The sudden appearance of Forrester revived the spirit of the
transaction, now beginning somewhat to decline, as several voices
undertook to give him an account of its progress. The lawyer was in his
happiest mood, as things, so far, had all turned out as he expected. His
voice was loudest, and his oratory more decidedly effective than ever.
The prospect before him was also of so seductive a character, that he
yielded more than was his wont to the influences of the bottle-god: who
stood little iron-hooped keg, perched upon a shelf conveniently in the
corner.
"Here Cuffee, you thrice-blackened baby of Beelzebub!--why stand you
there, arms akimbo, and showing your ivories, when you see we have no
whiskey! Bring in the jug, you imp of darkness--touch us the
Monongahela, and a fresh tumbler for Mr. Forrester--and, look you, one
too for Col. Blundell, seeing he's demolished the other. Quick, you
terrapin!"
Cuffee recovered himself in an instant. His hands fell to his sides--his
mouth closed intuitively; and the whites of his eyes changing their
fixed direction, marshalled his way with a fresh jug, containing two or
more quarts, to the rapacious lawyer.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168