"A friend who has frequently spoken of your Lordship--"
"Very kind of him!" murmured the Viscount.
"And though, my Lord, though my name is not familiar, I think you
will remember his; the name of my friend is "--here Mr. Smivvle,
having at length discovered his whisker, gave it a fierce twirl,--
"Ronald Barrymaine."
The Viscount's smooth brow remained unclouded, only the glove tore
in his fingers; so he smiled, shook his head, and drawing it off,
tossed it away.
"Hum?" said he, "I seem to have heard some such name--somewhere or
other--ah! there's my Imp at last, as tight and smart as they make
'em, eh, Bev? Well, good-by, my dear fellow, I shan't forget Friday
next." So saying, the Viscount shook hands, climbed into his curricle,
and, with a flourish of his whip, was off and away in a moment.
"A fine young fellow, that!" exclaimed Mr. Smivvle; "yes, sir,
regular out-and-outer, a Bang up! by heaven, a Blood, sir! a Tippy!
a Go! a regular Dash! High, sir, high, damned high, like my friend
Barrymaine,--indeed, you may have remarked a similarity between 'em,
sir?"
"You forget, I have never met your friend," said Barnabas.
Pages:
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283