Inch by
inch it rose up over the window-ledge--the dusty crown--the frayed
band--the curly brim, and beneath it a face there was no mistaking
by reason of its round, black eyes and the untamable ferocity of its
whiskers. Hereupon, with its chin resting upon the window-sill, the
head gently shook itself to and fro, sighed, and thereafter
pronounced these words:
Devilish pale! Deuced thin! But himself again. Oh, lucky dog! With
Fortune eager to dower him with all the treasures of her cornucopia,
and Beauty waiting for him with expectant arms, oh, lucky dog! Oh,
happy youth! Congratulations, Beverley, glad of it, my dear fellow,
you deserve it all and more. Oh, fortunate wight!
But, as for me--you behold the last of lonely Smivvle, sir, of
bereaved Digby--of solitary Dig. Poor Barrymaine's star is set and
mine is setting--westwards, sir--my bourne is the far Americas,
Beverley.
"Ah, Mr. Smivvle!" exclaimed Barnabas, sitting up, "I'm glad to see
you--very glad. But what do you mean by America?"
"Sir," answered Mr. Smivvle, shaking his head and sighing again,
"on account of the lamentable affair of a month ago, the Bow Street
Runners have assiduously chivvied me from pillar to post and from
perch to perch, dammem! Had a notion to slip over to France, but the
French will insist on talking their accursed French at one, so I've
decided for America.
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