Rears and VicesRules
Players were obliged to use some of the following words in each game:
absurd, brute, cabbage, callipygian, froward, frumenty, futtock, glabrous, gumbril, perplexed, uncommon, wombatIt was suggested, perhaps as a joke, that the words should be used in order.
Killick's disapproving, shrewish face appeared at the door.
"Wittles is up!" he cried, with a backwards jerk of his thumb, as
the scent of boiled mutton and CABBAGE wafted in from behind him.
"Which I heard that," he added in a muttered undertone, just
quietly enough to be denied.
Sophie threw Lord Burnfield a quick, apologetic glance and
She was painting a portrait of Jack as a surprise present
for their impending wedding anniversary. It was to be in the
CALLIPYGIAN mode, showing to advantage Admiral Aubrey's curves.
Every scar and laughter line had been limned with loving attention,
but with Jack so long at sea she had been a little hazy on one or
two of the more confidential details. Lord Burnfield, an otherwise
undistinguished peer who was acknowledged as having the shapeliest
left buttock in the kingdom, had agreed to help. He was posed with
right leg braced upon a sea chest, grasping a telescope in one
hand, gazing through it as if at a fat prize on the horizon, the
other hand employed carving at a plum duff.
It had been a fraught morning of cramps and distractions. At last artist and model breathed a sigh of relief, and over the faint despairing hiss of "Wittles!" from the kitchen there came a familiar knock at the front door.
"Tell me, Admiral," said Lord Burnfield, seated to his right, and now fully, if hastily, dressed. "What do you think of
Jack launched into a detailed and highly technical reply,
encompassing Admiralty incompetence, the wickedness of the dockyard
maties, landsmen's speculation and Whiggish innovations, the
undesirability thereof. Burnfield was content to set to the rather
good mutton and let the unfamiliar jargon flow over him,
while nodding and wearing the expression of shrewd
incomprehension that had served him so well in the Lords. Only the
vehement phrase "Belay the d_____ FUTTOCKs!" caused him to cease
chewing for a few seconds before the welcome realization that
Aubrey's passion was directed elsewhere.
His gaze wandered back to the portrait and its admirable upper thigh, recognizably his own though carpeted with stiff golden bristles, in this respect so unlike the GLABROUS perfection of the original. Indeed it was this detail that had finally persuaded Jack to release Lord Burnfield's windpipe.
"What splendid futtocks!" said the Admiral.
"Jack!" cried Sophie, PERPLEXED, and glancing from her husband to the portrait, which had been left propped next to the dining room door.
Mrs Aubrey, her cheeks crimson, gaped in astonishment, first at the portrait, then her husband, then at their guest.
Jack was amazed that after very many years as a
sea-officer's wife, Sophie could remain ignorant of so basic a
word. He was about to explain, when Fanny piped up.
"Oh, Papa, what is to become of the WOMBAT that Dr Maturin
wishes to find a home for?"
Jack thought of all the fine clothes and hats that Lord
Burnfield no doubt possessed. He turned to that peer.
"I hear, Sir, that no gentleman's establishment is complete
these days without a resident marsupial..."
|about us | current game | archive | home|