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If the evening was one of those which seem longer than usual but still have far to go, it was once a custom in Millwall to find a pair of boots of which it could be claimed that it was time they were mended, and to carry the artful parcel around to Mr. Pascoe.
Pascoe and his wife lay on mats at their feet, and a native Toby Philpot, with his ruddy cheek and jug of ale, belonging to the chief, separated them from the goats. The remainder of the suite of the travellers had nowhere whatever to sleep. The walls of their apartment were ornamented with strings of dry, rattling, human bones, written charms, or fetishes, sheep skins, and bows and arrows.
Not a moment was to be lost. They desired Pascoe and all their men to follow behind them at a short distance, with the loaded muskets and pistols; and they enjoined them strictly not to fire, unless they were first fired at.
The boy Curnow had only just time to swing himself up by the toe of his boot. The boy Curnow, sitting in the middle of the back seat, looked at his aunt. Mrs. Pascoe stood at the gate looking after them; stood at the gate till the trap was round the corner; stood at the gate, looking now to the right, now to the left; then went back to her cottage.
The others found their boots, all urgently wanted, and all as they were when Pascoe got them. A commination began of light-minded cripples who took in young and innocent boots, promising them all things, and then treacherously abandoned them, to do God knew what; and so I left. This became serious; for old Pascoe, with his Heart's Desire, had vanished, like his Toltecs. A week went by.
Pascoe stood in her cabbage-garden looking out to sea. Two steamers and a sailing-ship crossed each other; passed each other; and in the bay the gulls kept alighting on a log, rising high, returning again to the log, while some rode in upon the waves and stood on the rim of the water until the moon blanched all to whiteness. Mrs. Pascoe had gone indoors long ago.
I met the journalists in a group on their way to the afternoon train, their faces still reflecting the brightness of an excellent entertainment. Hopkins took me aside. "I've made it right with old Pascoe. He hasn't lost anything by it, you can be sure of that." But I was looking for the cobbler, and all I wished to learn was the place where I was likely to find him. They did not know that.
A female, whoever she may be, whether a Middlesex virgin, or a Wawa widow, delights not only to have some one to whom she can speak of the object of her attachment, but who will be continually speaking to her of him, and as it appears that the female character is very nearly the same in the interior of Africa, as in the latitude of London, it is by no means a matter of surprise, that the amorous widow enlisted Pascoe, the black servant of Clapperton, in her cause, by offering him in the way of a bribe, a handsome female slave as a wife, if he would manage to bring about an interview at her own house, between either Clapperton or Lander, expressing herself at the same time not to be very particular as to which of the two this interview was obtained with.
It was also ascertained that she had given old Pascoe a female slave for a wife, without having previously asked the governor's permission. The widow had also intimated her intention to follow the travellers to Kano, whence she would return to make war on the governor, as she had done once before.
He noticed as he passed through the outer rooms that Pratt was not in his accustomed place as a rule, it was impossible to get at either Eldrick or Pascoe without first seeing Pratt. "Hullo!" said Eldrick. "Just got in from town? That's lucky I've got a big case for you." "I got in last night," replied Collingwood.
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