I trembled; for I felt that we had committed a ‘foul murder.’  Master Johnny, however, derided my fears—­called it retributive justice—­and ignominiously consigned the remains of a game-cock to a dunghill!

The affair appeared so like a cowardly assassination, in which I was (though unwillingly—­) ’particeps criminis’—­that I walked away without partaking of the gooseberry-pie, which he had provided for our supper.

CHAPTER VI.—­A Commission.

“Och! thin, Paddy, what’s the bothuration; if you carry me, don’t I carry the whiskey, sure, and that’s fair and aqual!”

I was early at my post on the following morning, being particularly anxious to meet with Mr. Wallis’s scapegrace nephew, and ascertain whether anybody had found the dead body of the game-cock, and whether an inquest had been held; for I knew enough of the world to draw my own conclusions as to the result.  He, although the principal, being a relative, would get off with a lecture, while I should probably be kicked out of my place.

In a fever of expectation, I hung over the banisters of the geometrical staircase, watching for his arrival.

While I was thus occupied, my nerves “screwed up,”—­almost to cracking, Mr. Wallis’s office-door was thrown open, and I beheld that very gentleman’s round, pleasant physiognomy, embrowned by his travels, staring me full in the face.  I really lost my equilibrium at the apparition.

“Oh!—­it’s you, is it,” cried he.  “Where’s my rascal?”

“He’s not come yet, sir,” I replied.

“That fellow’s never at hand when I want him--I’ll cashier him by ___.” 
He slammed to his own door, and—­opened it again immediately.

“Timmis come?” demanded he.

“No, sir; I don’t think he’ll be here for an hour.”

“True—­I’m early in the field; but what brings you here so soon?—­some mischief, I suppose.”

“I’m always early, sir, for I live hard by.”

“Ha!—­well—­I wish—.”

“Can I do anything for you, sir?” I enquired.

“Why, that’s a good thought,” said he, and his countenance assumed its usually bland expression.  “Let me see—­I want to send my carpet-bag, and a message, to my housekeeper.”

“I can do it, sir, and be back again in no time,” cried I, elated at having an opportunity of obliging the man whom I had really some cause to fear, in the critical situation in which his nephew’s thoughtlessness had placed me.

In my eagerness, however, and notwithstanding the political acuteness of my manoeuvre, I got myself into an awful dilemma.  Having received the bag, and his message, I walked off, but had scarcely descended a dozen stairs when he recalled me.

“Where the devil are you going?” cried he.

“To your house, sir,” I innocently replied.

“What, do you know it, then?” demanded he in surprise.