He approached ARCHIBALD, and poked him in the ribs, facetiously.
"Ah!" he ejaculated; "and it's a cryin' shame, so it is, that a fine lad
like yerself should be took with sich a complaint. It's modeshty what
ails ye, man. And wasn't it Mester JOHN SHAKESPEER himself, him as writ
the illegant versis, Lord luv his ashis, as says to me only jist afore
his breath soured on him, 'TEDDY,' says he, wid much feelin', 'TEDDY,
modeshty is a fine thing in a woman,' says he, 'but it's death to a man.
Promise me now,' says he, 'for I feel as this clay is a coolin'
fast--promise me, TEDDY, as you'll never hev nothink to do with it--no,
not never, my boy.' I promised him, and Hevins knows as I've kep' my
word. But, Lord alive, I'm a keepin' you all the time from yer own dear
wife, as is a dyin' to see you--and a sweet dear it is."
He ushered ARCHIBALD into the Ladies' Parlor, closed the door, and
applied his ear to the key-hole, with an air of the most respectful
attention.
According to TEDDY'S way of thinking, ANN was not hankering for
ARCHIBALD'S society.
"What do you want _here_?" said she, sharply.
"Oh, don't speak cross to me, Miss BRUMMET," said he, looking timidly
around. Then he put his finger on his lip, and shook his head
energetically.
Pages:
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36