The First Quarter
treat and brought it to surprise you.”
“And see how he leaves it cooling on the step,” said another voice.
It was the voice of this same Richard, who had come upon them unobserved, and stood before the father and daughter; looking down upon them with a face as glowing as the iron on which his stout sledge-hammer daily rung. A handsome, well-made, powerful youngster he was; with eyes that sparkled like the red-hot droppings from a furnace fire; black hair that curled about his swarthy temples rarely; and a smile—a smile that bore out Meg’s eulogium on his style of conversation.
“See how he leaves it cooling on the step!” said Richard. “Meg don’t know what he likes. Not she!”
Trotty, all action and enthusiasm, immediately reached up his hand to Richard, and was going to address him in a great hurry, when the house-door opened without any warning, and a footman very nearly put his foot into the tripe.
“Out of the vays here, will you! You must always go and be a-settin on our steps, must you! You can’t go and give a turn to none of the neighbours never, can’t you! Will you clear the road, or won’t you?”
Strictly speaking, the last question was irrelevant, as they had already done it.
“What’s the matter, what’s the matter!” said the gentleman for whom the door was opened; coming out of the house at that kind of light-heavy pace—that peculiar compromise23
