red three-corner'd Hat with some gaudy North-Road Cockade stuck in it. He will be first to catch the average Eye, often causing future strangers to remember them as Dixon and Mason. But the Uniform accords with neither his Quaker Profession, nor his present Bearing,— a civilian Slouch grown lop-sided, too often observ'd, alas, in Devotees of the Taproom.
    For Dixon's part, he seems disappointed in Mason,— or so the Astronomer, ever inclined to suspicion, fears. "What is it? What are you looking at? It's my Wig, isn't it."
    "You're not wearing a Wig...?"
    "Just so! you noted that,— you have been observing me in a strange yet, I must conclude, meaningful way."
    "Don't know...? Happen I was expecting someone a bit more...odd...?"
    Mason a-squint, "I'm not odd enough for you?"
    "Well it is a peculiar station in Life, isn't it? How many Royal Astronomers are there? How many Royal Astronomers' Assistants are there likely to be? Takes an odd bird to stay up peering at Stars all night
      in the first place, doesn't it... ? On the other hand, Surveyors are runnin' about numerous as Bed-bugs, and twice as cheap, with work enough for all certainly in Durham at present, Enclosures all over the County, and North Yorkshire,— eeh.' Fences, Hedges, Ditches ordinary and Ha-Ha Style, all to be laid out.. .1 could have stay'd home and had m'self a fine Living...?"
    "They did mention a Background in Land-Surveying," Mason in some Surprize, "but, but that's it? Hedges? Ha-Has?"
    "Well, actually the Durham Ha-Ha boom subsided a bit after Lord Lambton fell into his, curs'd it, had it fill'd in with coal-spoil. Why, did You think I was another Lens-fellow? 0 Lord no,— I mean I've been taught the lot, Celestial Mechanics, all the weighty lads, Laplace and Kepler, Aristarchus, the other fellow what's his name,— but that's all Trigonometry, isn't it... ?"
    "Yet you,— " how shall he put this tactfully? "you have look'd... ehm... through a...ehm..."
    Dixon smiles at him encouragingly. "Why aye,— my old Teacher, Mr. Emerson, has a fine Telescope Ah believe the word is, encas'd in Barrel-Staves tho' it be, and many's the Evening I've admir'd the Phases of Venus, aye those and the Moons of Jupiter too, the Mountains and Craters of our own Moon,— and did You see thah' latest Eclipse...? canny,— eeh...Mr. Bird, as well, has shar'd his Instruments,— being kind enough, in fact, just in this last fortnight, to help me practice my observing and computing skills,— tho' so mercilessly that I was in some doubt for days, whether we'd parted friends...?"
    Mason, having expected some shambling wild Country Fool, remains amiably puzzl'd before the tidied Dixon here presented,— who, for his own part, having despite talk of Oddity expected but another overdress'd London climber, is amus'd at Mason's nearly invisible Turn-out, all in Snuffs and Buffs and Grays.
    Mason is nodding glumly. "I must seem an Ass."
    "If this is as bad as it gets, why I can abide thah'. As long as the Spirits don't run out."
    "Nor the Wine."
    "Wine." Dixon is now the one squinting. Mason wonders what he's done this time. " 'Grape or Grain, but ne'er the Twain,' as me Great- Uncle George observ'd