Tom Cringle's Log by Michael Scott
page 74 of 773 (09%)
page 74 of 773 (09%)
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"Surely, sir,--surely," the dark lady continued;--"Follow me, sir; and dat
small gentleman,--[Thomas Cringle, Esquire, no less!]--him will better follow me too." We left the room, and, turning to the right, landed in the lower piazza of the house, fronting the north. A large clumsy stair occupied the easternmost end, with a massive mahogany balustrade, but the whole affair below was very ill lighted. The brown lady preceded us; and planting herself at the bottom of the staircase, began to shout to some one above. "Toby!--Toby!--buccra gentlemen arrive, Toby." But no Toby responded to the call. "My dear madam," said Treenail, "I have little time for ceremony. Pray usher us up into Mr-----'s presence." "Den follow me, gentlemen, please." Forthwith we all ascended the dark staircase until we reached the first landing--place, when we heard a noise as of two negroes wrangling on the steps above us. "You rascal!" sang out one, "take dat; larn you for teal my wittal!"--then a sharp crack, as if he had smote the culprit across the pate; whereupon, like a shot, a black fellow, in a handsome livery, trundled down, pursued by another servant with a large silver ladle in his hand, with which he was belabouring the fugitive over his flinthard skull, right against our hostess, with the drumstick of a turkey in his hand, or rather in his mouth. |
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