And in a twinkling we were on our way to lay our troubles before the great functionary, an extensive planter in the neighbourhood."
"Pray, where is Mr Turner, the gentleman from Falmouth, who brought that ominous Mr Wilson to the ball, to be found?" said I, as we stumped along, larding the lean earth, for it was cruelly hot.
"Well thought of," said Don Felix. "He lodges usually at Judy Wade's. Why, there he is in propria persona, standing in the front piazza."
"How do you do, Turner? You will have heard the row on the bay?"
"Oh yes; but the Tom Bowline has been given up; she has not even been plundered, and is now working into the bay."
"No—no—not the Tom Bowline"——
"What, about the brig having been cut out? Oh yes; it has flown like wild-fire."
"Pray, is Mr Wilson still with you?"
"No, to my surprise (I will confess), he is not. It seems he came home before me from Roseapple's, packed his portmanteau, paid half of our joint bills, and bolted"——
"Honour amongst thieves," whispered Twig to me—