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"A small convoy, sir, I think," said Captain Weaver. "Where the dickens are my pants?" he whispered. "See anythin' of 'em, Bill?" Come, let us be glad—both togither, me lad—.

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"Is Maurice asleep?" whispered the woman. "How do you do, Mr Eagle?" exclaimed Lucy. When Mr Lawrence had read this letter through, he was in the act of crushing it by one of those spasmodic motions of the hand which accompany a sudden violent gust of wrath, he met the eyes of the female in the bar fixed upon him; in her gloomy beer-flavoured recess, faintly luminous with hanging rows of highly-polished drinking pots, and a sideboard well within laden with metal vessels for drinking from and for holding drink, the landlady of "The Swan," for such was this decoration of the bar, had manifestly been studying his face whilst he read. She knew him very well, and she was also well acquainted with his habits. In a breath on meeting her eyes he changed his resolution, and folded up the letter into its original creases, giving her a smile which did not seem in the least[Pg 124] degree forced, and saying to her in his pleasantest manner, "Is the ordinary on?" and receiving her answer after she had darted a look at an invisible clock in her room, "In another three minutes, sir," he passed on and went upstairs. "You saw it?" Maurice, who could not think of questioning his chum's word, gasped in amazement..