a shout, an oath or two, had told them that some violent scene was
occurring within, and they entered, and behold two victims bedabbled
with red--the chaplain bleeding port wine, and the Honourable William
Esmond, Esquire, stretched in his own gore.

"Mr. Sampson will bear witness that I struck fair, and that Mr.
Esmond hit the first blow," said Mr. Warrington. "Undo his neckcloth,
somebody--he may be dead; and get a fleam, Gumbo, and bleed him. Stop!
He is coming to himself! Lift him up, you, and tell a maid to wash the
floor."

Indeed, in a minute, Mr. Will did come to himself. First his eyes rolled
about, or rather, I am ashamed to say, his eye, one having been closed
by Mr. Warrington's first blow. First, then, his eye rolled about; then
he gasped and uttered an inarticulate moan or two, then he began to
swear and curse very freely and articulately.

"He is getting well," said Mr. Warrington.

"Oh, praise be Mussy!" sighs the sentimental Betty.

"Ask him, Gumbo, whether he would like any more?" said Mr. Warrington,
with a stern humour.

"Massa Harry say, wool you like any maw?" asked obedient Gumbo, bowing
over the prostrate gentleman.

"No, curse you, you black devil!" says Mr. Will, hitting up at the black
object before him. ("So he nearly cut my tongue in to in my mouf!" Gumbo
explained to the pitying Betty.) "No, that is, yes! You infernal Mohock!
Why does not somebody kick him out of the place?"

"Because nobody dares, Mr. Esmond," says Mr. Warrington, with great
state, arranging his ruffles--his ruffled ruffles.

"And nobody won't neither," growled the men. They had all grown to love
Harry, whereas Mr. Will had nobody's good word.

"We know all's fair, sir. It ain't the first time Master William have
been served so."

"And I hope it won't be the last," cries shrill Betty. "To go for to
strike a poor black gentleman so!"

Mr. Will had gathered himself up by this time, had wiped his bleeding
face with a napkin, and was skulking off to bed.

"Surely it's manners to say good night to the company. Good night, Mr.
Esmond," says Mr. Warrington, whose jokes, though few, were not very
brilliant; but the honest lad relished the brilliant sally and laughed
at it inwardly.

"He's ad his zopper, and he goes to baid!" says Betty, in her native
dialect, at which everybody laughed outright, except Mr. William, who
went away leaving a black fume of curses, as it were, rolling out of
that funnel, his mouth.