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Updated: June 9, 2025
"I did." "Where?" Mr. Milsom looked at his friend with a glance of profound cunning. "Wouldn't you like to know oh, wouldn't you just like to know, Mr. Wayman?" he said. "And wouldn't you just dose me with a cup of drugged coffee, and cut off to ransack my hiding-place while I was lying helpless in your hospitable abode.
Milsom had finished his second pipe of shag tobacco, and had given utterance to more than one exclamation of anger and impatience, when the door was opened, and Dennis Wayman made his appearance, bearing a tray with a couple of covered dishes and a large pewter pot. "I thought I'd bring you your grub myself, mate," he said; "though I'm precious busy in yonder.
The bar of the tavern was crowded, and the tinkling notes of the old piano sounded feebly from the inner room. Dennis Wayman was serving his customers, and Thomas Milsom was drinking at the bar. Joyce pushed his way to the landlord. "Have you seen anything of the captain?" he asked. "No, he hasn't been here since you left." "You're sure of that?" "Quite sure."
"You'll find that difficult," answered Wayman. "Perhaps. But I'll do it, or my name's not Black Milsom." Captain Joseph Duncombe, or Joe Duncombe, as he generally called himself, was a burly, rosy-faced man of fifty years of age; a hearty, honest fellow. He was a widower, with only one child, a daughter, whom he idolized.
"You might a'most drive over it on such a night as this," answered Black Milsom, "and not be much the wiser." The three men alighted, and Dennis Wayman led the vicious pony to a broken-down shed, which served as stable and coach-house in Mr. Milsom's establishment. Valentine Jernam looked about him.
Wayman, another missionary to Pennsylvania about the middle of the eighteenth century, asserted that "neither" was "there anywhere care taken for the instruction of Negro slaves," the duty to whom he had "pressed upon masters with little effect." To meet this need the Society set the example of maintaining catechetical lectures for Negroes in St.
The landlord of the 'Jolly Tar' started with a gesture of alarm. "It wasn't there you hid the money, was it?" he asked, eagerly. "Suppose it was, what then?" "Why every farthing of it is lost. The place has been taken by a man, who has pulled the best part of it down, and rebuilt it. If you hid your money there, there's little chance of your ever seeing it again," said Wayman.
Wayman," said Joyce, "I'm likely to be a good bit down in this neighbourhood, while I'm waiting for directions about my poor captain's ship from his brother Captain George, and as your house suits me as well as any other, I may as well take up my quarters here. I know you've got plenty of room, and you'll find me a quiet lodger." "So be it," answered the landlord, promptly. "I'm agreeable."
Of course this boy belonged in a pair of those stockings over there. It was no more than was to be expected. "It's me. I'm not a 'wayman any more, just me. I heard you'd come, so I thought I'd come an' see you. You glad? Why don't you ask me will I take a seat?" "Will I will you take a seat?" repeated Miss Salome, as if she were saying a lesson. The Little Blue Overalls climbed into a chair.
"At least, I didn't know for certain, but I guessed as much; though sometimes I was half inclined to think you had turned cheat, and given me the slip." "Bolted with the swag, I suppose you mean?" "Precisely!" answered Dennis Wayman, coolly. "Which shows your suspicious nature," returned Milsom, in a sulky tone.
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