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Smivvle, shaking his head and sighing again, "on account of the lamentable affair of a month ago, the Bow Street Runners have assiduously chivvied me from pillar to post and from perch to perch, dammem! Had a notion to slip over to France, but the French will insist on talking their accursed French at one, so I've decided for America.
Poor Barrymaine's star is set and mine is setting westwards, sir my bourne is the far Americas, Beverley. "Ah, Mr. Smivvle!" exclaimed Barnabas, sitting up, "I'm glad to see you very glad. But what do you mean by America?" "Sir," answered Mr.
Full of rogues, rascals, damn scoundrels, by heaven, sharks, sir! confounded cannibals, by George! eat you alive. Stranger myself, sir; just up from my little place in Worcestershire King's Heath, know it, perhaps? No? Charming village! rural, quiet; mossy trees, sir; winding brooks, larks and cuckoos carolling all day long. Sir, there has been a Smivvle at the Hall since before the Conquest!
And so, with a prodigious flourish of the hat, Mr. Smivvle bowed, smiled, and swaggered off. Then, as he turned to follow Peterby into the inn, Barnabas must needs pause to glance towards the spot where lay the Viscount's torn glove.
Smivvle, steadying himself against the panelling with shaking hands, "the word will be Ready? One! Two! Three Fire! Do you understand?" An eager "Yes" from Barrymaine, a slight nod from Chichester, yet Mr. Smivvle still leaned there mutely against the wall, as though his tongue failed him, or as if hearkening to that small, soft sound, that might have been wind in the trees.
But all at once the sleeper stirred, frowned, and started up with a bitter imprecation upon his lips that ended in a vacant stare. "Why, Barry," cried Mr. Smivvle leaning over him, "my dear boy, did we disturb you?" "Ah, Dig is that you?
"Certainly not, my dear fellow," answered Mr. Smivvle, drawing Barrymaine's clenched fist through his arm and holding it there, "nobody wants to. And, as for you, Chichester couldn't come at a better time let me introduce our friend Mr. Beverley " "Thank you, Smivvle, but we've met before," said Mr.
Barrymaine reached out with clutching fingers, swayed, twisted sideways and would have fallen, had not Barnabas caught him. "Poor boy!" cried Mr. Bimby, "a fit, I think so very young, poor boy! You'll need help, sir. Oh, poor boy, poor boy!" So saying, the little gentleman hurried away and presently returned with John and Mr. Smivvle.
Beverley, you overwhelm me " "Debts are necessary evils," said Barnabas, "and must be paid." Mr. Smivvle stared at Barnabas, his brow furrowed by perplexity, stared like one who is suddenly at a loss; and indeed his usual knowing air was quite gone.
Barnabas inquired, struck by Mr. Smivvle's hesitating manner, and he glanced toward the door of what was evidently a bedroom. "Alone, sir," said Mr. Smivvle, "is the precise and only word for it. You have hit the nail exactly upon the nob, sir." Here, having found his whisker, Mr.
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