Really, I wish you
wasn't quite so wet, Sir; for these here is my Sunday clothes. But never
mind a little water; we'll find a fire to get dry again. There you are,
my friend! A little higher. Put your hands over across my breast.
Couldn't manage to hold, the umbrella over us, could you? So fashion.
Now steady, while I rise with you."
And the stalwart young negro, hooking his arms well under the legs of
his rider, got up stoopingly, gave a toss and a jolt to get him into the
right position, and walked off with him. Away they go, tramp, tramp, in
the storm and darkness. Thank Heaven, the Judge's fame is safe! If the
pauper dies, it will not be at his door. Little he knows, there in his
elegant study, what an inestimable service this black Samaritan is
rendering him. And it was just; for, after all the Judge had done for
the negro, (who, I suppose, was equally unconscious of any substantial
benefit received,) it was time that the negro should do something for
him in return.
Tramp! tramp! a famous beggar's ride! It was a picturesque scene, with
food for laughter and tears in it, had we only been there with a
lantern.
Pages:
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128