"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?"
"Vy, now didn't you tell me to go on?"
"I mean't go off."
"Then vy don't you speak plain hinglish," said the clarionist; "but, I say, lug out t'other browns, or I shall say vot the flute said ven his master said as how he'd play a tune on him."
"Vot vos that?"