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‘I think they look a great deal more like omnibus cads on all fours,’ replied the discontented one. ‘Upon the whole, I should have liked our evening very well,’ gasped Gobler; ‘only I caught a desperate cold which increased my pain dreadfully! I was obliged to have several shower-baths, before I could leave my room.’ ‘Capital things those shower-baths!’ ejaculated Wisbottle.
O’Bleary?’ said Mrs. Tibbs, hoping to start a topic. ‘Yes,’ replied Orson, with a mouthful of toast. ‘Never saw anything like it before, I suppose?’ suggested Wisbottle. ‘No—except the Lord Lieutenant’s levees,’ replied O’Bleary. ‘Are they at all equal to our drawing-rooms?’ ‘Oh, infinitely superior!’ ‘Gad!
‘Hush—hush!’ cried somebody down-stairs. ‘What a d-d hushing!’ said Alfred Tomkins, who began to get rather bewildered. ‘There they are!’ exclaimed the sapient Wisbottle, as a rustling noise was heard in the store-room. ‘Hark!’ whispered both the young men. ‘Hark!’ repeated Mrs. Tibbs and Evenson. ‘Let me alone, sir,’ said a female voice in the store-room.
I don’t know,’ said the aristocratic Wisbottle, ‘the Dowager Marchioness of Publiccash was most magnificently dressed, and so was the Baron Slappenbachenhausen.’ ‘What was he presented on?’ inquired Evenson. ‘On his arrival in England.’ ‘I thought so,’ growled the radical; ‘you never hear of these fellows being presented on their going away again. They know better than that.’
‘It certainly has occurred to me,’ said Wisbottle, who thought this answer was a poser; ‘it has occurred to me, and I am willing to pay for them.’ ‘Well, and it has occurred to me too,’ replied John Evenson, ‘and I ain’t willing to pay for ’em.
Tibbs, you change colour!’ ‘No, no—it’s nothing,’ returned Mrs. T. in a hurried manner; ‘it’s only the heat of the room.’ ‘A flush!’ ejaculated Mrs. Bloss from the card-table; ‘that’s good for four.’ ‘If I thought it was Mr. Wisbottle,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, after a pause, ‘he should leave this house instantly.’ ‘Go!’ said Mrs. Bloss again.
‘I’ll tell you what, Wisbottle,’ said Evenson, who had been bottling up his anger for some hours—‘the next time you feel disposed to whistle “The Light Guitar” at five o’clock in the morning, I’ll trouble you to whistle it with your head out o’ window. If you don’t, I’ll learn the triangle—I will, by—’ The entrance of Mrs. Mrs.
Wisbottle was describing semicircles on the music-stool, turning over the leaves of a book on the piano, and humming most melodiously; Alfred Tomkins was sitting at the round table, with his elbows duly squared, making a pencil sketch of a head considerably larger than his own; O’Bleary was reading Horace, and trying to look as if he understood it; and John Evenson had drawn his chair close to Mrs.
I repeat, I fear Wisbottle is endeavouring to gain the affections of that young woman, Agnes, and that he is in the habit of meeting her in the store-room on the first floor, over the leads. From my bedroom I distinctly heard voices there, last night. I opened my door immediately, and crept very softly on to the landing; there I saw Mr. Tibbs, who, it seems, had been disturbed also.—Bless me, Mrs.
‘I told you so,’ said Wisbottle, in a most knowing whisper. ‘Lord bless you, he has paid her most extraordinary attention for the last two months. I saw ’em when I was sitting at the piano to-night.’ ‘Well, do you know I didn’t notice it?’ interrupted Tomkins.
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