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'Duchess of what? she screwed uneasy features to hear. 'Duchess of Dewlap, said he. 'It's not my title, sir. 'It is your title on my territory, madam. She made her pretty nose and upper lip ugly with a sneer of 'Dew ! And enter that town before all those people as Duchess of . . . Oh, no, I won't; I just won't! Call back those men now, please; now, if you please. Pray, Mr. Beamish!
The arrangement was made, a horse and sleigh ordered, and early in the afternoon we started from Warburton. The sleighing was good, but the same could not be said of the horse. He was a big roan, powerful and steady, but entirely too deliberate in action. Uncle Beamish, however, was quite satisfied with him.
David shook his head feebly. "I can't move!" he protested. "I wouldn't move if it would free Cuba." For several hours with very languid interest David watched Lighthouse Harry and Colonel Beamish screw a heavy tripod to the deck and balance above it a quick-firing one-pounder. They worked very slowly, and to David, watching them from the lee scupper, they appeared extremely unintelligent.
Both Chloe and Beau Beamish wrinkled their foreheads at the disorderly notes of triple horns, whose pealing made an acid in the air instead of sweetness. 'You would say, kennel dogs that bay the moon! said the wincing beau. 'Yet, as you know, these fellows have been exercised. I have had them out in a meadow for hours, baked and drenched, to get them rid of their native cacophony.
This drew: "Ah, my pore lamb, you've got to feel worse yet afore you're better!" from Mrs. Beamish. It ended in Rogers taking up his quarters there, for the night. Towards eleven o'clock Mahony and he sat, one on each side of the table, in the little sitting-room. The heat was insupportable and all three doors and the window were propped open, in the feeble hope of creating a draught.
He complained of the impossibility of his getting an hour in privacy with his Chloe. 'And I, accustomed to consult with her, see too little of her, said Mr. Beamish. 'I shall presently be seeing nothing, and already I am sensible of my loss.
Soon, however, certain shopmen and their apprentices assisted Mr. Beamish to preserve the peace, despite the fury of Caseldy and the provocations 'not easy to withstand, says the chronicler offered by him to young Camwell. The latter said to Mr. Beamish: 'I knew I should be no match, so I sent for you, causing his friend astonishment, inasmuch as he was assured of the youth's natural valour.
'Why, madam, did he deliver no message to announce me? said the beau, ruffling. 'Goodness gracious! You must be Mr. Beamish, she replied. He laid his hat on his bosom, and invited her to quit her carriage for a seat beside him. She stipulated, 'If you are really Mr.
Beamish had seen that there was cause for gratitude to Caseldy, to whom he said, 'She has lost? and he seemed satisfied on hearing the amount of the loss, and commissioned Caseldy to escort the ladies to their lodgings at once, observing, 'Adieu, Count! 'You will find my foreign title of use to you here, after a bout or two, was the reply.
He had just seen, in a kind of phantom picture, the feet of the sisters Beamish as they sat on the verandah edge: both young women wore flat sandal-shoes. And so that neatest of neat ankles had been little Polly's property! For his life he loved a well-turned ankle in a woman. A minute later he sat down at the table again.
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