So he lay, rolling and restless, hearing every clock
strike; now trying to divert his thoughts, by making a rough calculation
what all his gibbeys put together were worth; now considering whether he
had forgotten to go for any he had marked in the course of his
peregrinations; now wishing he had laid one about old Leather, when he fell
on his knees after calling him the 'Woolpack'; then wondering whether
Leather would have had him before the County Court for damages, or taken
him before Justice Slowcoach for the assault. As morning advanced, his
thoughts again turned upon the best mode of getting rid of his most
unwelcome guests, and he arose and dressed, with the full determination of
trying what he could do.
Having tried the effects of an upstairs shout the morning before, he
decided to see what a down one would do; accordingly, he mounted the stairs
and climbed the sort of companion-ladder that led to the servants' attics,
where he kept a stock of gibbeys in the rafters. Having reached this, he
cleared his throat, laid his head over the banisters, and putting an open
hand on each side of his mouth to direct the sound, exclaimed with a loud
and audible voice:
'BARTHOLO--_m--e--w_!'
'BAR--THO--LO--_m--e--e--w_!' repeated he, after a pause, with a
full separation of the syllables and a prolonged intonation of the
_m--e--w_.
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