"Silence
them blackguards!" shouted a barber, who was taking a pint of small
beer along with his lady. "Stop that there infernal screeching!"
said a couple of ladies, who were sipping ratafia in company with
two pretty fellows.
"Dang it, it's Polly!" said Mr. Tom Billings, bolting out of the
box, and rushing towards the sweet-voiced Mrs. Briggs. When he
reached her, which he did quickly, and made his arrival known by
tipping Mrs. Briggs slightly on the waist, and suddenly bouncing
down before her and her friend, both of the latter drew back
somewhat startled.
"Law, Mr. Billings!" says Mrs. Polly, rather coolly, "is it you?
Who thought of seeing you here?"
"Who's this here young feller?" says towering Mr. Moffat, with his
bass voice.
"It's Mr. Billings, cousin, a friend of mine," said Mrs. Polly,
beseechingly.
"Oh, cousin, if it's a friend of yours, he should know better how to
conduct himself, that's all. Har you a dancing-master, young
feller, that you cut them there capers before gentlemen?" growled
Mr. Moffat; who hated Mr. Billings, for the excellent reason that he
lived upon him.
"Dancing-master be hanged!" said Mr. Billings, with becoming spirit:
"if you call me dancing-master, I'll pull your nose.
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