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After that Arthur was a lion, whom all people in the valley wished to see and talk with, and with whom the landlord bore as he had never borne with a guest before, for Arthur found fault with the rooms, which he likened to bath-tubs, and fault with the smells which came from the river, and fault with the smoke in the parlour, but made ample amends by the money he spent so lavishly, the scores of photographs he bought, and the puffs he wrote for the San Francisco papers, extolling the valley as the very gate of heaven, and the hotel as second only to the Palace, and signing himself "Bumble Bees."
Bumble himself, who happened to be hard by, but alarmed him so much that he rushed into the yard without his cocked hat, which is a very curious and remarkable circumstance: as showing that even a beadle, acted upon a sudden and powerful impulse, may be afflicted with a momentary visitation of loss of self-possession, and forgetfulness of personal dignity. 'Oh, Mr.
You were beadle here, once; were you not? 'I was, said Mr. Bumble, in some surprise; 'porochial beadle. 'Just so, rejoined the other, nodding his head. 'It was in that character I saw you. What are you now? 'Master of the workhouse, rejoined Mr. Bumble, slowly and impressively, to check any undue familiarity the stranger might otherwise assume. 'Master of the workhouse, young man!
Just then Bumble came in, and when she heard about Patty's experience she looked astounded. "Why," said she, "I took Patty to her room myself, and I never noticed that there was no bed there!" "You're a rattle-pated goosey," said her father: "but never mind, Patty, you shall have two beds to-night to make up for it, I'll promise you that"
The stranger smiled, and nodded his head again: as much to say, he had not mistaken his man; then rang the bell. 'Fill this glass again, he said, handing Mr. Bumble's empty tumbler to the landlord. 'Let it be strong and hot. You like it so, I suppose? 'Not too strong, replied Mr. Bumble, with a delicate cough. 'You understand what that means, landlord! said the stranger, drily.
Thinking begets thinking; as there were no sounds of Mrs. Corney's approach, it occured to Mr. Bumble that it would be an innocent and virtuous way of spending the time, if he were further to allay his curiousity by a cursory glance at the interior of Mrs. Corney's chest of drawers. Having listened at the keyhole, to assure himself that nobody was approaching the chamber, Mr.
Bumble came as a pauper to die. Tragic was the fate of poor Nancy. Suspected by Fagin of plotting against her accomplices, the Jew so worked on Sikes that the savage housebreaker murdered her. But neither Fagin nor Sikes escaped.
The Alderman stormed; his lady raved; and Henrietta cried. Mrs. Bumble said she would be minded, and giving the man a guinea, told him, if it came to more, to pay it. "What," continued she, "would you have an alderman's lady send for a sixpenny wicker cage, to keep a squirrel in.
"It be more cleaner dan one pig, anyhow," remarked Bumble, on observing the disgust of his white friends; "an' you no objic' to eat dat." "Clainer than a pig, ye spalpeen!" cried Phil Briant; "that only shows yer benighted haithen ignerance.
That was the way that my Uncle, the General Robert, received my news of the improved health of the back of small Pierre, and with my two eyes I shed a few secret tears that did roll down into my mouth which was broad from a laugh as I went in search of my Buzz. "Bully, old top," said my Bumble Bee as I imparted also my joy to him.
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