The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

2 Aas «And the same for me.” said the Irishman’s com- panion. «Same for gentle-man/” bawied the waiter, again addressing himself to the young lady just alluded to. “ Ale or stout, gentle-men ?” * Porther—a pint !” exclaimed the ferocious Hiber- nian. “Pale ale for me,” intimated his friend. “Pint of porter and pint palale for gentle-men/” yociferated the waiter. ‘“ Weggitubles—bread?” he next demanded. “‘ No bread—greens!” ejaculated the Irishman. * Bread and potatoes for me,” said his companion, “One bread—one greens—one taturs—for gentle- men/” cried the waiter, thus conveying his last in- structions to the young Iady who officiated at the bar; and the said young lady sent each fresh order down a pipe communicating with the kitchen—her own voice being as affected and her manner as lackadaisycal as the waiter was natural, rapid, and bustling. But before the various luxuries thus commanded were hoisted from the kitchen to the bar by means of the moveable dumb-waiter that worked up and down between the two places just mentioned,—we must pause to inform our readers—if indeed they have not already suspected the fact—that the two visitors to the dining-establishment in Bucklersbury, were our old friends Captain O’Biunderbuss and Mr. Francis Curtis! The gallant Irishman had now numbered sixty-four years; and although the Japse of time had rendered his head completely bald, and turned his whiskers and moustachios to a bright silver, the ferocity of his aspect remained unaltered, and his fiery disposition was un- subdued. He was still the terrible Captain O’Blunder- buss—ready to exchange shots with any one and on all occasions—and more devoted to poteen than ever. His form was as erect as when in the prime of life; and his military coat, all frogged and braided, was buttoned over an ample chest that no stoop had con- tracted. The captain had grown somewhat stouter than when we took leave of him nineteen years pre- viously to our present date; but his physical strength seemed to have remained unimpaired. Frank Curtis was now forty-three. He also had ‘‘ filled out,” as the phrase is; but his countenance, in fattening, had lost nothing of its ignoble expression of self-sufficiency and impudent conceit; and his man- ner was as flippant as ever. Neither had he laid aside any portion of his mendacious habits, but had rather added thereto by varying the style of his boastings and the nature of his lies. He continued to dress in a flashy way—delighting in a hat of strange appear- ance, and in a waistcoat concentrating in a yard of stuff all the colours which have existence and name upon earth. We must however admit—for the truth cannot be blinked in this respect—that there was a certain air of seediness about both the captain and Mr. Frank Curtis, which neither the bullying insolence of the former nor the impertinent self-sufficiency of the latter could altogether throw into the shade. It was evident that they had lost the confidence of their tailors and hatters—and even of their washerwomen;—for their garments might have been less thread-bare, and their wristbands a trifle cleaner. We say “wristbands,” because those were the only portions of their shirts which mei the eye—the captain’s frogged coat and Mr. Curtis’s faded double-breasted waistcoat being each buttoned up to its owner’s throat. 45 “Waiter-r!” vociferated the gallant otficer, wher about a minute and a half had elapsed from tho tire that the orders had been given for the repast. «Yes, sir—coming, sir,” cried the functionnry thor addressed, as he hurried away in quite anothar di- rection. “Be Jasus!” ejaculated the captain, thumping his fist so vigorously down upon the table that the pepper box danced the polka with the mustard-pot, and tha knives and forks performed a pas de quatre. “Isthat boiled por-r-rk and paze pudding afther coming (o- day at all, at all?” “Just coming, sir!” said the waiter, under no ex- citement whatever, though in an immense bustle—for waiters always remain coo! and imperturbable when most in a hurry. “Tf it don’t come in sivin seconds, ye villain,” thun- dered the captain, “I'll skin ye alive!” “Very good, sir,” said the waiter, as he hastened to attend upon some new-comers, “The beauty, of the French eating-houses is that the moment you order things they appear on the table by magic,” observed Frank Curtis, in a tone loud enough to let every one present know that he had been in France. “When I was in Paris—on that secret mission from the English Government, you know, captain-———” “Be Jasus! and I remimber quite well,” exclaimed the gallant officer. “°’T was at the same time that I wint to offer my swor-r-d and services to the Imperor of the Tur-r-rks—the Sulthan, I mane.” “Just so,” said Frank, “ Well—as I was going to tell you = “Two biled pork—two pease pudding——for gentle- men,” cried the waiter at this juncture, as he set the plates upon the table. “ One-bread—one greens--one taturs—for gentle-men.” The captain and Mr. Curtis fell to work upon tho delicacies thus placed before them; and after an inter- val of silence, during which the boiled pork and et ceteras disappeared with astonishing rapidity, the latter leaning across the table, said in a low whisper, “It was a deuced lucky thing that I met my friend Styles just now ; for if he hadn’t lent me this sovereign, we might have gone without dinner as well as without break- fast.” “Be Jasus! and that’s thrue enough, Frank!” re- turned the gallant officer, likewise in sottovoce. “ Where did ye appint to mate Misther Styles again this after- noon?” “ Ata nice quiet little public that I know of-——where there’s a good parlour and capital spirits,’ answered Mr. Curtis. “Ah! the thrue potheen—the rale cratur!” said the captain. “ Well that’s a blissing, at all evints! And, be Jasus! I hope your frind Misther Styles will be after putting us up to do a something, as he suggisted —for, be the power-r-is! Frank, it’s hard work look- ing about for the sinews of war-r-r!” “ Styles isa splendid fellow, captain,” replied Mr. Curtis, smacking his lips after his Jast glass of pale ale —or“palale,” as the waiter denominated it. “ Why, God bless you! it was him who got up the London and Paris Balloon Conveyance Company, with Parachute Branches to Dover and Calais.” “And how came it to fail?” demanded the gallant officer. “Simply because it was never meant fo succeed, answered Frank, in a matter-of-fact way. “The ob- jevt was to make money by showing the balloons and we ee, -suuineameeieaummameammse imme “ieee TUL MYSTERIES OF LONDON. (C(O) (C DOO SS (SO)