Washford's heart smote him: he felt all that was implied in his master's appeal. "It's here, your Honour," said he; "I had only taken it off because we have had a smartish shower; but the sky is brightening now." The wig was replaced, and the little tortuous pigtail wriggled itself into its accustomed position.
At this moment neighbour Jenkinson peeped over the hedge.
"Joe Washford!" said neighbour Jenkinson.
"Sir, to you," was the reply.
"How beautiful your tulips look after the rain!"
"Ah! sir, master sets no great store by them flowers," returned the gardener.
"Indeed!—Then perhaps he would have no objection to part with a few?"
"Why, no!—I don't think master would like to give them,—or anything else,—away, sir;"—and Washford scratched his ear.
"Joe!!"—said Mr. Jenkinson—"Joe!!"
The Sublime, observes Longinus, is often embodied in a monosyllable—"Joe!!!"—Mr. Jenkinson said no more; but a half-crown shone from between his upraised fingers, and its "poor, poor dumb mouth" spoke for him.