At last, long and deep
was the breath drawn by Mangel when he laid down the pen; long and
deep the wondering breath drawn by the background--as if they had
watched his walking across the rapids of Niagara, on stilts, and now
cried, "He has done it!"
But, Mangel was an honest man, if ever honest man lived. "T'owt to
be a hell, sir," said he, contemplating his work, "and I ha' made a
t on 't."
The over-fraught bosoms of the background found relief in a roar of
laughter.
"OR-DER!" cried the little man. "CHEER!" And after that second
word, came forth from his mug no more.
Several other clubs signed, and received their money. Very few
could write their names; all who could not, pleaded that they could
not, more or less sorrowfully, and always with a shake of the head,
and in a lower voice than their natural speaking voice. Crosses
could be made standing; signatures must be sat down to. There was
no exception to this rule. Meantime, the various club-members
smoked, drank their beer, and talked together quite unrestrained.
They all wore their hats, except when they went up to Friar Bacon's
table. The merry-faced little man offered his beer, with a natural
good-fellowship, both to the Dreary one and Philosewers.
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