The Bouncers, indescribably
disappointed, burst out with a loud "O!" directed against Mr. Murthwaite
for stopping the performance. The chief Indian laid his hand humbly
on his breast, and said a second time that the juggling was over.
The little boy went round with the hat. The ladies withdrew to the
drawing-room; and the gentlemen (excepting Mr. Franklin and Mr.
Murthwaite) returned to their wine. I and the footman followed the
Indians, and saw them safe off the premises.
Going back by way of the shrubbery, I smelt tobacco, and found Mr.
Franklin and Mr. Murthwaite (the latter smoking a cheroot) walking
slowly up and down among the trees. Mr. Franklin beckoned to me to join
them.
"This," says Mr. Franklin, presenting me to the great traveller, "is
Gabriel Betteredge, the old servant and friend of our family of whom I
spoke to you just now. Tell him, if you please, what you have just told
me."
Mr. Murthwaite took his cheroot out of his mouth, and leaned, in his
weary way, against the trunk of a tree.
"Mr. Betteredge," he began, "those three Indians are no more jugglers
than you and I are."
Here was a new surprise! I naturally asked the traveller if he had ever
met with the Indians before.
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