"My master," said the other, "is not under this roof. What do you think
of that?"
"You mean the old cockle is not in his shell, then," replied Harry.
"Come," said the other, with a chuckle of enjoyment, "curse me, but
that's good. Who are you?--what are you? You are in good feathers--only
give an account of yourself."
Harry was a keen observer, but was considerably aided by what he had
heard from his mother. The rich rings, however, which he saw sparkling
on the fingers of what he had conceived to be the butler or footman,
at once satisfied him that he was then addressing the worthy nobleman
himself. In the meantime, having made this discovery, he resolved to act
the farce out.
"Why should I give an account of myself to you, you cursed old sot?--you
drink, sirrah: I can read it in your face."
"I say, give an account of yourself; what's your business here?"
"Come, then," replied Harry, "as you appear to be a comical old
scoundrel, I don't care, for the joke's sake, if I do. I am coming to
court Miss Riddle, ridiculous old Cockletown's niece."
"Why are you coming to court her?"
"Because I understand she will have a good fortune after old Cockle
takes his departure.
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