And yet, Spurlock was afraid of the doctor; so was Ruth. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. Celestial Uncles! Spurlock chuckled, and a bit of chestnut, going down the wrong way, set him to coughing violently. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. You are welcome to proclaim yourself ‘Alcide’ if you will.
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