Smivvle's
hesitating manner, and he glanced toward the door of what was
evidently a bedroom.
"Alone, sir," said Mr. Smivvle, "is the precise and only word for it.
You have hit the nail exactly--upon the nob, sir." Here, having
found his whisker, Mr. Smivvle gave it a fierce wrench, loosed it,
and clenching his fist, smote himself two blows in the region of the
heart. "Sir," said he, "you behold in me a deserted and therefore
doleful ruminant chewing reflection's solitary cud. And, sir,--it is
a bitter cud, cursedly so,--wherein the milk of human kindness is
curdled, sir, curdled most damnably, my dear Beverley! In a word, my
friend Barry--wholly forgetful of those sacred bonds which the
hammer of Adversity alone can weld,--scorning Friendship's holy
obligations, has turned his back upon Smivvle,--upon Digby,--upon
faithful Dig, and--in short has--ah--hopped the mutual perch, sir."
"Do you mean he has left you?"
"Yes, sir. We had words this morning--a good many and, the end of it
was--he departed--for good, and all on your account!"
"My account?"
"And with a month's rent due, not to mention the Spanswick's wages,
and she has a tongue! 'Oh, Death, where is thy sting?'"
"But how on my account?"
"Sir, in a word, he resented my friendship for you.
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