The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 40: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. | 37 **'You don’t look over bright. Is begging a trouble ?” **Confound you! do you want to insult me?” ‘*Now, don’t get into a passion. I sha’n’t if youdo. It is such a trouble.” ‘* What on earth do you want?” ‘I suppose, oh, dear, I must explain, what a trouble! I’m the farrier’s apprentice, and shoeing horses is such a trouble.” ‘‘And you want to do something else.” ‘Yes, if it’s no trouble. I’d have run away a long while ago, oply it’s such a trouble to me.” ‘*You are an oddity; but I can tell you, that through life you will find that everything has its troubles, my friend.’ ‘© Oh, lor!” ‘* As I tell you will you find it.” ‘*Oh, I wonder if it’s much trouble to die some day. I like going to sleep; it’s no trouble. I don’t like waking up. There’s the trouble of dressing and the trouble of taking one’s break- fast. They call me ‘Troubled Tom’ in the village. Oh, lor! what a trouble!” ‘*Curse you!” said the mendicant, as he walked on; “‘ what do you trouble me for?” ‘“‘Oh, that’s the way,” moaned Troubled Tom. ‘ pace really likes trouble, though some people are hypocrites enoug to pretend that they don’t mind it, oi! hoi! hoi” * What now? what now? Eh?” . ‘Nothing. I was going to say something, but it is such a trouble, I really can’t ?” -*Tf I come back to youl will give you some real trouble,” said the beggar angrily. ‘‘ There,” said Troubled Tom. ‘‘ He’s off in a rage now. T can't get into a passion—it’s such a trouble. I sometimes.wish I could. There’s some of the other boys in the village, they bon- nets me, and all sorts of things, and I don’t wop ’em, it is sucha trouble. Oh, lor!” On the first raised bank he came to, down sat Troubled 'Tom, and in the course of a few minutes he was fast asleep, muttering now and then in his dreams,— ‘‘ What a trouble!” The mendicant pursued his way till he came to the village, and then he walked direct up to the Morton Arms, which was the only place of entertainment for man or beast the place afforded. His appearance, as our readers may well imagine, was not one likely to be hailed with satisfaction by any publi- can; and as the landlord of the Morton Arms was himself at the door, he commenced, the moment he espied the approaching form of the stranger, shaking his head at such a rate, that it would seem as if he really never intended to leave off. Still the mendicant advanced undauntedly, and when he came so near that the portly landlord felt himself compelled to get out of the way or say something, he cried,— ‘*My man, we are very sorry, but we really cannot afford to be charitable; times are hard, prices high, money scarce, and taxes horrid, You'd better go somewhere else,” _ comicbooks. com