'He's my landlord,' thought John, as he took a candle in his hand, and
setting it down in a corner out of the wind's way, opened a casement in
the rear of the house, looking towards the stables. 'We haven't met of
late years so often as we used to do--changes are taking place in the
family--it's desirable that I should stand as well with them, in point
of dignity, as possible--the whispering about of this here tale will
anger him--it's good to have confidences with a gentleman of his natur',
and set one's-self right besides. Halloa there! Hugh--Hugh. Hal-loa!'
When he had repeated this shout a dozen times, and startled every pigeon
from its slumbers, a door in one of the ruinous old buildings opened,
and a rough voice demanded what was amiss now, that a man couldn't even
have his sleep in quiet.
'What! Haven't you sleep enough, growler, that you're not to be knocked
up for once?' said John.
'No,' replied the voice, as the speaker yawned and shook himself. 'Not
half enough.'
'I don't know how you CAN sleep, with the wind a bellowsing and roaring
about you, making the tiles fly like a pack of cards,' said John; 'but
no matter for that. Wrap yourself up in something or another, and come
here, for you must go as far as the Warren with me.
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