“And this brave fellow,” asked Mr. Archer, very quietly, “this Oglethorpe—how is he now?”
“Well, sir, with my respects, I take it he has a hole bang through him,” said Sam. “The doctor hasn’t been yet. He’d ’a’ been bright and early if it had been a passenger. But, doctor or no, I’ll make a good guess that Tom won’t see to-morrow. He’ll die on a Sunday, will poor Tom; and they do say that’s fortunate.”
“Did Tom see him that did it?” asked Jonathan.
“Well, he saw him,” replied Sam, “but not to swear by. Said he was a very tall man, and very big, and had a ’ankerchief about his face, and a very quick shot, and sat his horse like a thorough gentleman, as he is.”
“A gentleman!” cried Nance. “The dirty knave!”
“Well, I calls a man like that a gentleman,” returned the ostler; “that’s what I mean by a gentleman.“
“You don’t know much of them, then,” said Nance. “A gentleman would scorn to stoop to such a thing. I call my uncle a better gentleman than any thief.”
“And you would be right,” said Mr. Archer.
“How many snuff-boxes did he get?” asked Jonathan.