1 lb. of orange peel
1 bottle of capers
1 quail of split pras
CHAPTER LIX.
ANOTHER COUNCIL OF WAR.—MR. GALLON AT HOME.
MRS. Margerum having soothed and pressed her beautiful boy to her bosom, ran into the house, and hurrying on the everlasting pheasant-feather bonnet in which she was first introduced to the reader, and a faded red and green tartan cloak hanging under it, emerged at the front door just as Sir Moses and Joe entered at the back one, vowing that she would have redress if it cost her a fi’ pun note. Clutching dear Anthony Thom by the waist, she made the best of her way down the evergreen walk, and skirting the gardens, got upon the road near the keeper’s lodge. “Come along, my own dear Anthony Thom,” cried she, helping him along, “let us leave this horrid wicked hole.—Oh, dear! I wish I’d never set foot in it; but I’ll not have my Anthony Thom chastised by any nasty old clothesman—no, that I won’t, if it cost me a fifty pun note”—continued she, burning for vengeance. But Anthony Thom had been chastised notwithstanding, so well, indeed, that he could hardly hobble—seeing which, Mrs. Margerum halted, and again pressing him to her bosom, exclaimed, “Oh, my beloved Anthony Thom can’t travel; I’ll take him and leave him at Mr. Hindmarch’s, while I go and consult Mr. Gallon.”—So saying, she suddenly changed her course, and crossing Rye-hill green, and the ten-acre field adjoining, was presently undergoing the wow-wow wow-wow of the farmer lawyer’o dog, Towler. The lawyer, ever anxious for his poultry, was roused by the noise; and after a rattle of bolts, and sliding of a sash, presented his cotton night-capped head at an upper window, demanding in a stentorian voice “who was there?”
“Me! Mr. Hindmarch, me! Mrs. Margerum; for pity’s sake take us in, for my poor dear boy’s been most shemfully beat.”
“Beat, has he!” exclaimed the lawyer, recognising the voice, his ready wit jumping to an immediate conclusion; “beat, has he!” repeated he, withdrawing from the window to fulfil her behest, adding to himself as he struck a light and descended the staircase, “that’ll ha’ summut to do with the dripping, I guess—always thought it would come to mischief at last.” The rickety door being unbolted and opened, Mrs. Margerum and her boy entered, and Mrs. Hindmarch having also risen and descended, the embers of the kitchen fire were resuscitated, and Anthony Thom was examined by the united aid of a tallow candle and it. “Oh, see! see!” cried Mrs. Margerum, pointing out the wales on his back,—“was there ever a boy so shemfully beat? But I’ll have revenge on that villainous man,—that I will, if it cost me a hundred pun note.”—The marks seen, soothed, and deplored, Mr. Hindmarch began inquiring who had done it. “Done it! that nasty old Nosey,” replied Mrs. Margerum, her eyes flashing with fire; “but I’ll make the mean feller pay for it,” added she,—“that I will.”
“No, it wasn’t old No-No-Nosey, mo-mo-mother,” now sobbed Anthony Thom, “it was that nasty Joe Ski-Ski-Skinner.”