'Well, my lord,' said Overton, in a low tone, 'until then, I wish your lordship a good evening.'
'Lord - lordship?' ejaculated Trott again, falling back a step or two, and gazing, in unutterable wonder, on the countenance of the mayor.
'Ha-ha! I see, my lord - practising the madman? - very good indeed - very vacant look - capital, my lord, capital - good evening, Mr.
- Trott - ha! ha! ha!'
'That mayor's decidedly drunk,' soliloquised Mr. Trott, throwing himself back in his chair, in an attitude of reflection.
'He is a much cleverer fellow than I thought him, that young nobleman - he carries it off uncommonly well,' thought Overton, as he went his way to the bar, there to complete his arrangements.
This was soon done. Every word of the story was implicitly believed, and the one-eyed boots was immediately instructed to repair to number nineteen, to act as custodian of the person of the supposed lunatic until half-past twelve o'clock. In pursuance of this direction, that somewhat eccentric gentleman armed himself with a walking-stick of gigantic dimensions, and repaired, with his usual equanimity of manner, to Mr. Trott's apartment, which he entered without any ceremony, and mounted guard in, by quietly depositing himself on a chair near the door, where he proceeded to beguile the time by whistling a popular air with great apparent satisfaction.
'What do you want here, you scoundrel?' exclaimed Mr. Alexander Trott, with a proper appearance of indignation at his detention.
The boots beat time with his head, as he looked gently round at Mr.
Trott with a smile of pity, and whistled an ADAGIO movement.
'Do you attend in this room by Mr. Overton's desire?' inquired Trott, rather astonished at the man's demeanour.
'Keep yourself to yourself, young feller,' calmly responded the boots, 'and don't say nothing to nobody.' And he whistled again.
'Now mind!' ejaculated Mr. Trott, anxious to keep up the farce of wishing with great earnestness to fight a duel if they'd let him.
'I protest against being kept here. I deny that I have any intention of fighting with anybody. But as it's useless contending with superior numbers, I shall sit quietly down.'
'You'd better,' observed the placid boots, shaking the large stick expressively.
'Under protest, however,' added Alexander Trott, seating himself with indignation in his face, but great content in his heart.
'Under protest.'
'Oh, certainly!' responded the boots; 'anything you please. If you're happy, I'm transported; only don't talk too much - it'll make you worse.'
'Make me worse?' exclaimed Trott, in unfeigned astonishment: 'the man's drunk!'
'You'd better be quiet, young feller,' remarked the boots, going through a threatening piece of pantomime with the stick.
'Or mad!' said Mr. Trott, rather alarmed. 'Leave the room, sir, and tell them to send somebody else.'
'Won't do!' replied the boots.
'Leave the room!' shouted Trott, ringing the bell violently: for he began to be alarmed on a new score.
'Leave that 'ere bell alone, you wretched loo-nattic!' said the boots, suddenly forcing the unfortunate Trott back into his chair, and brandishing the stick aloft. 'Be quiet, you miserable object, and don't let everybody know there's a madman in the house.'
'He IS a madman! He IS a madman!' exclaimed the terrified Mr.
Trott, gazing on the one eye of the red-headed boots with a look of abject horror.
'Madman!' replied the boots, 'dam'me, I think he IS a madman with a vengeance! Listen to me, you unfortunate. Ah! would you?' [a slight tap on the head with the large stick, as Mr. Trott made another move towards the bell-handle] 'I caught you there! did I?'
'Spare my life!' exclaimed Trott, raising his hands imploringly.
'I don't want your life,' replied the boots, disdainfully, 'though I think it 'ud be a charity if somebody took it.'
'No, no, it wouldn't,' interrupted poor Mr. Trott, hurriedly, 'no, no, it wouldn't! I - I-'d rather keep it!'
'O werry well,' said the boots: 'that's a mere matter of taste -ev'ry one to his liking. Hows'ever, all I've got to say is this here: You sit quietly down in that chair, and I'll sit hoppersite you here, and if you keep quiet and don't stir, I won't damage you;but, if you move hand or foot till half-past twelve o'clock, Ishall alter the expression of your countenance so completely, that the next time you look in the glass you'll ask vether you're gone out of town, and ven you're likely to come back again. So sit down."'I will - I will,' responded the victim of mistakes; and down sat Mr. Trott and down sat the boots too, exactly opposite him, with the stick ready for immediate action in case of emergency.
Long and dreary were the hours that followed. The bell of Great Winglebury church had just struck ten, and two hours and a half would probably elapse before succour arrived.