“Don't trifle with me now, Dandy; I really can't bear it.”
“Faith, but you must, though. There's one act I patronized you in; now, how do you know, as I'm actin' the great man, but I can pathronize you in another?”
“How is that? For heaven's sake, don't trifle with me; every day, every hour, every moment, is precious, and may involve the happiness of—”
“I see, sir,” replied this extraordinary valet, with an intelligent nod, “but, still, fair and aisy goes far in a day. There's no danger of her, you know—don't be unaisy. Fenton, sir—ehem—Fenton, I say—Fenton and fifty I say.”
“Fenton and a hundred, Dandy, if there's an available trace of him.”
“I don't know what you call an available trace,” replied Dandy, “but I can send you to a lady who knows where he is, and where you can find him.”
The stranger returned from the door, and sitting down again covered his face with his hands, as if to collect himself; at length he said, “This is most extraordinary; tell me all about it.”
Dandy related that with which the reader is already acquainted, and did so with such an air of comic gravity and pompous superiority, that his master, now in the best possible spirits, was exceedingly amused.
“Well, Dandy,” said he, “if your information respecting Fenton prove correct, reckon upon another hundred, instead of the fifty I mentioned. I suppose I may go now?” he added, smiling.
Dandy, still maintaining his gravity, waved his hand with an air of suitable authority, intimating that the other had permission to depart. On going out, however, he said, “I beg your pardon, sir, but while you're abroad, I'd take it as a favor if you'd find out the state o' the funds. Of course, I'll be investin'; and a man may as well do things with his eyes open—may as well examine both sides o' the candle-box, you know. You may go, sir.”