"
"Why he hasn't hung himself in earnest, and summoned you on his inquest!"
exclaimed Mrs. T.
"Worse nor that," says I; "he's turned author, and in course is stewed up
in some wery elevated apartment during this blessed season of the year,
when all nature is wagging with delight, and the fairs is on, and the
police don't want nothing to do to warm 'em, and consequentially sees no
harm in a muster of infantry in bye-streets. It's very hawful."
Vixen sighed and scratched her ear with her right leg, so I know'd she'd
something in her head, for she always does that when anything tickles her.
"Toby," says she, "go and see the old gentleman; perhaps it might comfort
him to larrup you a little."
"Very well," says I, "I'll be off at once; so put me by a bone or two for
supper, should any come out while I'm gone; and if you can get the puppies
to sleep before I return, I shall be so much obleeged to you." Saying
which, I toddled off for Wellington-street. I had just got to the
coach-stand at Hyde Park Corner, when who should I see labelled as a
waterman but the one-eyed chap we once had as a orchestra--he as could
only play "Jim Crow" and the "Soldier Tired.
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