and Buz with a pardonable excuse for indulging in a canine chorus; all of which was most detrimental to the peace of mind of Mr. Sloe, the peripatetic reading man in the garret above, whose study of Aristophanes had already been disturbed by the doleful performance of "Away with Melancholy," given on the cornet-à-piston at an open window on the ground-floor, by a gentleman whose love for music surpassed his power of expression and execution.
"Hullo, Giglamps!" shouted little Mr. Bouncer, after his Post-horn overture; "open sesame, old fellow; and let the forty thieves come in. Blow, warder, blow thy sounding horn; and never say blow it; but, thy banners wave on high. Why don't you wave your banners, Giglamps? here's the warder calling till he is hoarse. He 's in, is n't he, Robert?"
Mr. Robert Filcher—the scout, who, as servant, waited on Mr. Verdant Green and the gentlemen who were on that staircase—was coming along the passage with a supply of eatables from the Buttery, and replied, "I know he 's in, sir; for he 's took out a Æger, and I 'm just taking him his Commons. He 's not had no sober-water this morning, and I 'm not aweer as he were pleasant last night; but, he 's sported his oak, not wishing to see nobody."
As Mr. Filcher spoke these words, the outer door was opened by a tall, benevolent-looking, smooth-faced gentleman, in spectacles; and Mr. Verdant Green gave admittance to his new friend, little Mr. Bouncer, and also to his scout, who laid the supply from the Buttery on the table, and, on hearing "there 's nothing more that I want, thank you, Robert," made his exit from the room.
