Boardinghouses -- Fiction; Great Britain -- History -- Victoria, 1837-1901 -- Fiction; Widows -- Fiction
when the roofs fell in--his spirit was up and he went scampering off
after the young monkey with all the breath he had and none to spare, and
me and the girls huddled together at the parlour windows looking at the
dreadful flames above the houses over the way, Mr. Buffle's being round
the corner. Presently what should we see but some people running down
the street straight to our door, and then the Major directing operations
in the busiest way, and then some more people and then--carried in a
chair similar to Guy Fawkes--Mr. Buffle in a blanket!
My dear the Major has Mr. Buffle brought up our steps and whisked into
the parlour and carted out on the sofy, and then he and all the rest of
them without so much as a word burst away again full speed leaving the
impression of a vision except for Mr. Buffle awful in his blanket with
his eyes a rolling. In a twinkling they all burst back again with Mrs.
Buffle in another blanket, which whisked in and carted out on the sofy
they all burst off again and all burst back again with Miss Buffle in
another blanket, which again whisked in and carted out they all burst off
again and all burst back again with Mr. Buffle's articled young gentleman
in another blanket--him a holding round the necks of two men carrying him
by the legs, similar to the picter of the disgraceful creetur who has
lost the fight (but where the chair I do not know) and his hair having
the appearance of newly played upon. When all four of a row, the Major
rubs his hands and whispers me with what little hoarseness he can get
together, "If our dear remarkable boy was only at home what a delightful
treat this would be for him!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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