The Astonishing History of Troy Town | Page 8

came nigh to bein' chrisn'd
Sihon an' Og, on'y the old Vicar said he'd be blowed fust--very free wi'
his langwidge was th' ould Vicar."
"I should fancy so," said Mr. Fogo; "but you'll excuse me if I don't
quite see, yet, why you advise me to call on these people."
"No offence, sir. On'y they owns Kit's House, that's all."
"I see; and Kit's House is the place you have in your mind."
"That's et, sir."
"And these Dearloves, where do they live?"
"Furder up the river by two mile."
"Could you row me up this afternoon to see them?"
Caleb Trotter rose, and drew the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Wi' all the pleasure in life, sir, as Uncle Zachy said when he gi'ed his
da'ter in marriage."
In less than ten minutes Caleb had brought his boat round to the quay.
Mr. Fogo stepped in, and was presently seated in the stern and
meditatively listening while Caleb rowed--and talked--"like a Trojan."
Here we may leave them for a while and return to the Admiral, whom
we left in the act of plunging furiously into his own house. It was not
the habit of that fiery little tar to hide his emotions from the wife of his
bosom.

"Emily!" he bellowed, "Em-i-ly, I say! Come down this instant."
The three Misses Buzza at the parlour window knew the tone, and
shuddered: Mrs. Buzza, up-stairs, heard, trembled, and obeyed.
"Yes, darling. What is it?"
"Fill the warming-pan at once. I'm going to bed."
"To bed, love!"
"Yes, to bed. Don't I speak plainly enough? To bed, ma'am, to bed, and
at once."
"You are upset, dearest; be cool, I implore you."
"Be cool! Be coo'--Don't hector me, ma'am, but fetch that warming-pan
at once. I'll teach you about being cool! Sophy, pull off my boots."
They obeyed. The warming-pan was brought--an enormous engine, big
enough to hold the Admiral himself--and the bed heated. The Admiral
undressed, and, himself a warming-pan of rage, plunged between the
sheets. It was a wonder the bed-clothes were not on fire.
"Pull down the blind, and bring me something to eat!"
"Yes, love."
"And be quick about it. Can't you see I'm starving?"
It is true that the Admiral's excitement had interfered with his breakfast
that morning, but it was none the less difficult to read starvation upon
his face. Mrs. Buzza obeyed, however; and presently returned with the
liver-wing of a fowl.
"You call that a dinner for a hungry man, I suppose! Bring me some
more!"
"My dear, I didn't know you wanted a dinner."

"Confound it, ma'am! must I put dress-studs in my night-shirt to
convince you I want to dine? Bring me some more!"
"There is no more fowl, dear. I kept this from yesterday's as a tit-bit for
you."
"What is for dinner to-day?"
"Boiled beef: but you said expressly that dinner was to be late to-day,
in consequence of the arrivals, and it is not nearly done yet."
"I don't care, bring it!"
The mention of the arrivals sent the Admiral up to a white heat again.
"But, my--"
"Bring it!"
It was brought. The Admiral had two helpings, and then a glass of grog.
"Go."
Mrs. Buzza withdrew. Left to himself, the Admiral tossed, and turned,
and fumed, and swore, lay still for a while, and then repeated the
process backwards. After a time the bed-clothes began to prick him,
and the heat to become a positive torture. He leapt out, and tore at the
bell-rope, until it came away in his hand--just as his wife reappeared.
"Will you kindly inform me what the devil's wrong with this bed? Who
made it?"
"Selina, dear."
"Then will you kindly give Selina a month's notice on the spot? Do you
hear? On the spot--What's that?"
The Admiral rushed to the window and pulled up the blind. He was just
in time to see a close carriage and pair dash past and pull up at "The

Bower."
A moment afterwards, Miss Limpenny, from the first-storey window of
No. 1, saw the carriage door open, and a tall gentleman emerge. The
tall gentleman was followed by a lady, whom even at that distance
Miss Limpenny could see to possess a remarkably graceful figure. A
small youth in livery sprang down from beside the coachman and
helped to lower the boxes, whilst the new arrivals passed into the house
where the charwoman, Mrs. Snell, stood smearing her face with her
apron, and ducking in frenzied welcome.
The Honourable Frederic Augustus Hythe Goodwyn-Sandys and his
wife, instead of arriving by train, had posted from Five-Lanes Junction.
There was no public demonstration. They might as well have come in
the dead of night. Miss Limpenny was almost the sole witness of their
arrival, and Miss