"So you think your friend in the city will be hard upon me if I fall in a payment?" says the trooper, looking down upon him like a giant.
"My dear friend, I am afraid he will," returns the old man, looking up at him like a pygmy.
Mr. George laughs, and with a glance at Mr. Smallweed and a parting salutation to the scornful Judy, strides out of the parlour, clashing imaginary sabres and other metallic appurtenances as he goes.
"You're a damned rogue," says the old gentleman, making a hideous grimace at the door as he shuts it. "But I'll lime you, you dog, I'll lime you!"
After this amiable remark, his spirit soars into those enchanting regions of reflection which its education and pursuits have opened to it, and again he and Mrs. Smallweed while away the rosy hours, two unrelieved sentinels forgotten as aforesaid by the Black Serjeant.

"So you think your friend in the city will be hard upon me if I fail in a payment?" says the trooper, looking down upon him like a giant.
"My dear friend, I am afraid he will."
Mr. George laughs, and with a parting salutation to the scornful Judy, strides out of the parlour.
"You're a damned rogue," says the old gentleman, making a hideous grimace at the door. "But I'll lime you, you dog, I'll lime you!"
