"Sarvent, sir--name o' Jerry Tucker, late Bo'sun, 'Bully-Sawyer,'
Seventy-four; come aboard with despatches from his Honor Cap'n
Chumly and my Lady Cleone Meredith. To see Mr. Barnabas Beverley,
Esquire. To give these here despatches into Mr. Beverley Esquire's
own 'and. Them's my orders, sir."
"Certainly, Bo'sun," said Peterby; and, to the Gentleman-in-Powder,
his bow was impressive; "pray step this way."
So the Bo'sun, treading as softly as his wooden leg would allow,
stumped after him upstairs and along a thickly carpeted corridor, to
a certain curtained door upon which Peterby gently knocked, and
thereafter opening, motioned the Bo'sun to enter.
It was a small and exquisitely furnished, yet comfortable room,
whose luxurious appointments,--the rich hangings, the rugs upon the
floor, the pictures adorning the walls,--one and all bore evidence
to the rare taste, the fine judgment of this one-time poacher of
rabbits, this quiet-voiced man with the quick, bright eyes, and the
subtly humorous mouth. But, just now, John Peterby was utterly
serious as he glanced across to where, bowed down across the
writing-table, his head pillowed upon his arms, his whole attitude
one of weary, hopeless dejection, sat Barnabas Beverley, Esquire.
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