'I'll be dumbed if I hain't, broke it all to shivers!' the terrified
Peterkin exclaimed, as he struggled to his feet, and looked with dismay
upon the _debris_. 'What's the damage?' he continued, taking out his
pocket-book and ostentatiously showing a fifty-dollar bill.
'Money cannot replace the chair, which once adorned the _salon_ of
Madame De Stael,' Arthur said, 'Put up your purse, but for Heaven's
sake, never again tip back in your chair. It is a vulgar trick, of which
no gentleman would be guilty.'
Ordinarily, Peterkin would have resented language like this, but he was
just now too anxious to curry favor with Arthur to show any anger, and
he answered, meekly:
'That's so, square. 'Tain't good manners, and I know it, as well as the
next one. I'm awful sorry about the chair, and think mebby I could get
it mended. I'd like to try.'
'Never mind the chair,' Arthur said, with an impatient gesture. 'Try
another and a stronger one, and let's go back to business. You want a
painted panel for your carriage. How will this do?' and he rapidly
sketched a green, pleasant meadow, with a canal running through it, and
on the canal a boat, drawn by one horse, which a barefoot,
elfish-looking boy was driving.
'I swow, square, you're a trump, you be,' Peterkin exclaimed, slapping
him on the back, 'You've hit it to a dot.
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