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Updated: May 29, 2025
‘A good dog for the country that!’ coolly observed Budden to the distracted Minns, ‘but he’s not much used to confinement. But now, Minns, when will you come down? I’ll take no denial, positively. Let’s see, to-day’s Thursday.—Will you come on Sunday? We dine at five, don’t say no—do.’ After a great deal of pressing, Mr.
Minns escorting Mrs. Budden as far as the drawing-room door, but being prevented, by the narrowness of the staircase, from extending his gallantry any farther. The dinner passed off as such dinners usually do. Ever and anon, amidst the clatter of knives and forks, and the hum of conversation, Mr.
Minns doubled himself up in a corner of the coach, and abandoned himself to his fate, as a child, a mother, a bandbox and a parasol, became his fellow-passengers. The child was an affectionate and an amiable infant; the little dear mistook Minns for his other parent, and screamed to embrace him.
They were down in the village proper now, and every house sent out its representatives. The village did not begin until the Lindsay hill had been descended and the little bridge that spanned the brown stream crossed, and right on the bank stood the tiny cottage where little Mitty Minns and her old invalid grandmother lived.
"Well'm; I suppose there's a good deal of dyin' this time of year?" "Have you a despatch for me?" Mrs. Richie said curtly. "No'm;" said Mrs. Minns. "Did Dr. King send a telegram for me this morning?" she asked in a sudden panic of alarm. "Yes'm," the postmistress said, "he sent it." Mrs. Richie turned away, and began to walk about the office; up and down, up and down.
With every feeling—of—with every sentiment of—of—’ ‘Gratification’—suggested the friend of the family. ‘—Of gratification, I beg to propose the health of Mr. Minns.’ ‘Standing, gentlemen!’ shouted the indefatigable little man with the whiskers—‘and with the honours. Take your time from me, if you please. Hip! hip! hip!—Za!—Hip! hip! hip!—Za!—Hip hip!—Za-a-a!’
‘Oh—why—really, you know, I’m the last person in the world to ask for news. Your cousin, from his situation, is the most likely person to answer the question.’ Mr. Minns assured the last speaker, that although he was in Somerset-house, he possessed no official communication relative to the projects of his Majesty’s Ministers.
Minns, in a friendly way—come down, sir—damn the dog! he’s spoiling your curtains, Minns—ha!—ha!—ha!’ Minns leaped from his seat as though he had received the discharge from a galvanic battery. ‘Come out, sir!—go out, hoo!’ cried poor Augustus, keeping, nevertheless, at a very respectful distance from the dog; having read of a case of hydrophobia in the paper of that morning.
‘Which is your house—I understand,’ said Minns, wishing to cut short the visit, and the story, at the same time. ‘No, no, that’s not mine; that’s Grogus’s, the great ironmonger’s. ‘Very well—thank ye—good-bye.’ ‘Be punctual.’ ‘Certainly: good morning.’ ‘I say, Minns, you’ve got a card.’ ‘Yes, I have; thank ye.’ And Mr.
Minns, with his head and half his body out of the coach window. ‘Di-rectly, sir,’ said the coachman, with his hands in his pockets, looking as much unlike a man in a hurry as possible.
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