Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar онлайн

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“Ah, I yoosed to be mighty fond of picturs,” said old Nat, “but, lord, I don’t seem to ha’ the taste for anything loike I had formerly. When a man gets old and well nigh worn out he’s not so easily pleased as the young uns—​be he, measter?”

“Well, I suppose not, friend,” returned Peace, “but we shall all get old and worn out if we live long enough—​we ought not to forget that.”

“Now none of your croaking Nat,” said a lusty young fellow. “You’re good for many years yet. Come, jest give us a song, old man. Nat’s been a foine singer in his time,” observed the speaker in a whisper to Peace.

“Oh, I dare say.”

“Fond of music, sir?” enquired another.

“Yes, I’m a bit of a musician myself. If our friend will oblige I’ll give you a tune or two upon the fiddle.”

This seemed to have a magic effect upon the villagers, who thumped the tables till the pots and glasses danced on the board.

“Will ’ee, though? Oh, that be grand!” exclaimed several. “Now, Nat, just mek a beginning.”

“You must excuse me, sir, if I break down,” said the old man, apologetically; “I aint what I yoosed to be.”