"Lord love me, my Lord, and is it you?" he exclaimed, clasping the
hand the Viscount had extended. "Now, from what that imp of a
bye--axing his parding--your tiger, Mr. Milo, told me, I were to
expect you at nine sharp--and here it be nigh on to ten--"
"True, Jack; but then both he and I reckoned without my father. My
father had the bad taste to--er--disagree with me, hence I am late,
Jack, and breakfastless, and my friend Mr. Beverley is as hungry as
I am. Bev, my dear fellow, this is a very old friend of mine--Jack
Truelove, who fought under my uncle at Trafalgar."
"Servant, sir!" says Jack, saluting Barnabas.
"The 'Belisarius,' Seventy-four!" smiled Barnabas.
"Ay, ay," says Jack, with a shake of his round head, "the poor old
'Bully-Sawyer'--But, Lord love me! if you be hungry--"
"Devilish!" said the Viscount, "but first, Jack--what's amiss with
Clemency?"
"Clemency? Why, where be that niece o' mine?"
"She's run away, Jack. I found her in tears, and I had scarce said a
dozen words to her when--hey presto! She's off and away."
"Tears is it, my Lord?--and 'er sighed, too, I reckon. Come now--'er
sighed likewise.
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