THE MUSICIAN TOOK TO HIS HEELS AND FLED.
He did not seem to mind them in the least, though, and continued singing amid a perfect storm of boots, brushes, and bottles, as though he was quite accustomed to such treatment: and it was only when an irate figure, which somehow reminded me of his Majesty’s Sister-in-Law, clad in white garments and flourishing a pair of tongs, appeared in the courtyard, that he took to his heels and fled, pursued by the white-robed apparition, till both disappeared beneath an archway at the farther end of the courtyard. Most of the windows were thereupon closed, and the disturbed occupants of the palace returned to their rest. I was just about to close my lattice too, when I caught sight of a familiar figure at the adjoining window. It was my old friend A. Fish, Esq.
“Oh! id’s you iz id,” he cried. “You have cub thed, I heard that you were egspegded.”
“Yes, here I am,” I replied. “How are you? How is your cold?”
“Oh, id’s quide cured, thags; dote you dotice how butch better I speak?”
“I’m very glad to hear it, I’m sure,” I replied, waiving the question and trying to keep solemn. “What’s all this row about?”
“Oh! thad’s the troubadour, up to his old gabes agaid; he’s ad awful dusadce. I’ll tell you aboud hib in the bordig—good dight.” And A. Fish, Esq., disappeared from view.