Now, whether by inadvertence, or whether by mischievous intention, the individuality of the you was so carelessly denoted that both Dick and Shiner sprang to their feet like twin acrobats, and marched abreast to the door; both seized the latch and lifted it, and continued marching on, shoulder to shoulder, in the same manner to the dwelling-house. Not only so, but entering the room, they marched as before straight up to Mrs. Day’s chair, letting the door in the oak partition slam so forcibly, that the rows of pewter on the dresser rang like a bell.
“Mrs. Day, Fancy has stung her lip, and wants you to give me the hartshorn, please,” said Mr. Shiner, very close to Mrs. Day’s face.
“O, Mrs. Day, Fancy has asked me to bring out the hartshorn, please, because she has stung her lip!” said Dick, a little closer to Mrs. Day’s face.
“Well, men alive! that’s no reason why you should eat me, I suppose!” said Mrs. Day, drawing back.
She searched in the corner-cupboard, produced the bottle, and began to dust the cork, the rim, and every other part very carefully, Dick’s hand and Shiner’s hand waiting side by side.
“Which is head man?” said Mrs. Day. “Now, don’t come mumbudgeting so close again. Which is head man?”
Neither spoke; and the bottle was inclined towards Shiner. Shiner, as a high-class man, would not look in the least triumphant, and turned to go off with it as Geoffrey came downstairs after the search in his linen for concealed bees.
“O—that you, Master Dewy?”
Dick assured the keeper that it was; and the young man then determined upon a bold stroke for the attainment of his end, forgetting that the worst of bold strokes is the disastrous consequences they involve if they fail.
“I’ve come on purpose to speak to you very particular, Mr. Day,” he said, with a crushing emphasis intended for the ears of Mr. Shiner, who was vanishing round the door-post at that moment.