Of the King’s Treasure
And he stood there wagging the head upon his wry neck, as though he had fallen from the topsman’s cart a while too soon.
Old Irons said nothing, for he was mighty quiet when Timothy Grubbe was about; but I would not keep silence before a half-hanged, mal-faced mongrel like him.
“And who are you, Timothy Grubbe,” said I, “to come athrusting in your nose atween two gentlemen at supper? Does His Majesty give you that right along of the privilege to clap poor cullies in the Jug?”
He grinned worse than ever, nodding his twisted head, but shot me an evil look out of his narrow eyes.
“Ah, here’s a wit,” says he. “Here’s a wit as the ladies of the Court have lost. A fine young gentleman, Captain Irons, and a fine clean job he made nigh Petersfield last week; and a fine entertainment, too, he will make some day upon Tyburn Tree, with the Ordinary apraying over him, and his heels akicking the air! ’Twill be a better sight than you’ll make, Captain Irons, for all the little matter at Bedford, and Colonel
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