"Doctor, doctor," shouted he in great pain,--"here, here--it is me that
is murdered--that chap is only dead drunk, but I am really dead, or will
be, if you don't help."
At length the arm was set, and Shingle put to bed, and the whole crew
dispersed themselves, each moving off as well as he could towards his
own home.
But the cream of the jest was richest next day. Parson Charley, who,
drunk as he had been overnight, still retained a confused recollection
of the parties who had made the irruption, in the morning applied to Mr
Smoothpate to have his bell restored, when the latter told him, with the
utmost gravity, that Mr Onyx Steady was the culprit, who, by the by, had
disappeared from Shingle's before the bell interlude, and, in fact, was
wholly ignorant of the transaction. "Certainly," quoth Smoothpate, with
the greatest seriousness, "a most unlikely person, I will confess,
Charley, as he is a grave, respectable man; still, you know, the most
demure cats sometimes steal cream, Charley; so, parson, my good man, Mr
Onyx Steady has your bell, and no one else."
Whereupon, away trudged Charley to Mr Steady's warehouse, pulling off
his hat with a formal salaam, "Good Massa Onyx--sweet Massa Teady--pray
give me de bell." Here the sable clerigo gathered himself up, and leant
composedly on his long staff, hat still in hand, and ear turned towards
Mr Steady, awaiting his answer.
"Bell!" ejaculated Steady, in great amazement,--"bell! what bell?"
"Oh, good, sweet Massa Onyx, dear Massa Onyx Teady, every body know you
good person--quiet, wise somebody you is--all person sabe dat," whined
Charley; then slipping near our friend, he whispered to him--"but de
best of we lob bit of fon now and dende best of we lef to himshef
sometime.
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