He started and jumped same as our big tom cat when Mouser comes
round about him. You'd have died of laughing. Then he comes on for the
bank'et, and stamps his foot and tells the ghost to be off; and then
he trembles and dodders from head to foot like Mouser when he's had
his wash on Saturday nights. You'd have dropt, it was so queer."
Liza's enjoyment of the tragedy had not been exhausted with the
occasion, for now she laughed at the humors of her own narrative.
"But those days are gone," she continued. "I met Robbie last night,
and I says, says I, 'Have you pawned your dancing shoes, Robbie, as
you're so glum?' And that's what he is, save when he's tipsy, and then
what do ye think the maizelt creature does?"
"What?" said Rotha.
"Why," answered Liza, with a big tear near to toppling over the corner
of her eye, "why, the crack't 'un goes and gathers up all the maimed
dogs in Wythburn; 'Becca Rudd's 'Dash,' and that's lame on a hind leg,
and Nancy Grey's 'Meg,' and you know she's blind of one eye, and Grace
M'Nippen's 'King Dick,' and he's been broken back't this many a long
year, and they all up and follow Robbie when he's nigh almost drunk,
and then he's right--away he goes with his cap a' one side, and all
the folks laughin'--the big poddish-head!"
There was a great sob for Liza in the heart of the humor of that
situation; and trying no longer to conceal her sorrow at her lover's
relapse into drinking habits, she laid her head on Rotha's breast and
wept outright.
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