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window of the combination breakfast…room; a child is playing with a doll; 
where Mr。 Thurtell's hair was brushed; a sanitary scrubbing is in progress 
on   the   spot   where   Mr。   Palmer's   braces   were   put   on。    No   signs   of   the 
Races   are   in   the   streets;   but   the   tramps   and   the   tumble…down…carts   and 
trucks laden with drinking…forms and tables and remnants of booths; that 
are   making   their   way   out   of   the   town   as   fast   as   they   can。 The Angel; 
which has been   cleared for   action   all   the week;   already  begins   restoring 
every     neat   and   comfortable      article   of  furniture    to  its  own    neat   and 
comfortable place。        The Angel's daughters (pleasanter angels Mr。 Idle and 
Mr。 Goodchild   never  saw;  nor  more quietly  expert   in   their business; nor 
more superior to the common vice of being above it); have a little time to 
rest; and to air their cheerful faces among the flowers in the yard。                    It is 
market…day。        The     market    looks    unusually     natural;    comfortable;      and 
wholesome; the market…people too。              The town seems quite restored; when; 
hark! a metallic bray … The Gong…donkey! 
     The   wretched   animal   has   not   cleared   off   with   the   rest;   but   is   here; 
under     the  window。      How      much    more    inconceivably      drunk    now;    how 
much   more   begrimed   of paw;  how  much   more   tight of calico hide;  how 
much more stained and daubed and dirty and dunghilly; from his horrible 
broom to his tender toes; who shall say!              He cannot even shake the bray 
out   of   himself   now;   without   laying   his   cheek   so   near   to   the   mud   of   the 
street;   that   he   pitches   over   after   delivering   it。 Now;   prone   in   the   mud; 
and now backing himself up against shop…windows; the owners of which 
come out in terror to remove him; now; in the drinking…shop; and now in 
the tobacconist's; where he goes to buy tobacco; and makes his way into 
the parlour; and where he gets a cigar; which in half…a…minute he forgets to 
smoke; now dancing; now dozing; now cursing; and now complimenting 
My Lord; the Colonel; the Noble Captain; and Your Honourable Worship; 
the Gong…donkey kicks up his heels; occasionally braying; until suddenly; 
he beholds the dearest friend he has in the world coming down the street。 
     The   dearest   friend   the   Gong…donkey   has   in   the   world;   is   a   sort   of 
Jackall; in a dull; mangy; black hide; of such small pieces that it looks as if 
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                         THE LAZY TOUR OF TWO IDLE APPRENTICES 
it were made of blacking bottles turned inside out and cobbled together。 
The dearest friend in the world (inconceivably drunk too) advances at the 
Gong…donkey; with a hand on each thigh; in a series of humorous springs 
and stops; wagging his head as he comes。                  The Gong…donkey regarding 
him with attention and with the warmest affection; suddenly perceives that 
he   is   the   greatest   enemy   he   has   in   the   world;   and   hits   him   hard   in   the 
countenance。        The   astonished   Jackall   closes   with   the   Donkey;   and   they 
roll   over    and   over   in   the  mud;    pummelling       one    another。    A    Police 
Inspector;     supernaturally      endowed      with   patience;    who     has   long   been 
looking on from the Guildhall…steps; says; to a myrmidon; 'Lock 'em up! 
Bring 'em in!' 
     Appropriate       finish   to  the   Grand     Race…Week。       The     Gong…donkey; 
captive   and   last   trace   of   it;   conveyed   into   limbo;   where   they   cannot   do 
better than keep him until next Race…Week。                  The Jackall is wanted too; 
and is much looked for; over the way and up and down。                     But; having had 
the   good    fortune    to  be   undermost     at  the   time   of  the  capture;    he   has 
vanished into air。 
     On   Saturday   afternoon;   Mr。   Goodchild   walks   out   and   looks   at   the 
Course。      It   is   quite   deserted;   heaps   of   broken   crockery   and   bottles   are 
raised to its memory; and correct cards and other fragments of paper are 
blowing about it; as the regulation little paper…books; carried by the French 
soldiers     in  their  breasts;   were    seen;   soon   after  the   battle  was    fought; 
blowing idly about the plains of Waterloo。 
     Where will these present idle leaves be blown by the idle winds; and 
where   will   the   last   of   them   be   one   day   lost   and   forgotten?    An    idle 
question; and an idle thought; and with it Mr。 Idle fitly makes his bow; and 
Mr。 Goodchild his; and thus ends the Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices。 
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