CHAPTER XLIV.
SNUFF OUT OF A DIAMOND BOX.
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“Hark! a sound, Far and slight, Breathes around On the night; High and higher, Nigh and nigher, Like a fire Roaring bright.” “Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace–– Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right; Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily, Roland, a whit.” |
Another week rolled on. Old Clinker had pounded the parchment down as flat as last year’s palm-leaves, rustling himself like the leaves of an old book, and began to squeeze out a few dry remarks about earthquakes. He at last got Paddy Burns, who was a round, fat man, with much blood in him, in such a state of excitement, by talking about cracks, and yawning chasms, and splits in the earth, clouds of dust, sulphureous smells, and beams falling down and pressing people to powder over their wine, that Paddy declared he thought he was swallowing sawdust and eating dried codfish at every sip of Antigua punch and suck of orange he took.
Tom Stewart, likewise, said he couldn’t sleep a wink for quaking, and had cut a slice clean out of his chin while shaving, because his glass shook by a slamming door, and he thought his time had come.
Darcantel said nothing, but he took a quiet fancy to old Clinker, and talked for hours with him of the effect earthquakes had upon ships, and especially of general matters connected with the shipping interest, being withal very particular with regard to the appearance of the crews.
Piron looked grave, and heard the old clerk out, as if dried fruit were better than fresh, and limes sweeter than oranges.
Well, they were all sitting over their dessert at their last dinner at Escondido, for they were all going to leave old Clinker in the morning.
