Guy Hammersley; or, Clearing his Name — page 219: what you’re looking at

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

210 GUY HAMMERSLEY. bf ‘They must have forgotten me,” was Guy’s cone clusion when the kitchen clock had ticked off an hour of this dreary waiting. ‘‘ lm going to see what effect a few calls from a healthy pair of lungs will produce.” Thereupon the prisoner in the kitchen set up a series of yells, learned at Fairlock, that might have led a passer-by to infer that the lunatic of the mansion was confined in the basement. A feminine shriek, emitted from somewhere close at hand, apprised Guy that some one, at any rate, bad heard him, and three minutes later Max rushed in, followed rather timorously by a string of maid servants. ‘‘What do you mean by raising such a row?” de- manded the majors keeper sternly, hastily inspect- ing Guy’s bonds, to make sure that there was no danger of his breaking loose. ‘‘What do you mean by keeping me tied up here? ” retorted Guy with spirit. ‘‘I’ve borne the thing meekly long enough. It’s a disgrace. Mr. Ken- worthy willlet your employer know of the affair.” ‘‘Dat for your Mr. Kenworthy !” exclaimed Max, with a snap of the finger. ‘‘ You can do all your talking to Mr. Scriber, de magistrate. Here’s de constable now.” Matters were indeed growing serious for poor Guy. Was it possible that he must spend a night in jail till some one could come up from the office and identify him? Where could Mrs. Westmore be? ‘‘ Well, where’s the burglar?” This from a short, thick-set man, who had just Gomichbooks (€@) m