At length his lordship threw himself back in his chair, and stretching his little queer legs out before him, began to breathe thicker and thicker, till at last he got the melody up to a grunt. It was not the fine generous snore of a sleep that he usually enjoyed, but short, fitful, broken naps, that generally terminated in spasmodic jerks of the arms or legs. These grew worse, till at last all four went at once, like the limbs of a Peter Waggey, when, throwing himself forward with a violent effort, he awoke; and finding his horse was not a-top of him, as he thought, he gave vent to his feelings in the following ejaculations:
'Oh, Jack, I'm onhappy!' exclaimed he. 'I'm distressed!' continued he. 'I'm wretched!' added he, slapping his knees. 'I'm perfectly miserable!' he concluded, with a strong emphasis on the 'miserable.'
'What's the matter?' asked Jack, who was half-asleep himself.
HIS LORDSHIP AND JACK
'Oh, that Mister Something!—he'll be the death of me!' observed his lordship.
'I thought so,' replied Jack; 'what's the chap been after now?'
'I dreamt he'd killed old Lablache—best hound I have,' replied his lordship.
'He be ——,' grunted Jack.
'Ah, it's all very well for you to say "he be this" and "he be that," but I can tell you what, that fellow is going to be a very awkward customer—a terrible thorn in my side.'