Speak to me, Simmun. Speak to
me!'
Mr Tappertit, who was not at all flattered by this compliment, looked
up, and bidding her hold her peace, ordered her to come down and open
the door, for they wanted her master, and would take no denial.
'Oh good gentlemen!' cried Miss Miggs. 'Oh my own precious, precious
Simmun--'
'Hold your nonsense, will you!' retorted Mr Tappertit; 'and come down
and open the door.--G. Varden, drop that gun, or it will be worse for
you.'
'Don't mind his gun,' screamed Miggs. 'Simmun and gentlemen, I poured a
mug of table-beer right down the barrel.'
The crowd gave a loud shout, which was followed by a roar of laughter.
'It wouldn't go off, not if you was to load it up to the muzzle,'
screamed Miggs. 'Simmun and gentlemen, I'm locked up in the front attic,
through the little door on the right hand when you think you've got to
the very top of the stairs--and up the flight of corner steps, being
careful not to knock your heads against the rafters, and not to tread on
one side in case you should fall into the two-pair bedroom through the
lath and plasture, which do not bear, but the contrairy. Simmun and
gentlemen, I've been locked up here for safety, but my endeavours has
always been, and always will be, to be on the right side--the blessed
side and to prenounce the Pope of Babylon, and all her inward and
her outward workings, which is Pagin.
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