“D—— that, etc.! and send him to, etc.!”
“Yes, sir.”
And away glided the liveried rotundity.—
Appearing at the street-door, the musician took his instrument from his lips, and, approaching the steps, touched his sorry beaver with the side of his left hand.
“There's three-pence for you,” said the menial, “and master wishes you'd move on.”
“Threepence, indeed!” mumbled the man. “I never moves on under sixpence: d'ye think I doesn't know the walley o' peace and quietness?”
“Fellow!” cried the irate footman, with a pompous air—“Master desires as you'll go on.”
“Werry well”—replied the other, touching his hat, while the domestic waddled back, and closed the door, pluming himself upon having settled the musician; but he had no sooner vanished, than the strain was taken up again more uproariously than ever.
Out he rushed again in a twinkling—
“Fellow! I say—man! vot do you mean?”