“I don’t mind if I have a slice of that ham, and a glass of that ale, Miss Garth, if you will allow me,” he said, coming into the parlor at half-past eleven, after having had the exceptional privilege of seeing old Featherstone, and standing with his back to the fire between Mrs. Waule and Solomon.
“It’s not necessary for you to go out;—let me ring the bell.”
“Thank you,” said Mary, “I have an errand.”
“Well, Mr. Trumbull, you’re highly favored,” said Mrs. Waule.
“What! seeing the old man?” said the auctioneer, playing with his seals dispassionately. “Ah, you see he has relied on me considerably.” Here he pressed his lips together, and frowned meditatively.
“Might anybody ask what their brother has been saying?” said Solomon, in a soft tone of humility, in which he had a sense of luxu
