It was not, Finis reflected, his fault that he was short. His father was short, so was his mother, and both sets of grandparents. Truth be told, most of the Everglotts had been a bit on the petite side and so early one Finis had decided that what he lacked in height, he would make up in breadth. An unfit short man could be mocked behind his back, not so a fit one. To be quite honest, Finis vastly preferred roaming the wide acreage of the family's country estate than smothering in the parlor with guests and sherry. He didn't fancy riding much with legs so short, but he did enjoy the shooting parties. If nothing else, it could be said of Finis Everglott XV that he had a good eye. At least for shooting partridges.
Sadly, the only thing that Finis had going for him- as far as his family and the village was concerned- was his money. If Finis had had his way, he would have liked to join the army like his Uncle Fauntleroy. Uncle Faunty, as he liked to be called, was only slightly taller than Finis was himself and sported a massive handlebar mustache of thick gray bristles. He'd served in what had then been his majesty's royal army in India, a place full of strange and wonderful creatures like elephants, tigers and musk ox's. Finis had no idea what a musk ox was but he was determined to have one's head on his study wall one day. Uncle Faunty had waxed poetic many a time about his service on the Continent, meeting with the dark-skinned natives, shooting wild beasts, hacking through jungles with a machete, and forging rivers full of wild hippopotami. It was all truly fascinating and young Finis had hung on his every word. Now nearing eighteen and almost a man, Finis had dreamed of entering the service and traveling the world and hunting exotic beasts like his beloved uncle, who would have surely been dismissed as something of an odd duck if not for the many medals he proudly displayed on his chest. Finis wasn't sure if the stiff woolen uniform was any more comfortable than a waistcoat and cravat but it certainly looked more impressive. Despite the fact that he'd been retired for more than fifteen years, Uncle Faunty still dressed as if for full inspection, boots shined to a blinding finish, riding crop in hand.
"Father?" Finis had asked shortly after his eighteenth birthday- a very grim affair indeed, consisting of various far-flung relations dropping in for tea, patting him on the head and congratulating him on his passage into adulthood. If he was graduating into adult life, Finis didn't see why they had to go and pat him on the head for it.
"Harrumph?" his father had answered from behind his newspaper.
"Father, I want to join the army." A connoisseur of history as well as firearms, Finis had to admit that adding to list of family military conquests was something he'd been daydreaming about for years.
"What!" the newspaper was lowered with the sharp decisiveness of a falling guillotine. Finis swallowed hard.
"Nonsense!" his father barked, rolling the newspaper and thwapping him over the head with it in one swift motion. "You're a gentleman. Gentlemen don't join the army."
Finis winced, more over having his hopes dashed than over the thwapping. Newspaper thwappings happened fairly regularly with him, particularly in the presence of his father. The newspaper unfolded and rose again, shutting the drawbridge of the fortress of his father's mind with an inaudible clang, and that was the end of that. Finis sighed.
"Then may we have a shooting party next weekend?" One thing about his father, he loved guns and weapons as much Finis did himself. The request earned him an approving "Mm."
"Thank you, father." If he couldn't shoot elephants, at least there were plenty of pheasants in the woods.