‘That’ll do, Sir,’ said the grocer. ‘Set the table; never mind the cloth. Crackers and cheese and old Madeira, and ‘away with melancholy.’’
In a few minutes the table was spread according to directions, after which Mr. Hardesty seated himself near it and did ample justice to the simple fare.
‘You see, John,’ said the old gentleman, when his appetite was somewhat assuaged, ‘it’s all on account of that old, ugly, and infernal Peggy Sidebottom. Here’s hoping she may—may never drown her sorrows in the flowing bowl!’
The grocer drank this toast with infinite gusto and replenished his glass.
‘Well, Sir, as I was about saying, I went there last night to spend an hour in a little sociable chat, and was about taking leave——’ At this point the speaker was interrupted by several violent raps at the door.
‘Who’s that?’ inquired Mr. Hardesty, draining his glass.
‘It’s me,’ said a voice from without.
‘What do you want?’ said Mr. Hardesty.
‘Nothin’; what do you want?’
‘Who the d——l are you?’ said the grocer, in a voice of thunder.