Good-bye t'
ye, George!"
And limping to a light carriage that stood adjacent, the slender,
shabby figure climbed in with the aid of the assiduous Atkinson, and
drove away.
"Well, upon my soul, Peregrine," exclaimed my uncle, removing his hat
to ruffle his brown curls, "a precious pickle you look, b'gad! Where
in the world--what under heaven--your breeches, Perry--that
unspeakable--if only Julia could see you now. Oh, the dooce!"
Such were his more or less coherent expressions as his astonished gaze
took in the various items of my appearance. Then all at once he
laughed and down came his great hands upon my shoulders. "B'gad,
Perry, I love ye for 'em, lad; dooce take me if I don't!" he
exclaimed. "Those breeches now--where did you find 'em?"
"Sir, they were bestowed by one Galloping Jerry, a highwayman."
My words produced all the effect I had anticipated; the hat fell from
his lax grasp and lay unheeded, while my uncle stared at me in
speechless surprise. "These garments, sir," I continued, lowering my
voice mysteriously, "are merely a disguise, for it seems there was a
possibility of my being apprehended as Galloping Jerry's accomplice.
Allow me to return your hat, sir."
My uncle George clutched it and made a kind of gurgling sound in his
throat.
"However," I continued, "I am anxious to exchange these things for
others less conspicuously hideous and should esteem it a kindness if
you would advance the necessary money for it, for sir, I am
penniless.
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