D'Artagnan, the King Maker — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER III. THE POWER OF A QUILL. In acquittance, the guest who had become host put a small gold-piece into the negress’ hand, plump and ashy-grey in the palm; she closed it upon it greedily and tucked it away with less reluctance than her master. ihe ex-landlord looked round too late to see this generous action. “You may be luckier in this hole than out there,” said he. “There is going to be foul weather.” “T will let you a room if you do not like the weather,” said the Gascon, humorously. “Well, if you are weather-bound for a week, you will have Quaqua for company. Upon my fist! I know not a defter hand at a tabor, and her thick lips were shaped for the fageolet. I fear that you will have no customers for a while. “You are wrong; I expect one visitor, at any rate. I am not likely to wait for any others.” “Lucky landlord! had I had the promise of even one, I had not had those megrims which hinted that I ought to retire into the cellar and blow myself up with a cognac- cask!” He seemed to have waited for this announcement. “If any one comes for me, and I am out, taking the ex- cellent air,” went on the other, partly to the man, partly to the woman, whose comprehension he doubted, “he or she is to be housed and nourished with the best.” “You hear, Quaqua?”’ But the stranger was a man of precautions. He drew out of one of the boot-tops, provided with a pocket and flap for a pocket-pistol, either of fire or of firewater, not a bottle, but a boiled-leather case containing an ink-horn, a reed pen and some paper, rolled up to occupy little space. Spreading a leaf of this on the table, he wrote a few lines with much study, as if no regular clerk. Ris- ing, he took advantage of the doorpost, from which the Comicbooks. co =|