The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 231: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

228 THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. will Pi place before her every luxury that money could com- mand. And so, in a bewilderment of new and delightful emotions, and now and then trembling lest all should be some uncommon- ly vivid dream of felicity, we will leave Mabel while we proceed to detail what befell Rafferty Brolickbones at the place where, after bis unlucky adventure, or rather misadventure, he had taken a bed for the night. CHAPTER XLIV. RAFFERTY, although he had said to the persons of the coffee- shop that he had no objection to the double-bedded room, yet was a little curious to know who his companion was. The cur- tains, however, of the bed which was occupied were all drawn so very close, that not the least vestige of the party who there slept could be perceived, and Rafferty did not like the idea of actually going up to him, and saying— ‘‘Come, now, I want to see what sort of a fellow you are, be- fore I consent to lie down and go to sleep in the same room with ou.’ He thought of doing so, but as he himself said, when he after- ward told the anecdote, the natural bashfulness of an Irish- man (?) kept him back, and he didn’t. He then thought that it would not be a bad plan to make so much noise as to waken him up, and so induce him to look out, and be a little abusive, which would enable him, Rafferty, to come to some sort of judgment regarding him. Acting upon this idea, he sang a popular air, but it had no sort of effect, and therefore he took off one of his ‘boots, and tossed it up to the ceiling, to which it gave an odd-: looking contusion, and then came down on the floor again with a heavy blow one would have thought quite sufficient to wake anybody. But the man who was in the other bed never moved. ‘*The deuce take him,” thought Rafferty. ‘I cannot stand this at all, anyhow; I must go and give him a shake.” As if then the sleeper had been by some means able actually to know what Rafferty thought, he uttered a low groan. ‘‘Oh! he says something at last,” remarked Rafferty. ‘‘ Well, he’s alive, and that’s something. But who knows ?—he may be ill, poor devil. Hilloa! Mr. What’s-your-name, is there any- thing the matter ?” ‘* Go to sleep,” said a voice, “Oh! thanky—the same to you, and many of them. Eh?-- eh ?—what did you say—eh? Oh, nothing! Very good; if you are pleased I am.” Rafferty now commenced undressing himself, which was a process his military habits enabled him to do with great celer- ity, and in a few minutes he plumped into bed, and prepared himself for a good few hours’ repose. Before he shut his eyes, however, he called out again, ‘*Good-night, ye divil!” A deep groan was the only answer. **Bedad, and that’s hardly civil, anyway,” eaid Rafferty. comicbooks. com