I can't make it out, but they're all
mixed up somehow or another with that unfort'nate Bloody Mary, and call
her name out till they're hoarse. They're all Protestants too--every man
and boy among 'em: and Protestants are very fond of spoons, I find, and
silver-plate in general, whenever area-gates is left open accidentally.
I wish that was the worst of it, and that no more harm might be to come;
but if you don't stop these ugly customers in time, Mr Gashford (and I
know you; you're the man that blows the fire), you'll find 'em grow a
little bit too strong for you. One of these evenings, when the weather
gets warmer and Protestants are thirsty, they'll be pulling London
down,--and I never heard that Bloody Mary went as far as THAT.'
Gashford had vanished long ago, and these remarks had been bestowed on
empty air. Not at all discomposed by the discovery, John Grueby fixed
his hat on, wrongside foremost that he might be unconscious of the
shadow of the obnoxious cockade, and withdrew to bed; shaking his head
in a very gloomy and prophetic manner until he reached his chamber.
Chapter 36
Gashford, with a smiling face, but still with looks of profound
deference and humility, betook himself towards his master's room,
smoothing his hair down as he went, and humming a psalm tune.
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