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"'E's a good man," said Blake. "Been giving you money?" asked the Reverend. "'E's put me into the way of earning it. It's the sorfest job ever I struck. 'E told me not to say nothin', and I said as 'ow I wouldn't. But it ain't fair to Mr. Cloyster, not keeping of it dark ain't. Yew don't know what a noble 'eart that man's got, an' if you weren't fren' of 'is I couldn't have told you.
It startled Blake a goodish bit, too. All along the Avenue he'd been making just a quiet sort of snivelling noise. Crikey, if he didn't speak up quite perky. "O, my fren'," he says. "So drunk and yet so young." Meaning me, if you please. It was too thick. "You blighter," I says. "You blooming blighter. You talk to me like that. Let go of my arm and see me knock you down."
"As for you," said the enraged female to the landlord, "you're a degraded bein, too low and wulgar to talk to." "This is the sparklin fount for me, dear sister!" cried the lan'lord, drawin and drinkin a mug of beer. Having uttered which goak, he gave a low rumblin larf, and relapsed into silence. "My colored fren," I said to the negro, kindly, "what is it all about?"
There was cries of "Silence! Shame! Put him out! The Skoffer!" "Ain't we at the Spotted Boar?" the lan'lord hoarsely whispered. "No," I answered. "It's another kind of bore. Lis'en. Cromwell is goin' to speak through our inspired fren', now." "Is he?" said the lan'lord "is he? Wall, I've suthin to say, also. Was this Cromwell a licensed vittler?" "Not that I ever heard," I anserd.
In less than a month his aunt died and left him a farm in Oxford county, Maine! The human mind can pictur no grater misfortun than this. "No, my Irish frens, I am here as your naber and fren. I know YOU are honest in this Finian matter. "But let us look at them Head Centers.
"Nobody will know if I read it, and I shall hold my tongue, as usual," he thought, his curiosity at last overcoming his sense of honor. Opening the envelope, he took out the piece of foolscap, on which was neither date nor name of place. "Kurnal Krompton," it began. "Yer fren' in Palatky done gone to Europe.
"Tilling shall hear of this to-morrow," said Miss Mapp, shivering with rage and sea-mist. Captain Puffin came a step closer. "Now I'll tell you what it is, Miss Mapp," he said. "If you dare to say that I was drunk, Major and I, my fren' the Major and I will say you were drunk. Perhaps you think my fren' the Major's drunk too.
He threw his arm about Rex's neck with a force of affection which almost knocked down the quartette. "Recky," he bubbled, "good old Recky bes' fren' ev' had I'm drunk, Recky too bad. We're both drunk. Take's home." Rex glanced at his cousin in dismay, and Strong repeated his invitation cordially. "Take's home, Recky," he insisted, with the easy air of a man who confers an honor.
"Well, I tell yer fren," answered Dick, "we air goin ter make this er white man's town, thet's no lie, but ther ain't no shoity er bout ther other matter." "Boots an saddles." Further conversation was cut off. Every man flew to his horse and the host of murderers were off in a jiffy.
When the vehicle had gone the host turned to his guest and replied to the question. "Yes, my fren'," he said, "another of my little jobs. I hope you are well, Captain Cable?" But Captain Cable was not a man to waste words over the social conventions. He was obviously well as well as a hard, seafaring life will make a man who lives simply and works hard.
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