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Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870

"Barnaby Rudge: a tale of the Riots of 'eighty"


'I want this note'--said the guest, glancing on what he had written, and
folding it, 'conveyed there without loss of time, and an answer brought
back here. Have you a messenger at hand?'
John was thoughtful for a minute or thereabouts, and then said Yes.
'Let me see him,' said the guest.
This was disconcerting; for Joe being out, and Hugh engaged in rubbing
down the chestnut cob, he designed sending on the errand, Barnaby, who
had just then arrived in one of his rambles, and who, so that he thought
himself employed on a grave and serious business, would go anywhere.
'Why the truth is,' said John after a long pause, 'that the person who'd
go quickest, is a sort of natural, as one may say, sir; and though quick
of foot, and as much to be trusted as the post itself, he's not good at
talking, being touched and flighty, sir.'
'You don't,' said the guest, raising his eyes to John's fat face, 'you
don't mean--what's the fellow's name--you don't mean Barnaby?'
'Yes, I do,' returned the landlord, his features turning quite
expressive with surprise.
'How comes he to be here?' inquired the guest, leaning back in his
chair; speaking in the bland, even tone, from which he never varied; and
with the same soft, courteous, never-changing smile upon his face.


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