“Mr. Inglefield,” he began, very much as if he were addressing a water-butt, “I took your feelin’s into account before comin’ for’ard, sir; but I ain’t goin’ to stand by and listen to no such things about Mr. Pennington as you was givin’ vent to.”
The Elopement.
Mr. Inglefield managed to recover himself sufficiently, during the interval occupied by Mr. Keegan in transferring his tobacco to the other cheek, to exclaim angrily:—
“Who the deuce are you, sir, and what are you doing on my wall?”
“I know this here come rather suddin,” Mr. Keegan went on, without taking the trouble to answer the question; “but I want to say right now there ain’t no finer young man anywhere, and that this here business wasn’t his fault.”
“Wasn’t his fault!” roared Mr. Inglefield.
“No, sir,” said Mr. Keegan, coolly; “it was me what fixed the thing up. It was me what got your daughter to consent to it, and brought Mr. Pennington up here to get her; and if you ain’t blessin’ me for it some day I’m a sergeant of marines.”
“You!” repeated Mr. Inglefield, in a species of stupefaction.
Now it so happened that the master-at-arms, who had remained concealed some distance down the hill, heard the commotion, and became possessed with the idea that his friend Mr. Keegan was getting into trouble. He arrived on the scene just at this instant.