Now, in all her life, Mrs. Stevens had
never heard her husband utter a note, and being greatly frightened at the
unusual noise upon the door-step, held a hurried consultation with the
charity-girl upon the best mode of proceeding.
"Call through the key-hole, ma'am," suggested she, which advice Mrs.
Stevens immediately followed, and inquired, "Who's there?"
"Open the door, Jule, don't keep me out here with your darned nonsense; let
me in quick."
"Yes, let him in," added Mr. Morton; "he's brought a gentleman from Africa
with him."
Mrs. Stevens did not exactly catch the purport of the words uttered by Mr.
Morton; and, therefore, when she opened the door, and her husband, with his
well-blacked face, stalked into the entry, she could not repress a scream
of fright at the hideous figure he presented.
"Hush, hush," he exclaimed, "don't arouse the neighbours--it's me; don't
you know my voice."
Mrs. Stevens stared at him in a bewildered manner, and after bidding Mr.
Morton "Good night," she closed and locked the door, and followed her
husband into the back room. In a short time he recapitulated the events
of the night to his astonished and indignant spouse, who greatly
commiserated his misfortunes. A bottle of sweet oil was brought into
requisition, and she made a lengthened effort to remove the tar from her
husband's face, in which she only partially succeeded; and it was almost
day when he crawled off to bed, with the skin half scraped off from his
swollen face.
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