“Well,” drawled Billy, “I don’t care if you do,” thinking there wouldn’t be many to buy.
“Oh!” gasped Gaiters, relieved by the announcement; he always thought he had lost young Mr. Easyman’s place by a similar demand, but still he couldn’t help making it. It wouldn’t have been doing justice to the Bank of England note character, indeed, if he hadn’t.
“Oh!” repeated he, emboldened by success, and thinking he had met with the right sort of man. He then proceeded to sum up his case in his mind,—forage, helpers, horses, horses, helpers, forage;—he thought that was all he required; yes, he thought it was all he required, and the Bank of England note character would be properly supported. He then came to the culminating point of the cash. Just as he was clearing his throat with a prefatory “Hre” for this grand consideration, a sudden rush and banging of doors foreboding mischief resounded through the house, and something occurred——that we will tell in another chapter.
CHAPTER XLVII.
A CATASTROPHE.—A TÊTE-À-TÊTE DINNER
ON, Sir, Sir, please step this way! please step this way!” exclaimed the delirium tremems footman, rushing coatless into the room where our hero and Mr. Gaiters were,—his shirt-sleeves tucked up, and a knife in hand, as if he had been killing a pig, though in reality he was fresh from the knife-board.
“Oh, Sir, Sir, please step this way!” repeated he, at once demolishing the delicate discussion at which our friend and Mr. Gaiters had arrived.
“What’s ha-ha-happened?” demanded Billy, turning deadly pale; for his cares were so few, that he couldn’t direct his fears to any one point in particular.
“Please, sir, your ‘oss has dropped down in a f-f-fit!” replied the man, all in a tremble.