D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 156: what you’re looking at

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

King of Portugal. 145 joints were in order as to make sure ‘he had lost noth- ing’. “Ugh!” said he, lamentably, “have these tarry fingers in Overrunning me stuck to my family papers—of no earthly use to any one, but still dear to me—or were there pillagers ¢. “Hold, Master Elizor,” broke in D’Artagnan. ‘“‘No Jeremiads, please! You are running the risk of having your mouth rinsed of foulness out there in the bay. These sailors are as honest as humane. I it was who took care of your pocketbook, as well as they of your person. Sirrah, let me hear nothing,” the subjoined, in a voice for his ear solely, “of your keeping your bullion so tied up that you want time to meet all rightful de- mands instanter! I know your pecuniary position bet- ter than the ‘thigh qualificator of the holy Inquisition—ay, like that forefinger of yours, which has kept tick on its accumulations so closely that it is worn to the quick.” Startled by this stern address, Elizor let himself be taken off the mule, which ran over to Clamponnier gladly, but was met with dignified snorts and restless kickings. He was thardly able to stand. It might be as much fright as stiffness from ‘his wanderings. “Keep your eye on him, Porthos,” said D’Artagnan, as they stepped within the cave with the Jew between them. Thanks to an energetic brain and a strong constitu- tion, Braganza, who had well resisted the luxury of a court endeavoring to make a Roz fainéant of him, had likewise resisted the attacks of the storm. Much is achieved in the human frame by the tenacity of purpose in one who cherishes an exalted design. He was now in clear possession of this senses. Though ‘pale, wasted, shaken to the core, he presented a not unlordly aspect. Yet he was seated on a cask, robed in a horsecloth, and supported by his wife and her lady- in-waiting. Juan de Braganza was heavy-looking, stolid, dull, without a great spur, but his profuse color was gradually returning, and thinness had robbed his linea- ments of too nonchalant an expression. “The Duke of Braganza,’’ muttered the Jew, shrinking, as if he dreaded any actual contact with this rival of CORNICE OOOKS (E(0) im