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Updated: June 15, 2025
The black man grunted, and put his pipe in his mouth, staring past Dinshaw at the door as if he expected to see a pursuing party burst in and attack the old man, who seemed spent from running. "Who's der drouble?" he growled. "For v'y you roon?" "I've hauled the wind!" cried Dinshaw, dropping his parcel on the bar, and throwing up his hands in a gesture of wild delight. "My luck's turned!
"V'y the coping-stone I'll not go for to deny, sir," said Mr. Shrig, stroking his smooth brow, "but t'other time it were my friend and pal the Corp 'ere, Corporal Richard Roe, late Grenadiers. 'E's only got an 'ook for an 'and, but vith that 'ook 'e's oncommonly 'andy, and as a veapon it ain't by no means to be sneezed at.
"My feyther, sir," he continued, "my feyther, 'e druv' the Dartford Mail, an' 'e were the finest v'ip as ever druv' a coach, Dartford or otherwise; 'Andsome 'Arry' 'e vere called, though v'y 'andsome I don't know, seeing as 'is nose veren't all it might ha' been, on account o' a quart pot; an' v'y 'Arry I don't know, seeing as 'is name vos Villiam; but, ''Andsome 'Arry' 'e vere called, an' werry much respected 'e vere too.
"What deed?" "V'y the deed. The deed as all London is a-talking of, the murder o' Jasper Gaunt, the money-lender." "Ah!" said Barnabas thoughtfully. "And so you are quite sure that I didn't murder Jasper Gaunt, are you. Mr. Shrig?" "Quite oh, Lord love you, yes!" "And why?" "Because," said Mr.
'Verefore an' v'y? enkvires my feyther, but Black Dan only vagged 'is veppings in my feyther's face, an' grinned under 'is mask. 'I vants you, so, 'Andsome 'Arry come down! sez 'e. Now I've told you as my feyther vos the boldest " "Yes, yes," cried the fussy gentleman. "Well?"
Shrig who leaned against a convenient post and stared with round eyes at the tumble-down houses opposite, while upon his usually placid brow he wore a frown of deep perplexity. "So you followed me?" exclaimed Barnabas. "V'y, sir, since you mention it, I did take that 'ere liberty.
With shaken consciousness and trembling body, he clutched and held on, while the ebbing life turned and flooded up in him again. Once, in his passion, unable to hit him, Ponta made as though to lift him up and hurl him to the floor. "V'y don't you bite him?" Silverstein taunted shrilly.
"Vich I begs to re-mark, sir, as I don't never suppose no such thing, like my feyther afore me. Brave as a lion were my feyther, sir, an' bred up to the road; v'y, Lord! 'e were born vith a coachman's v'ip in 'is mouth no, I mean 'is fist, as ye might say; an' 'e were the boldest " "But what's your father got to do with it?" cried the fussy gentleman. "What about my valise?"
"Vell, sir, my feyther stared at them murderous pistols, stared at Black Dan, an' being the werry gamest an' bravest cove you ever see, didn't 'esitate a second." "Well," cried the fussy gentleman, "what did he do then?" "Do, sir v'y I'll tell you my feyther come down." "Yes, yes," said the fussy gentleman, as Mottle-face paused. "Go on, go on!" "Go on v'ere, sir?" "Go on with your story.
"It is," nodded Barnabas. "V'y, then, to begin vith, that theer coat o' yours, it's too long to run in off vith it, sir!" Barnabas smiled, but off came the long, befrogged surtout. "Now my castor, sir" and Mr. Shrig handed Barnabas his famous hat. "Put it on, sir, if you please. You'll find it a bit 'eavyish at first, maybe, but it's werry good ag'in windictiveness."
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