United States or Lithuania ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
At the hour named, the expedition, with many a promise that the music should be sweet, departed hilariously: Will Burdock, the left-handed cricketer and hard-hitter, being leader; with Peter Bartholomew, potboy, John Girling, miller's man, and Ned Thewk, gardener's assistant, for lieutenants. On the march, silence was proclaimed, and partially enforced, after two fights against authority.
"Beg pardon, mister," said the potboy, with a leer, and touching his cap, "anything allowed for this here little job carrying up the letter?" "I'll allow you a kick if you don't go!" exclaimed the wretched Loman, furiously. "Oh, very good," said the boy, making a long nose. "Wait till the governor walks up. We'll see who'll kick then!" And so saying the amiable and respectable youth departed.
It followed that Peter Bartholomew, potboy, made irritable objections to that old joke which finished his name as though it were a cat calling, and the offence being repeated, he dealt an impartial swing of his stick at divers heads, and told them to take that, which they assured him they had done by sending him flying into a hedge.
Greater wonder than these, when a bottle-nosed person in a glazed hat had after some considerable hesitation ordered another glass of gin and water of the attendant potboy, and when Miss Abbey, instead of sending it, appeared in person, saying, 'Captain Joey, you have had as much as will do you good, not only did the captain feebly rub his knees and contemplate the fire without offering a word of protest, but the rest of the company murmured, 'Ay, ay, Captain!
"Should I have said 'good night'? Good night, indeed! What mockery there is in commonplaces! That idea of mine needs some thought." So, instead of going to bed he sat down on one of the chimney benches. A sleepy potboy went to and fro among the tables, clearing up empty tankards and breakage. Maître le Borgne sat in his corner, reckoning up the day's accounts.
They say the devil strangled her." "Pooh! You speak of Mr. J . Is he the owner of the house?" "Yes." "Where does he live?" "In G Street, No. ." "What is he? In any business?" "No, sir, nothing particular; a single gentleman." I gave the potboy the gratuity earned by his liberal information, and proceeded to Mr. J , in G Street, which was close by the street that boasted the haunted house.
Some one "having presented to the young author a copy of verses on the trite and familiar subject of the Ploughboy," he replied with an ode on "The Potboy." "Bliss is not always join'd to wealth, Nor dwells beneath the gilded roof For poverty is bliss with health, Of that my potboy stands a proof." The volume ends with this determination,
It was never known who first carried the tidings to Paradise Row. There were those who said that Tribbledale was acquainted with a friend of Bobbin, and that he made it all known to Clara in an anonymous letter. There were others who traced a friendship between the potboy at The Duchess and a son of one of the messengers. It was at any rate known at No. 10.
"It's really excellent gin you sell here," he said to the barmaid when he had finished; "I think, my dear, I'll have just one more." At eleven the landlord gently but firmly insisted on his leaving, and he went, assisted, as far as the end of the court, by the potboy. After he was gone, the landlord noticed a neat little black bag on the seat where he had been lying.
She turned up Shaftesbury Avenue, and from the beginning of Dean Street she watched to see if the shutters were yet down. She thought they were, and then saw that she was mistaken. There was nothing to do but to wait, and on the steps of the Royalty Theatre she waited. The sun was shining, and she watched the cab horses, until the potboy came through and began cleaning the street lamp.
Word Of The Day