Fiction > Book editions > London, 1886 - Kidnapped

CLuNY'S CAGE.                            225
Alan never referred to my estate without a touch of
a sneer, when we were alone; but with strangers, he
rang the words out like a herald.
"Step in by, the both of ye, gentlemen," says Cluny.
"I make ye welcome to my house, which is a queer,
rude place for certain, but one where I have entertained
a royal personage, Mr. Stewart-ye doubtless ken the
personage I have in my eye. We'll take a dram for
luck, and as soon as this handless man of mine has the
collops ready, we'll dine and take a hand at the cartes as
gentlemen should. My life is a bit driegh," says he,
pouring out the brandy;" I see little company, and sit
and twirl my thumbs, and mind upon a great day that
is gone by, and weary for another great day that we all
hope will be upon the road. And so here's a toast to
ye: The Restoration!"
Thereupon we all touched glasses and drank. I am
sure I wished no ill to King George; and if he had
been there himself in proper person, it's like he would
have done as I did. No sooner had I taken out the
dram than I felt hugely better, and could look on and
listen, still a little mistily perhaps, but no longer with
the same groundless horror and distress of mind.
It was certainly a strange place, and we had a strange
host. In his long hiding, Cluny had grown to have all
manner of precise habits, like those of an old maid. He
had a particular place, where no one else must sit; the
Cage was arranged in a particular way, which none
must disturb; cookery was one of his chief fancies, and
P