The Argosy — page 359: what you’re looking at

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

338 In the Dead of Night. all about that little affair, Mr. St. George, and a very pretty romance it 1s.” ‘‘Look you here, Mr. Skeggs, or whatever your dirty name may be,” said Kester, sternly, ‘“‘I’d advise you to keep a civil tongue in your head, or it may be worse for you. I’ve esr bigger men than you in my time. Be careful, or I shall thrash you.” ‘‘T like your pluck, on my soul I do!” said Skeggs, heartily. “If you’re not genuine silver—and you know you ain’t—you're a deuced good imitation of the real thing. Thoroughly well plated, that’s what you are. Anyone would take you to be a born gentleman, they would really, Which way are you going back?” Kester hesitated a moment. Should he quarrel with this man and set him at defiance, or should he not? Could he afford to quarrel with him? that was the question. Perhaps it would be as well to keep from doing so as long as possible. ‘I’m going to walk back across the moor as far as Sedgeley,” said Kester. “Then I'll walk with yeu—though three miles is rather a big stretch to do with my game leg. I can get a gig from there that will take me home.” Kester shrugged his shoulders, but made no comment. Skeggs took up his hat and stick, and proceeded to polish the former article with his sleeve. “Queer woman that,” he said, with a jerk of his thumb towards the bed—“ very queer. Hard as nails. With:something heroic about her, to my mind—something that under different circumstances might have developed her into a remarkable woman. Well, that’s the way with heaps of us. Circumstances are dead against us, and we are not strong enough to overmaster them; else should we smite the world with a dim SUEpTIBe, and genius w ould not be so scarce in the market as it 1s now.’ Kester stared. Was this the half-drunken blackguard who had been jeering at him but two minutes ago? ,* And yet, drunk he must be,” added Kester to himself. ‘‘ No fellow in his senses would talk such precious rot.” “ Your obedient, sir,” said Skeggs, with a purposely exaggerated bow as he held open the door for Mr. St. George to pass out. | The girl was still sitting on the wall with her skirt drawn over her head. Kester went up to her. ‘I will send some one along first thing to-morrow morning to see to the funeral and other matters,” he said, “if you can manage till then.” ‘Oh, I can manage right enough. Why not?” said the girl. “T thought that perhaps you might not care to be in the howse td | yourself all night.” “Oh, I don’t mind that.” Gomichbooks.co