Book-bot.com - read famous books online for free

The Trumpet-Major by Thomas Hardy
page 62 of 455 (13%)
'Don't let me hinder you longer,' said Festus. 'I'm off in a minute
or two, when your man has cleaned my boots.'

'Ye don't hinder us, nephew. She must have the paper: 'tis the day
for her to have 'n. She might read a little more, as I have had so
little profit out o' en hitherto. Well, why don't ye speak? Will
ye, or won't ye, my dear?'

'Not to two,' she said.

'Ho, ho! damn it, I must go then, I suppose,' said Festus, laughing;
and unable to get a further glance from her he left the room and
clanked into the back yard, where he saw a man; holding up his hand
he cried, 'Anthony Cripplestraw!'

Cripplestraw came up in a trot, moved a lock of his hair and
replaced it, and said, 'Yes, Maister Derriman.' He was old Mr.
Derriman's odd hand in the yard and garden, and like his employer
had no great pretensions to manly beauty, owing to a limpness of
backbone and speciality of mouth, which opened on one side only,
giving him a triangular smile.

'Well, Cripplestraw, how is it to-day?' said Festus, with
socially-superior heartiness.

'Middlin', considering, Maister Derriman. And how's yerself?'

'Fairish. Well, now, see and clean these military boots of mine.
I'll cock my foot up on this bench. This pigsty of my uncle's is
not fit for a soldier to come into.'
DigitalOcean Referral Badge